Dumps had long been proud of gentility of appearance, a suit of black
had been his working day costume, nothing therefore could be more easy
than for Dumps to turn gentleman. He did so; took a villa at Gravesend,
chose for his own sitting room a chamber that looked against a dead
wall, and whilst he was lying in state upon the squabs of his sofa, he
thought seriously of the education of his son, and resolved that he
should be instantly taught the dead languages.
Sighmon Dumps was decidedly a young man of a serious turn of mind.
The metropolis had few attractions for him, he loved to linger near
the monument; and if ever he thought of a continental excursion, the
Catacombs and Pere la Chaise were his seducers.
His father died, his old employer furnished him with a funeral; the mute
was silenced, and the mourner was mourned.
Sighmon Dumps became more serious than ever; he had a decided nervous
malady, an abhorrence of society, and a sensitive shrinking when he felt
that any body was looking at him. He had heard of the invisible girl; he
would have given worlds to have been an invisible young gentleman, and
to have glided in and out of rooms, unheeded and unseen, like a draft
through a keyhole.
Pages:
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42