Frivolities, Especially Addressed to Those Who Are Tired of Being Serious

by Richard Marsh

  Mr. Harland's Pupils

  I.

  Mr. Harland's first pupil from America made his appearance at MulberryHouse School under rather peculiar circumstances. Mr. Harland receivedone morning this tersely-worded note:--

  "219, Twentieth Street, New York.

  "Sir,--I have the honour to inform you that I am shipping my son, JohnF. Ernest, to your academy. He will arrive per s.s. _Germanic_. I havedecided to educate him in England. Please acknowledge enclosed bankdraft, value two hundred and fifty dollars ($250), in payment of sixmonths' fees. Any sum in excess, to the amount of one hundred dollars($100), will be paid, on demand, by my agents, Messrs. Roedenheim, ofLondon.

  "Yours faithfully,

  "J. Bindon.

  "P.S.--John F. Ernest to stay the holidays."

  Mr. Harland received this communication by the morning post, and onthe afternoon of the same day there appeared at Mulberry House theJohn F. Ernest thus alluded to. He was a slender, fair-haired boy,about twelve or thirteen years of age. He was self-possessed enoughfor thirty. He had come quite alone, he explained to the schoolmasterand the schoolmaster's wife. Apparently he, a tender child just in histeens, thought no more of travelling from America to England than thelady thought of travelling from her own village to the next. It isgenerally understood that at least the elementary education to beobtained in the United States is not to be despised. When asked whyhis father had sent him to England to get what he would have gotequally well at home:

  "I rather guess," replied John F. Ernest, "that my pa, he was raisedat Duddenham."

  Mulberry House School was situated on the outskirts of the delightfulvillage of Duddenham. Mr. and Mrs. Harland glanced at one another. Italmost seemed that it was as they feared. A J. Bindon, otherwise"Jolly Jack," had been known at Duddenham, not wisely, nor in any waypleasantly, but far too well. Although he had removed himself, forthe good of Duddenham, some fourteen or fifteen years before, hismemory--which had a strong savour--lingered still. However, Mr. andMrs. Harland allowed no hint to escape them that that J. Bindon mightbe in any way connected with the father of John F. Ernest.

  The term passed away. During the holidays the Harlands went to enjoythe ozone-laden breezes at Bielsham-by-the-Sea. While they werestaying there Mr. Harland received a second letter from America, acommunication which was, in some respects, a colourable imitation ofthe first.

  "219, Twentieth Street, New York.

  "Sir,--I have the honour to inform you that I am shipping my son, JohnF. Stanley, to your academy. He will arrive per s.s. _Aurania_. I havedecided to educate him in England. Please acknowledge enclosed bankdraft for two hundred and fifty dollars ($250) in payment of sixmonths' fees. Any sum in excess, to the amount of one hundred dollars($100), will be paid, on demand, by my agents, Messrs. Roedenheim, ofLondon.

  "Yours faithfully,

  "J. Bindon.

  "P.S.--You will also receive, per same ship, my son, John R. Stephen.Enclosed find second draft ($250). For balance, apply Messrs.Roedenheim."

  "Mr. Bindon," observed Mr. Harland when he had finished reading thisepistle, "appears to be rather a curious man."

  "What is the matter?" inquired his wife. "Is he going to withdraw thatson of his?"

  "Not exactly. He has 'shipped'--the word is his own--two more. Thesecond, who is 'shipped' in a postscript, is, apparently, a sort ofafterthought."

  When the lady and gentleman returned to Mulberry House the new-comershad arrived. The three Masters Bindon were interviewed together. Onething about them was noticeable--that they were all about the sameage.

  "How old are you?" asked the lady, addressing one of the strangers.

  "Twelve."

  "And you?"

  "I'm twelve."

  "Then," said the lady, "I suppose you are twins."

  They did not look as though they were twins. One was big, and black,and bony; the other was short, and fat, and red. Still, as they bothwere twelve, and they were brothers--

  "Twins?" said the red-haired lad. "I'm no twin. He's not my brother."He turned upon the two other Masters Bindon with scorn in his eyes."They're neither of them my brothers. I disown them."

  "John R. Stephen," remarked John F. Ernest, slipping his hand intothat of the black-haired Master Bindon, "is my brother. John F.Stanley has disowned us from the first."

  "Yes," said Rufus, "and I'll disown you to the last."

  "You wait," observed the black-haired Master Bindon, whose claim tofraternity was thus denied, "till we get outside. I'll rub you downwith a rail."

  "I hope," said Mrs. Harland, when the Masters Bindon had withdrawn, "Ido hope, Andrew, that there is nothing wrong."

  "Pooh!" replied her husband. But when he was alone he rubbed his chinand murmured _sotto voce_, "It strikes me that there's not muchdifference between J. Bindon and 'Jolly Jack.'"

  He thought that there might be even less than he had imagined when oneday, before the term was half-way through, he received a cablegramfrom New York:

  "Son coming _Batavia_, Forgot to write. Draw Roedenheim. BINDON."

  The son came. He proved to be John G. William. He, too, had justturned twelve. He did not seem pleased to see his brothers. Nor, totell the truth, did they appear overjoyed at sight of him. He was alad with a round bullet-shaped head, and was extraordinarily broadacross the shoulders. He had not been twenty-four hours in the housebefore he had fought and thrashed the three other Masters Bindon. Itwas not surprising, when it was seen how he had damaged them, that hisrelatives, knowing his tastes and his capacity, had not welcomed himwith open arms.

  At tea Mrs. Harland, who had observant eyes, noticed that John F.Ernest was minus one of his front teeth. She inquired how he had lostit.

  "John G. William, ma'am, has knocked it out."

  "John G. William! Do you mean your brother who arrived to-day?"

  John F. Ernest explained that he did.

  Mrs. Harland, looking down the table, observed another Master Bindonwhose eye looked queer. "How, my boy, did you manage to get that blackeye?"

  "John G. William," replied the black-haired--and black-eyed--youth.

  "John G. William!" The lady, still allowing her glances to wander,lighted on a third Master Bindon, whose face was so dreadfullydisfigured that it really made recognition difficult. "Good gracious!"she exclaimed. "What has happened to the child?"

  This Master Bindon was the red-haired youth. He looked at the lady aswell as the damaged state of his "optics" would permit. He uttered theubiquitous name, "John G. William." Then he added, "He's been fightingus. And, d----n him! he always is."

  John G. William volunteered a statement on his own account.

  "I told father I should lick 'em. He said he shouldn't be surprisedbut what they wanted it, and so I might."

  It seemed curious for a father to give his son permission to "lick"his brothers, whom he was travelling 4000 miles to meet. Such conducton the part of a father was scarcely in accordance with the traditionsof Mulberry House. But the behaviour of the Masters Bindon one towardsthe other, not only now and then but as an invariable rule, was initself a curiosity.

  "Those Bindons," Mr. Harland told himself, some short time after thearrival of the latest comer, "are certainly the most remarkable boys Iever remember to have met, especially John G. William."

  But Mr. Harland had not become acquainted with all the peculiaritiesof the Bindon family yet.

  One morning, perhaps six weeks after the advent of John G. William,Mr. Harland, coming in to breakfast, noticed, seated at table with hispupils, a boy who was to him a stranger. On that occasion Mr. Harlandhappened to be a couple of minutes late. The meal had been begunbefore he entered the room. As he came in, seated at the other side ofthe table, facing him, placidly eating his bre
ad and butter, was thisboy. He was a very thin boy, with high projecting cheek-bones andlight hair, cut very close. He wore a pair of spectacles, or rather,they would have been a pair if one of the glasses had not happened tobe broken. Altogether there was something about him which suggestedthat he had quite recently been engaged in a discussion of an animatedcharacter.

  "Hollo!" cried Mr. Harland. "Who are you?"

  "I am John P. Arthur Bindon."

  His accent was nasal, undoubtedly the product of the land of the starsand stripes.

  "Who?" repeated Mr. Harland, seeming a little puzzled.

  "John P. Arthur Bindon." The boy took off his spectacles. "John G.William's broken one of my glasses. He's been licking me."

  Mr. Harland looked about him, plainly at a loss. Mr. Moore, the usher,took his glance as containing an inquiry.

  "I found him with the rest of the pupils in the playground."

  "Oh," repeated Mr. Harland, "you found him with the rest of the pupilsin the playground."

  "I rather reckoned to find the others here," drawled the short-sightedyouth, as, very carefully, he replaced the broken spectacles upon hisnose. "We didn't agree. I guess they're on the road."

  "Is this"--Mr. Harland addressed his question to one of the otherMasters Bindon--"is this your brother?"

  "I disown him," answered Rufus, on whom the principal's glancehappened to fall. "I disown 'em all."

  "He is my brother," struck in the shrill piping treble of John F.Ernest, "though he is the meanest-minded boy that ever put on shoes."

  "I am not ashamed to admit," remarked John P. Arthur, still adjustinghis broken spectacles, "that I appreciate the value of money. I havewalked from Liverpool to save the charges."

  "You have walked from Liverpool?"

  "I understand it is a distance in the neighbourhood of one hundred andfifty miles. I have worn out a pair of boots. Still, I reckon I havesaved better than half a dollar, net."

  Mr. Harland took John P. Arthur up into his study. There the younggentleman explained.

  "There was another row, so father decided to ship off three more ofus. I rather think he must have forgotten to write, owing to thepressure of his business."

  "Does your father keep an orphanage?"

  John P. Arthur stared. "I never heard of it."

  "Did you say he had shipped off three more of you? May I ask, then,where are the other two?"

  "I left them at Liverpool. We didn't agree. I should calculate they'regone upon the burst. We each had twenty-five dollars and our fares."John P. Arthur slapped the inner pocket of his coat. "I've still gotmy twenty-five, besides half a dollar saved out of my fare."

  "May I ask the names of your two missing brothers?"

  "One is John A. Francis, and the other--I forget the other's name."

  It was Mr. Harland's turn to stare.

  "You forget your brother's name?"

  "There are such a lot of them that one gets mixed."

  "I quite concede that there do appear to be a lot of them, and thatone may get mixed, but still--your brother's name! May I ask the agesof the young gentlemen whom you presume have gone upon the burst?About your own?"

  "I should say John A. Francis is younger than me. I fought him threetimes as we were crossing. I licked each time. He must be younger."

  "And the young gentleman whose name you don't happen to remember?"

  "He's older. He bangs me easy. Just picks me up and knocks me down. Ireckon John G. William will find him pretty tough."

  While Mr. Harland had been talking to John P. Arthur he had beenpaying no attention to his letters. When he turned to them he foundthat among them there were two which threw some light upon theproceedings of the missing Masters Bindon. Here is the first:

  "The Barracks, Liverpool.

  "Sir,--At our Holiness Meeting on Tuesday--Alleluia!--there came in anew recruit. He gave his name as Thompson Symes, and said that he wasseventeen. He now says that his name is John A. Francis Bindon, andthat his age is twelve. He originally stated that he was a pickpocket,and had been nine times in jail. He now says that he has never been injail, but that he has been sent by his father in America to be a pupilin your school. We shall be obliged if you will inform us if you knowanything of a boy named John A. Francis Bindon. We fear that hispresent statement is as false as the others he has made. Alleluia!--G.Smith, _Major_."

  Here is the second:

  "Office Of The Society For The Reclamation Of Juvenile Beggars,

  "Liverpool.

  "Sir,--A boy who was charged this afternoon at the Liverpool PoliceCourt with the offence of begging tells a somewhat remarkable story.He has been remanded to the workhouse for a week to enable us toinquire into the truth of what he says.

  "He is four feet seven inches in height, dark hair, pale face, and hehas a deep scar upon his left cheek. Speaks with a decided Americanaccent.

  "He states that his name is John B. David Bindon, that he left NewYork on board the steamship _Ocean Star_, in company with his twobrothers. The names of these two brothers he declares that he forgets,alleging that he has so many brothers that he cannot remember alltheir names. He says that they were coming from New York to be pupilsin your school. On board ship they disagreed, and at Liverpool theyparted. He does not know what became of his two brothers. He says thathe himself had twenty-five dollars in his pockets in Americancurrency. Part of this he spent upon confectionery and sweets, untilhe made some acquaintances in the street, who took him to what appearsto have been a disreputable house. There they robbed him, not only ofhis money, but also of his clothes. They kept him, so he states,locked up for three days, only releasing him on his promising toappeal for alms, and on his undertaking to bring back the proceeds ofhis appeal. No sooner, according to his statement, did he commence tobeg than he was given into custody.

  "If you know anything, whether for good or ill, of a boy named John B.David Bindon, I should be obliged by your communicating at once withme at these offices. I have had much experience in these cases, and Ithink myself that the boy's story, strange though it seems, containsat least some portion of truth. Awaiting your early favour,

  "I am, Sir, your obedient servant,

  "Edward Everest, _Secretary_."

  When Mr. Harland showed these letters to his wife, and told her JohnP. Arthur's story, the lady was, not unnaturally, surprised.

  "Andrew, I am sure there is something wrong about those Bindons! Therewill be a scandal if you don't take care! I never heard of such athing! Don't tell me that any man can have seven sons, all of an age!It's incredible on the face of the thing!"

  Mr. Harland communicated with Mr. Smith and Mr. Everest. The twomissing Masters Bindon appeared at Duddenham. They were given into thecharge of the guard at Liverpool; the schoolmaster himself met them atthe village station.

  "Them boys," observed the guard, as he handed over his charges to theprincipal of Mulberry House, "them boys is nice ones."

  Ten minutes after their appearance in the playground John G. Williamwas having it out with John B. David.

  "Andrew," called Mrs. Harland from an upper room, "those Bindons arefighting again."

  "I see they are."

  As a matter of fact the uproar had attracted her husband to his studywindow.

  "They are an interesting family."

  He stood at the window for a second or two observing the fray.

  "I fancy that in John B. David John G. William has met his match. Itis perhaps as well that he should."

  He was aware, from previous experience, that if he interfered in oneof the family discussions it would only be renewed at the earliestopportunity. As he was wondering whether it would not be as well tolet them fight it out and have done with it, at any rate for the time,a servant entered the room with a letter in her hand. The principalopened it. It was a cablegram:

  "Forgot to advise last shipment. T
hree. Draw Roedenheim.--Bindon."

  "'What sort of a family can that be," inquired the schoolmaster ofhimself, "which is so large that the father overlooks such a triflingdetail as the sending of three of his sons, all of tender years,unescorted, across the Atlantic Ocean? And when, a month after theirdeparture, the incident does occur to his mind, he contents himselfwith sending nine words--and nine such words--in a telegram. I think Iwill go up in person to Messrs. Roedenheim, and make a few inquiries."

  He made them, but he received little information in return. Messrs.Roedenheim received him with courtesy. They informed him that, up to acertain amount, they were instructed to honour his calls; that Mr.Bindon was a client of theirs, financially, of the highest standing.But as to his family affairs: they were simply bankers, and as suchMr. Harland could not suppose that they concerned themselves with thefamily affairs of their customers.

  "One thing seems pretty clear," said Mr. Harland to his wife, when hereturned to Mulberry House. "There appears, in the case of theprolific parent of the Bindons, to be plenty of money, and that ismore than can be said in the case of the parents of all my boys. Idon't see myself, Maria, why I should object to there being seven, oreven seventy brothers in a family, especially if the father of theseventy is a good paymaster, and all the seventy come to me."

  "Of course there's that to be said."

  "There's very much that to be said. The terms in my prospectus arethirty guineas per annum for boys of twelve, a reduction to be madefor brothers. I have to make a reduction sometimes when there are nobrothers. In this case there are actually _seven_ brothers, and,instead of being called upon to make a reduction--some fathers wouldwant you to take the seven as though they were four!--I receive onehundred pounds a year with each, besides extras."

  Mr. Harland smiled as he thought of the sum which he had drawn thatday from Messrs. Roedenheim.

  "No doubt that's nice enough."

  "I don't know if you're aware that I receive more from those sevenBindons than from all the rest of my pupils put together. Under thosecircumstances I don't see how it concerns me if their father has apeculiar habit of shipping his offspring as though they were barrelsof pork, and then forgetting to 'advise' me, as he calls it, of his'shipments'!"

  "But will it last?"

  "Will what last? The Bindons? Are you afraid that John G. William willknock the rest of the family all to pieces? I don't think there ismuch fear of that now that John B. David has appeared upon the scene.It strikes me from what I have heard and seen that he will performupon John G. William. I noticed at tea that John G. William'scountenance seemed to be a little the worse for wear."

  "But suppose tales got about, and the parents of the other boysobjected to the presence of the Bindons--they certainly are the mostremarkable children, for brothers too, I ever saw--and the other boyswere taken away, and then the Bindons went, the school would have lostits character."

  Mr. Harland reflected for a moment.

  "I think I'll take the risk, Maria. So far as I am myself concerned Ionly hope that Mr. Bindon may 'ship' another seven."

  The wish was father to the thought. Mr. Bindon shipped them. Not afortnight after that discussion Mr. Harland had this letter:

  "219, Twentieth Street, New York.

  "Sir,--I am shipping, per s.s. _City of Thay_, an assorted lot of fivesons. My final selection not being yet made I am unable to advise youas to their names. For fees please draw, on their arrival, on Messrs.Roedenheim.

  "Yours faithfully,

  "J. Bindon.

  "P.S.--Probably the lot may consist of seven."

  "Maria," said Mr. Harland, when he handed this epistle to his wife,"Mr. Bindon is a truly remarkable man."

  The lady read the letter.

  "Andrew, what does he mean? 'An assorted lot of five sons. Probablythe lot may consist of seven.' I take my stand, Andrew, and Iinsist upon an explanation. I will not have this man shooting hischildren--or what he calls his children--into my house as though theywere coals. Seven sons all of an age were hard to swallow, but atfourteen I draw the line."

  "You're not a philosopher, Maria. At the rate of a hundred pounds ahead I shouldn't draw the line at forty."

  "Andrew, don't talk to me like that. Who is this man? And what is themystery connected with his children? Did I tell you that the othermorning I asked John P. Arthur how many brothers he had, and he saidthat he didn't know, there were always such a lot of fresh onesturning up?"

  Mr. Harland rubbed his chin.

  "I don't know, Maria, what difference it makes to us whether the boyswe receive as pupils are the sons of Brown or Jones. It is not asthough we went in for anything special in the way of birth and family.It isn't even as though we confined ourselves to the sons of so-calledgentlemen. Mine is a middle-class school. In these days of competitionwith the Board Schools one cannot choose one's pupils. I alwayswelcome the sons of tradesmen, and I am quite sure I shall be alwaysglad to receive any number of pupils at a hundred pounds a head, nomatter who they are."

  Probably, on reflection, Mrs. Harland fell into her husband's views.At dinner the principal of Mulberry House School made an announcementwhich, while it was of an interesting, was, at the same time, of acurious kind. It was when the pudding had been served.

  "Boys, you will be glad to hear that I expect to receive, eitherto-day or to-morrow, five new pupils, and probably seven, but of theseven I am not quite sure. This piece of news should be speciallyinteresting to the Masters Bindon, since the new pupils are theirbrothers." The headmaster's words were received with silence--possiblythe silence of surprise. "I don't think that there is any other schoolin Europe which can claim to have had under its roof, at one and thesame time, twelve brothers, and perhaps fourteen."

  Up spake Rufus--John F. Stanley:

  "I disown 'em," he observed; "I disown 'em all."

  Mr. Harland smiled.

  "But it does not follow because you disown them--which I am sorry tohear, because perhaps one of these days they may turn the tables anddisown you--that therefore they are not your brothers."

  "But they're not my brothers, not one of all the lot of them. I'm theonly son."

  "Yes," said Mr. Harland with gentle sarcasm, as his eyes, wanderinground the table, rested on the other six; "I should say you were theonly son."

  Two days passed. There were still no signs of the latest "shipment."On previous occasions the Masters Bindon had appeared at MulberryHouse within a few hours of the receipt of the "advice."

  "I hope," suggested the principal to his wife when, on the evening ofthe second day, there was still no news, "that this is not anothercase of 'going on the burst.'"

  On the afternoon of the following day Mrs. Harland was working in herown apartment, when the servant came rushing in. There was in themaid's bearing a suggestion of suppressed excitement.

  "If you please, ma'am, there are a lot of little girls downstairs."

  "A lot of little girls! What do they want?"

  "If you please, ma'am, I don't know. I think they're foreigners. Theysay they've come to school."

  The servant giggled. Mrs. Harland rose.

  "Come to school! There must be some mistake. Where are they?"

  "They're in the hall. And if you please, ma'am, there are three fliesfull of luggage."

  Mrs. Harland went downstairs. A crowd of small girls were groupedtogether in the hall, varying in ages perhaps from six to fourteen.

  The lady addressed herself to the largest.

  "What is it you want?"

  "We've come to school."

  Mrs. Harland smiled.

  "But this is a school for young gentlemen. No doubt you are lookingfor Miss Simpson's, Burlington House Academy. The flyman ought to haveknown."

  "He said Mulberry House. He wrote it down."

  The young lady held a piece of paper. She handed it to Mrs. Harland.On it were some words, inscr
ibed in a handwriting which was becomingalmost too familiar. At sight of it the lady felt an inward qualm.

  "What is your name?"

  "Clara Mary Dixon."

  Unconsciously the lady gave a sigh of relief. It was not the namewhich she had dreaded.

  "I'm sure there's some mistake."

  "There's no mistake." Suddenly the young lady put her handkerchief upto her eyes. Immediately all the other young ladies followed suit."You're trying to play it off on us. He wrote it down himself, he did.We never thought he was going to ship us off to Europe just 'causehe'd married ma."

  The young ladies' voices' were raised in lamentation. The servantsstood giggling by. The flymen grinned upon the doorstep. Mrs. Harlanddeemed it inadvisable to continue the interview in public.

  "Come this way." She led the way into the drawing-room. The weepingmaidens followed. "Pray don't cry. The mistake, however it may havearisen, will soon be cleared up. Now tell me, where do you come from?"

  "New--York--City!"

  Mrs. Harland, when she received that answer, was conscious of anotherinward qualm.

  "Who sent you to England?"

  "Mr.--Bindon."

  The lady sat down on a chair. She stared in speechless silence at thenew arrivals. Then, rising, she rang the bell. The servant appeared.

  "Tell your master I wish to speak to him in the drawing-room."

  Scarcely had the housemaid turned her back than there came a loudringing at the front-door bell. Another servant entered--the cook--inher hand a cablegram. Mrs. Harland was conscious that the envelope wasaddressed to Mr. Harland. As a rule enclosures addressed to him sheheld inviolate, but on this occasion she broke the rule. She tore theenvelope open with a hand which slightly trembled. With her eyes shedevoured the words which were written on the sheet of paper it hadcontained:

  "Girls shipped by mistake. Boys following.--Bindon."

  Those were the words which had been flashed across the seas. She readthem over and over again. It seemed as though she could not grasptheir meaning. She still held the telegram extended in her hand whenher husband entered the room. That gentleman paused upon thethreshold. Retaining the handle of the door in his hand, he appearedto be making an effort to comprehend the meaning of the scene within.

  "What is it you want, Maria?"

  "I--I want nothing." The lady put her hand to her brow with a gesturewhich was almost tragic. "This is Mr. Bindon's latest shipment."

  She stretched out her hands towards the strangers in a manner whichreally was dramatic. The girls had dried their eyes to enable them,perhaps, to study Mr. Harland to better advantage. They stood in arow, the tallest at one end and the shortest at the other. The line ofheight descended in an agreeably graduated scale. Mr. Harland staredat the girls. Then he stared at his wife. "I don't understand," hesaid.

  "Read that!"

  The lady thrust the cablegram into his hand. He read it. He read itonce, he read it twice, he read it even thrice. Then crumpling it uphe thrust both hands into his trouser pockets and he whistled.

  "This is a pleasant state of things," he said.

  "Is that all you have to say?" inquired his wife.

  "Well, my dear, I may have a little more to say if you will give me alittle time to reflect upon the situation. It is a situation whichrequires reflection." He stared at the row of girls in front of him.He reflected. "This is a truly pleasant state of things. Your father,young ladies----"

  "He is not our father," interposed the tallest of the row, Clara Mary.

  "Not your father? Mr. Bindon is not your father?" Mr. Harland referredto the crumpled cablegram. "I am afraid that again I do notunderstand."

  "We're the Miss Dixons. Ma's a widow. Mr. Bindon shipped us off toEurope the very day he married her. We never knew that we were goingtill just before we started, and I don't believe Ma knew it either."

  Again the handkerchiefs were raised in a simultaneous row to tearfuleyes.

  "J. Bindon," murmured Mr. Harland, "_must_ be Jolly Jack. You will bepleased to learn, young ladies," he added in a louder key, "that youhave been shipped to Europe by mistake. I don't at this momentunderstand altogether how the mistake arose. There are eight of you--Iperceive that there are eight--and one would think that a mistake tothat extent would be one which it would be rather difficult to make.Still, you will be gratified to learn, it has been made. Mr. Bindonhas telegraphed to tell me so. We expected a shipment to consist of anassorted lot of sons, possibly five--possibly seven. I am informed inthe telegram that that shipment is following. But whether we are toreturn at once the shipment which consists of you, or whether, so tospeak, we are to give it warehouse room, there are no instructions yetto hand."

  The row of girls stared at Mr. Harland, dry-eyed and open-mouthed.

  He spoke in a tongue which was strange to them.

  "Andrew," cried his wife, "I am ashamed of you! How can you talk likethat!"

  Mr. Harland continued, almost as if he were speaking to himself. "Itoccurs to me that I have read somewhere, it was perhaps in some oldbook, that in American schools they run--I believe the term is acorrect one--the boys and girls together. I hope Mr. Bindon is notunder the impression that such a system obtains in Duddenham."

  "Andrew, it is shocking! Upon my word, I feel inclined to cry."

  "Do not cry, Maria; do not cry. Suppose, instead of crying, you comewith me to the study, and let me say a word to you alone."

  "Andrew," cried the lady, as she closed the study door, "I really amashamed of you. How can you say such things--a man in your position?"

  "A man in my position, Maria, is justified in saying anything, evendamn. It is because my tongue inclines to adjectives, strong and pithyadjectives, that I endeavour to let off the steam in another way."

  "What are you going to do with those poor girls?"

  "What are you going to do, Maria? Girls are more in your line thanmine."

  "I believe he's done it on purpose, that Bindon man. I don't believeit's possible to make such a mistake; shipping girls in mistake forboys, indeed!"

  "Not in the case of an ordinary family, Maria. But it is not anordinary family, Mr. Bindon's." There was a pause. The lady walkedexcitedly up and down the room. The gentleman sat back in anarm-chair, his hands in his trouser pockets, his legs stretched out infront of him. "You will have to provide them with bed and with board,Maria, till we have turned the matter over in our minds, or till wehave heard further from Mr. Bindon."

  They had to.

  They provided the young ladies with bed and board.

  "As," remarked Mr. Harland, when the days went by, and there stillcame no further instructions from America, "these young ladies bidfair to remain with us an indefinite length of time, I think, in orderto do something which will entitle me to the proper fees, I will layon something in the shape of a daily governess. They shall receivetheir education in the parlour. If Mr. Bindon could only see his wayto making a few more errors in the 'shipment' line I might, on mypart, see my way to running a school for young ladies in connectionwith my establishment for boys."

  The eight Misses Dixon arrived on a Tuesday. Nothing--that is, nothingunusual--happened during the whole of the ensuing week. But on theWednesday week, eight days after their arrival, an incident, slightlyout of the common way, did vary the monotony. A fly drove up toMulberry House, and in it, on the back seat, sat a solitary boy. Mr.Harland happened to be leaving the house just as the fly drove up. Heeyed the boy, the boy eyed him. The flyman touched his hat.

  "If you please, sir, seems as how this here boy's for you. Leastways,it says so on his ticket." Turning round on his box the driveraddressed his fare. "This here's the schoolmaster, and this here'sMulberry House."

  The boy opened his mouth. Sounds issued forth. But they were soundswithout form, and void. He appeared, judging from the grimaces he wasmaking, to be suffering from an attack of facial convulsion. Theflyman descended from his box.

  "Seems, sir, as how this here boy's got a stutter. It is a s
tuttertoo. I never see nothing like it. They've been and stuck a lot oftickets all over him, so that people might know where he was going to.He'd never have made them understand."

  When the boy came out of the fly Mr. Harland perceived that what thecoachman said was correct. A square, white card was sewed on his coat,another on his waistcoat, and a third in a most prominent situation onhis breeches. The writing on this latter, by dint of constantfriction, had become so worn as to be unintelligible. On the other twowas written, in a bold round hand, so that he that ran might read:

  "Frank J. Samuel Bindon, Mulberry House School, Duddenham, England. Note.--This Boy Stutters."

  "I suppose," said Mr. Harland, as he eyed the youth, "that you are oneof the assorted lot."

  The boy opened his mouth.

  "B-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b--"

  "I wouldn't speak to him much if I was you, sir," said the flyman."Every time he opens his mouth I expect to see him have a fit. I'veseen some stutters, but I never see one which came within a hundredmile of his."

  "I think," said Mr. Harland, when he introduced Frank J. Samuel Bindonto his wife, "that I begin to understand what Mr. Bindon meant when hewrote that he was shipping an assorted lot of sons. In his family heappears to have samples of every kind."

  "Hollo!" cried John F. Ernest, as Frank J. Samuel put in an appearancein the playground, "here's Stammering Sam!"

  "Maria," said Mr. Harland, about an hour later, to his wife,"Stammering Sam can fight. He has polished off John G. William. He istaking on John B. David for a change. What an interesting family thoseBindons are."

  On the Friday the fly which had conveyed Stammering Sam again drove upto the doors of Mulberry House. The same flyman was on the box.

  "Sarah," he observed to the servant who opened the door, "I've beenbringing you a queer lot of young gentlemen of late. Wednesday Ibrought you up one with a stutter, now I've brought you one what'sonly got one leg, and another what's only got one arm. You'll soon beable to keep a museum of living curiosities."

  As he was speaking the flyman stood at the door of his fly, his backturned to his fares. Suddenly the servant gave an exclamation.

  "Look out, Mr. Stubbs," she cried.

  The flyman moved aside, just in time to avoid the full force of ablow, which although it missed his head, at which it was aimed, andonly shaved his shoulder, made him roar with pain. A boy, one of thefares, was standing up in the fly, grasping, with both his hands, acurious weapon of offence--a wooden leg.

  "You young murdering villain!" shouted the flyman, clapping his handto his injured shoulder. "I've half a mind to break every bone in yourbody."

  "I would if I were you," retorted the lad "Try it on. You've beensaucing me all the way. I may only have one leg, but yours wouldn't bethe first head which I've splintered with a wooden one. Then _you'd_be a living curiosity, I guess."

  This young gentleman entered Mulberry House hopping upon one leg. Thewooden limb he carried in his hands. After him followed a second younggentleman, who, since one of his sleeves was pinned up to his coat,was apparently possessed of but a single arm.

  "There's a armless young gentleman in the drawing-room," announcedSarah to her master, "and another what's got his leg tucked under hisarm."

  The announcement did not appear to take the principal of MulberryHouse by surprise.

  "Further samples of the assorted lot," he murmured.

  He was right. The strangers were two more examples of the fecundityand the versatility of Mr. Bindon. The young gentleman with "his legtucked under his arm" declared his name to be Oscar J. Oswald Bindon.The young gentleman with only one arm under which a leg could possiblybe "tucked" was another John T. Jasper Bindon.

  "I understood from your father," said Mr. Harland, "that this lotwould consist of five, or possibly seven. May I ask if there are anymore of you to follow? This dropping in unexpectedly, by ones andtwos, Mrs. Harland and I find a little inconvenient."

  "There's two more coming. But we wouldn't have anything to do withthem because they stutter."

  This repudiation comes from Oscar J. Oswald. As he spoke he wasfastening on his wooden leg.

  Two or three hours afterwards the fly--the same fly--drove up again toMulberry House. The same flyman was on the box.

  "Sarah," he whispered from behind his hand, probably taught prudenceby experience, "here's two more stutters."

  II.

  Mrs. Harland was superintending the putting out of the "clean things."It was Saturday. On Sundays, at Mulberry House, all the pupils"changed."

  "If you please, ma'am, there's a person in the drawing-room who saysshe's Mrs. Bindon."

  "Mrs. Bindon!" Mrs. Harland was lifting a pile of clean linen. It fellfrom her hands. Day-shirts and night-shirts were scattered on thefloor. The lady eyed the maid standing in the doorway as though shewere some creature of strange and fearful import. "Whom did she ask tosee?"

  "She asked to see the schoolmaster."

  "The schoolmaster?"

  Mrs. Harland pursed her lips.

  "Yes, ma'am. She didn't mention any name. And master's out."

  The lady, to the best of her ability, supplied her husband's place.She interviewed the visitor. As she laid her hand on the handle of thedrawing-room door her attentive ear detected a curious sound within.

  "I do believe the woman's crying."

  She turned the handle. She entered the room. A woman was seated on theextreme edge of a chair. She was indulging in a series of audiblesniffs. In the palm of her hand, compressed into a knot which hadsomething of the consistency of a cricket ball, was her handkerchief.This she bobbed first at one eye, then at the other. When Mrs. Harlandappeared she rose to her feet. The lady stared at her as if she were aspectre.

  "Jane Cooper!" she exclaimed.

  "Yes, ma'am."

  The woman dropped a curtsey.

  "You brazen hussey! How dare you come into my house!"

  "If you please, ma'am, I'm come after that boy of mine."

  She was a nervous, shrinking, little woman. She had fair hair and awashed-out complexion. Her pale blue eyes were blurred with weeping.She looked as though she had been crying for years. She wore a blacksilk dress, which was of primitive make, and the seams of which wereslightly rusty. Her hands, which were gloveless, were large and red.Her shapeless bonnet had strayed on to the side of her head.Altogether she looked draggled and woebegone.

  "You've come after that boy of yours! What do you mean?"

  "My Neddy, ma'am."

  Mrs. Harland gave an indignant twitch to her skimpy skirts. She movedacross the room in the direction of the bell. The woman, perceivingher intention, gave an appealing cry.

  "Don't be hard upon me. I've come all the way from America to see myNeddy, ma'am."

  Mrs. Harland hesitated, her hand upon the bell-rope. This woman, whena child, had been her own pupil in the Sunday-school. Later she hadbeen her servant. While in her service she had "gone wrong." The sameday on which she had been turned adrift she had disappeared fromDuddenham. Her former mistress had heard nothing of her from that hourunto the present one.

  "Jane Cooper, my servant told me that you gave your name as Mrs.Bindon. Are you Mrs. Bindon? Is that true?"

  "It's gospel truth."

  "Then"--Mrs. Harland released her hold of the bell-rope--"it _was_Jolly Jack."

  "That it was."

  Mrs. Harland moved a step nearer to the woman.

  "Do you mean to tell me that all those boys are yours?"

  "No, ma'am, only Neddy. His father had him called Edward J. Phillip,but he's always been Neddy to me. The rest are Mr. Bindon's."

  "The rest are Mr. Bindon's! Jane! what do you mean?"

  There was a ring, a good loud ring, at the front door bell. The womanclasped her hands.

  "There's the rest of them," she cried. "Oh, don't let them come inhere."

  "The rest of them?"

  "The
other Mrs. Bindons."

  Mrs. Harland clutched at the back of a chair.

  "The other Mrs. Bindons?"

  "They're always going on at me, and making fun of me, and pinching me.Oh! don't let them come in here."

  The little woman's distress appeared to be genuine. She wrung herhands. Her tears fell unheeded to the floor. Mrs. Harland gazed at herboth open-mouthed and open-eyed. Before she had recovered her presenceof mind sufficiently to enable her to understand the cause of hervisitor's emotion the door opened, and there entered unannounced--amagnificent woman! She was very tall, and very stately, and very fat.She weighed seventeen stone if she weighed an ounce. Her costume wasvery different to that of the dowdy Jane. She was attired from head tofoot in red. She had on a red stuff dress with a train. A scarletmantle accentuated with its splendours the upper portion of herperson. She wore a red hat, adorned with a red feather. And herface--as far as hue was concerned, her face matched her attire. Shesurveyed Mrs. Harland through a pair of _pince-nez_. "Mrs. Harland! Soit is! How delightful! I should have known you anywhere--you haven'taltered hardly a bit."

  The lady, her hand stretched out, advanced in the most condescendingfashion. Mrs. Harland shrank away.

  "Louisa Brown!" she cried.

  "Louisa Brown--that was; Mrs. Bindon--that is! Let me give you mycard. I had some printed just before I came away."

  After some fumbling the lady produced from her pocket a gorgeousmother-of-pearl card-case. Out of it she took a piece of pasteboard,resplendent in all the colours of the rainbow, about four inchessquare. This she offered Mrs. Harland. That lady declined it with agesture.

  "Won't you have it? Well, I'll put it on the mantelpiece; it'll bejust the same. Dear old-fashioned mantelpieces! We don't have them outour way--we're in advance, you know--but I remember them so well."

  The lady suited the action to the word. She placed the piece ofcardboard on the mantelpiece in the most conspicuous place, on top ofthe clock. Apparently unconscious that in Mrs. Harland's demeanourthere was anything peculiar, she carefully selected the largestarmchair the room contained. In it she placed her ample person. As shearranged her skirts she remarked:

  "I've come all this way to see them boys of mine. The dear lads! Howare they? I hope you haven't made them _too_ English. A little EnglishI don't mind, being English as it were myself; but too much English Ican't abide."

  "You--impudent--creature!"

  The lady put up her _pince-nez_.

  "My stars! Here's goings on! May I ask if that remark was addressed tome?"

  "I never heard of such impudence in my life."

  "Nor me. But some people have manners of their own. Is that the way inwhich to treat a lady who comes to visit you--standing there andstaring?"

  "A lady!" Mrs. Harland gasped. "Do you think I don't remember you?"

  Mrs. Harland's form absolutely swelled as she glared at the big womanseated in the easy-chair.

  "You, Louisa Brown, whose name is to this day a byword in the village,to dare to come into my drawing-room--and in those clothes!"

  The big woman was not taken at all aback.

  "What is the matter with my clothes?" she asked.

  "You, whom your own father turned into the streets, to dare to placeyourself upon an equality with me!"

  The big woman turned with an affable smile to the little one, whostood trembling and sniffing in the centre of the room.

  "Queer old-fashioned folk they are this side. Now, to my thinking, onelady oughtn't to remind another lady of things she wishes to beforgotten."

  The little woman bobbed her knotted handkerchief into her eyes.

  "Oh, Louisa, how can you now!"

  Mrs. Harland raised her arm, semaphore fashion.

  "Leave the room!" she said.

  The big woman settled herself more comfortably in the easy-chair.

  "Not me. Not unless I take my sons along with me. You have receivedtheir father's money, which is mine; if you receive my money you'llreceive me too--we go together."

  "_I_ have received your money--yours! Who are you?"

  "There's my card." The big woman waved her hand in the direction ofthe mantelshelf. "I've another in my pocket, and I've told you who Iam besides; but, to oblige you, I don't mind telling you who I amagain. I'm Mrs. Bindon."

  Mrs. Harland turned upon the little woman. There was frenzy in herair.

  "Then who are you?"

  Said the little woman, between her sniffs:

  "I am Mrs. Bindon too."

  "You are Mrs. Bindon too! Is the man a bigamist?"

  The big woman smiled.

  "There is no bigamy in Utah."

  "Utah!" Mrs. Harland staggered back. "Utah!" She looked wildly roundthe room. "Isn't Utah where the Mormons are?"

  The big woman, taking out a large white handkerchief, proceeded, atone and the same time, to fan herself, and to diffuse a strong odourof patchouli.

  "Utah is, upon earth, the abiding place of the saints," she said.

  Mrs. Harland echoed her words.

  "The abiding place of the saints."

  A vehicle was approaching the house. It could be seen through thewindow.

  "I think," observed the big woman, as she raised her _pince-nez_,"that here are some of the other Mrs. Bindons."

  Rising from her seat she opened the drawing-room door.

  "Come in, my dears," she said, addressing some person or personswithout; "I am here, and Mrs. Jane."

  As she held the door wide open a procession began to enter the room--aprocession of women. They were of all styles and shapes and sizes.There were fat and there were thin. They were attired in all thecolours of the rainbow. Mrs. Harland, who began to think that hersenses must be leaving her, distinctly counted seven. The seven, withthe two already arrived, made nine--nine Mrs. Bindons. How the sevenhad journeyed in a single fly is one of the mysteries which are notyet unfolded. The big woman acted as mistress of the ceremonies.

  "Sit down, my dears, there are seats for you all. I am sure you willexcuse a little crowding."

  "Where's the teacher?" asked a short, thick-set woman, who had seatedherself with her legs apart, and her hands set squarely on her knees.

  "That is more than I can tell you. But here's his wife."

  The big woman waved her handkerchief and an odour of patchouli towardsMrs. Harland.

  "Oh, you're the schoolmarm?" The thickset woman eyed Mrs. Harland asthough she were taking her mental measurement "Where's them boys ofmine?"

  "These," explained the big woman, in the condescending way whichseemed to be a peculiarity of hers, "are some of the other Mrs.Bindons. I have not," she added, "been treated quite with the civilityI should like, and have a right to expect, but on this side they're soold-fashioned."

  "None of your old fashions for me, and none of your new ones neither.Give me the ways I'm used to. Where's them boys of mine?"

  The thick-set woman stared at Mrs. Harland in a manner which suggestedcombat. The lady pressed her hand to her side. She felt at a loss forbreath. Mechanically she crossed the room and rang the bell. Theservant appeared.

  "Tell the Masters Bindon that they are wanted in the drawing-room."

  The servant gazed in amazement at the assembled congregation. Theorder had to be repeated before her faculties returned.

  "Is that the hired gal?" inquired the thick-set woman directly thehousemaid's back was turned.

  "Servant, they call them here," explained the big woman in herpatronising way.

  The thick-set woman snorted. She glared at the big woman as though shewere not grateful for the explanation. Silence prevailed. The nineladies stared at Mrs. Harland. They seemed to be mentally appraisingher. She herself appeared to be stricken with a sort of mentalparalysis, as though the invasion had stricken her dumb.

  At last--it seemed a very long at last--the door reopened, and thereappeared the red-haired Master Bindon--John F. Stanley. His appearancewas followed by another interval of silence. The ladies stared at him.He
stared at the ladies. No enthusiasm was shown on either side. Thethick-set woman broke the silence.

  "So it's you?"

  "It's me." He edged away. "Don't you hit me!" he exclaimed.

  "Aren't you ashamed of yourself?"

  "What for?"

  "Here you are in England, and your mother's looking for you in Canada.I guess your father's got you mixed."

  "I shouldn't wonder," struck in a thin, acidulated-looking woman, "ifMr. Bindon's took you for my George, and sent my George to Canada. Inever knew such a head for children as that man has got. Is my Georgehere?"

  "No," said Rufus. He grinned.

  "Then," exclaimed the acidulated-looking woman, "I'm clean done."

  The nervous little woman came forward. She laid her hand on Rufus'sarm. "My Neddy's here! I'm sure my Neddy's here!"

  Although she said that she was sure, her tone was by no means one ofcertainty. Her voice trembled--the little woman trembled too.

  "He's not," said Rufus. He grinned again.

  "He's not!" The little woman started back. "Not here! Mr. Bindon toldme himself that he'd sent my Neddy to school at the old place atDuddenham. He wouldn't let me come all this way for nothing. And I'vespent all my money on my fare."

  The rest of the Masters Bindon began to enter the room. They came in along unbroken line. The little woman looked, with eager eyes, for theface she sought. The line ceased. She turned to Mrs. Harland.

  "That's not all?" she cried.

  "I think it is," said Mrs. Harland, with a sort of gasp.

  "Neddy! Neddy!"

  Crying, the little woman sank on her knees upon the floor.

  There was a goodly company of the Masters Bindon. There were someamong them the sight of whom gladdened their mothers' hearts.

  "So it _is_ you?" observed the thick-set woman to John G. William."You've not gone to Canada--no such luck! Where's your brother?" Thewooden-legged hero, Oscar J. Oswald, stumped in sight. "When I get youhome I'll give you a good sound hiding, the pair of you. Didn't I tellyou to write to me each week? You haven't so much as sent me a line tosay if you was living or dead. When I get you home I'll make you wishthat you was dead."

  The big woman--Louisa Brown, that was--had three young gentlemenstanding in a line in front of her. They were the three "stutters."

  "Now, boys, I hope you've got cured of your stammerings. You can'tkiss me, you'll mess my things. Do you hear what I say? I do hopeyou've got cured of your stammering."

  "B-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b--"

  There arose a chaos of sounds. The three young gentlemen opened theirmouths. Judging from their contortions they appeared to be sufferingagonies.

  "For goodness gracious stop that noise!" The fond mother clapped herhands to her ears. "I declare I feel inclined to knock your headstogether. Why, your stammer's worse than before. I must say"--sheglanced towards Mrs. Harland--"I must say that you've been shamefullyneglected."

  III.

  As Mr. Harland returned along the lane which led towards home he saw,standing in the middle of the road in front of him, a couple ofladies, who, judging from their man[oe]uvres, appeared to be spyingout the land. As he came up one of them hailed him. A tall, angularlady, who wore spectacles and low shoes and skirts which did not reachto her ankles, and who spoke in a loud, shrill, rasping voice, whichmight have been audible on the other side the meadow.

  "Say, stranger, can you hitch us on to Mulberry House Academy, wherethey lams young byes?"

  "I know Mulberry House School. I'm the headmaster, Mr. Harland."

  The lady turned to her companion.

  "Bashemath, I guess we're solid." She returned to the gentleman."You're the man we're after; we're Mrs. Bindon."

  "You--I presume you mean that you are Mrs. Bindon?"

  "Me and her are Mrs. Bindon."

  "I--I suppose there's some joke intended. Or, perhaps, this lady isyour daughter?"

  "Sakes alive! Between Bashemath and me there are not twelve months."

  "No, Deborah," said the other lady, "nor yet eleven."

  "And as for joking, stranger, I'd have you know that I'm no jokist.Bashemath and me have had to walk up from the depot. The driver saidhis carriage wouldn't hold no more than seven. We didn't see the useof a carriage just for Bashemath and me, being both of a saving mind."

  "You will be glad to hear," remarked Mr. Harland, as he led the way toMulberry House, a lady on either side of him, "that your sons allenjoy good health."

  "Lord save the man!" cried the lady with the glasses, "you don'tsuppose all them byes is mine. I've one of 'em, and he's enough--thelimb! I've seven daughters, but they're Samuel Newton's, who is dead.The rest of them byes are Mr. Bindon's."

  "Are there"--Mr. Harland slightly coughed--"are there several Mr.Bindons?"

  The lady pulled up short. She turned and faced the gentleman.

  "Stranger, are you just sarsing?"

  "Madam! Only by inadvertence could a word escape my lips which wouldin any way cause annoyance to a lady."

  When they reached Mulberry House a couple of flys were standing at thefront door.

  "I guess," observed the angular lady, "there's more of them come upthan seven."

  As Mr. Harland and his companions ascended the steps two gentlemencame rushing down them. They were the drivers of the flys. Unlesscircumstances belied them they had been whiling away the interval ofwaiting by listening at the drawing-room door. In the hall were thecook, housemaid, and the small girl who acted as general help. Theirpresence in that particular spot required explanation. Theircountenances, when they perceived their master, showed that it did.

  "What is the meaning of this?" inquired Mr. Harland. "Where's yourmistress?"

  "If you please, sir, she's in the drawing-room."

  "Is she engaged?"

  "There are----" The girl choked back a giggle. "There are some ladieswith her."

  "I guess," remarked the angular lady, "they're some of the other Mrs.Bindons."

  Three distinct and undeniable titters came from the servants.

  "Sarah," said Mr. Harland, sternly checking the disconcerted damsel asshe was about to seek refuge with her colleagues in flight, "showthese ladies into the drawing-room, and tell your mistress that I wishto speak to her in the study."

  "What--what on earth, Maria, is the meaning of this?" demanded Mr.Harland, as his wife made her appearance in his sanctum.

  The lady dropped into a chair.

  "Thank goodness, Andrew, you have come home. I don't know what Ishould have done if I had been left alone with them much longer."

  "Who are these women?"

  "They're the Mrs. Bindons."

  "The Mrs. Bindons! How many of them are there?"

  "There were nine. The two you brought make eleven."

  "Eleven! Eleven Mrs. Bindons! Maria!"

  "Andrew!"

  "Is--is the man a Mormon?"

  "Yes, he--he's a Mormon."

  "Maria! You don't mean that?"

  "I do. You remember Jane Cooper?"

  "The slut that you sent packing?"

  "She's here. She's one of the Mrs. Bindons. And Louisa Brown, she'sanother."

  "Not the Louisa Brown?"

  "And there are two or three more whose faces I know quite well, but Ican't think who they are."

  Mr. Harland drew a long breath. He whistled.

  "I knew J. Bindon _must_ be Jolly Jack."

  "But, Andrew, what can we do? There's all those boys in there, andsome of them have found their mothers and some of them haven't. Andthere's Jane Cooper come all this way to see her son, and it appearshe's been sent by mistake to Canada. And there's Louisa Brown beenknocking those three poor stammering creatures' heads together, andshe says that you've been neglecting them shamefully because youhaven't cured their stutter. And there's a woman been thrashing JohnG. William with her umbrella. And they're all going on at one another,and at their children, and at me. Oh, Andrew, they've made me feelquite ill. Tha
t Mr. Bindon must be an awful man!"

  "He appears to be, in his way, a character. A character, so far asDuddenham is concerned, almost of an original kind."

  "Oh, Andrew, don't talk like that--don't. Think of it. Eleven wives!And I don't know how many more there are at home. To hear those womenspeak you would think that there were hundreds, and not one of themseems in the least ashamed. There are some of them in Canada lookingfor their children--for all I know eleven more are coming here.Andrew!" The lady rose. She laid her hand, with a solemn gesture, uponher husband's arm. "I will not have those women and their children inmy house. I will not have a Bindon, now that I know all, under myroof, not for a hundred thousand pounds."

  Mr. Harland rubbed his chin.

  "I think that I had better go and see these ladies, Maria, or they mayfeel that they are being slighted."

  "No half measures! You will turn them out of my house, the mothers andtheir children, stick and stone, never to return--or else I leave it."

  "You're quite right, Maria. I think, if I were you, I'd go upstairsand wash my face and brush my hair. You seem to be excited."

  "You'd be excited if you'd gone through what I have."

  "Now," said Mr. Harland to himself when his wife had gone, "tointerview that very compound noun--the wife of Mr. Bindon." He wentout into the passage. "They appear to be employing the shining hour.Unless I am mistaken that is John G. William's howl, and _that_ isJohn B. David's. The ladies are either thrashing the young gentlemenupon their own account, or else they are setting them on, in what ispossibly Salt Lake City style, to thrash each other." Then arose ahubbub of women's voices. "What a peaceful household Jolly Jack's mustbe." He stood and listened. The din grew greater. "They're at it. Arethey scratching each other's eyes out, or are they merely giving theirlungs free play? Perhaps on the whole I had better go and see."

  He had hardly taken two steps in the direction of the drawing-roomwhen someone twitched his coat-sleeve from behind.

  "Mr. 'arland! Mr. 'arland!"

  There came the twitch at his sleeve again. Someone addressed him in avery muffled voice, which in force scarcely amounted to a whisper,from the rear. Mr. Harland wheeled round.

  "Who's that?" he cried.

  "Ssh!" Close behind him, so close that Mr. Harland by his suddenmovement almost knocked him down, stood a man. He had his fingerpressed against his lips. "Ssh! I came round by the back; I knew thatthey was in the front."

  He spoke in a low and tremulous whisper. Beads of perspiration stoodon his face. Agitation was on every line. Mr. Harland stared at him,astonished. He had approached from behind so noiselessly that theschoolmaster had been taken unawares.

  "May I ask, sir, who you are?"

  "I'll tell you in 'arf a minute. Just step this way."

  The stranger, taking Mr. Harland by the arm, led him in the directionof the study which he had just now quitted. Mr. Harland allowedhimself to be led. At the study door the stranger paused. He jerkedhis thumb in the direction of the drawing-room. His voice dropped to awhisper: "How many of 'em are there?"

  "How many are there, sir, of what?"

  Mr. Harland put the counter-question in his ordinary tones. Thisseemed to disconcert the stranger. "Never mind. Just step inside."

  With a hurried movement he drew Mr. Harland within the study.

  "You don't mind my just turning the key?"

  "If you mean do I object to your locking the door, I do very strongly.What are you doing? What do you mean, sir, by your impertinence?"

  The stranger had not only locked the door, he had withdrawn the keyfrom the lock.

  "Softly! softly! I don't mean no 'arm. I only want to be a littleprivate. Don't you know me, Mr. 'arland?"

  "Know you?" The schoolmaster looked the stranger up and down. He was aman of medium height, of a fleshy habit. His face, which was fat andbroad, and pasty hued, suggested a curious mixture of shrewdness andof folly. His eyes were small and bright. He wore carefully-trimmedmutton-chop whiskers, adjuncts which lent him an air of flashyimbecility. When he removed his glossy silk hat, which he did toenable him to mop his brow with his pink silk pocket-handkerchief, itwas seen that he was almost bald, and that what little hair he had wasstraw-coloured, parted in the middle, and curled close to his head. Hewas dressed from head to foot in shiny black broadcloth. His handswere large and fat, and the fingers were loaded with rings. A thickgold chain passed from pocket to pocket of his waistcoat, and in hislight-blue necktie was an enormous diamond pin.

  "Know you?" repeated Mr. Harland, continuing his examination of theman. "I've seen you somewhere before, and yet"--then came a suddenburst of recollection. "Why, you're Jolly Jack!" The strangersimpered. He carefully wiped the lining of his hat.

  "Ah, Mr. 'arland, I used to be. But that's a many years ago. There'snot much jollity about me now. I'm just J. Bindon."

  "Oh, you're just J. Bindon. The Mr. Bindon, I presume, with whosecorrespondence I've been honoured?"

  "That's the chap."

  "And whose 'shipments' from time to time have come to hand?"

  "Ah, them shipments!"

  "As you say, Mr. Bindon, 'Ah, them shipments.' I don't know if you areaware, Mr. Bindon, that your wife is in my drawing-room?"

  "Ssh!" Mr. Bindon put his ringer to his lips. He approached Mr.Harland with a mysterious air, "Might I ask you not to speak so loud,Mr. 'arland, and not to pronounce my name. If you must call mesomething, I'd sooner you was to call me Jack."

  "Is your name, Mr. Bindon, not one of which you have reason to beproud?"

  "Don't you, Mr. 'arland, don't you now." He put a question from behindthe cover of his hand. "How many of 'em are there?"

  "How many are there--of Mrs. Bindon?"

  The husband and the father sighed.

  "If you like to put it that way."

  "I understand that in my drawing-room at present there are eleven."

  Mr. Bindon placed his silk hat on a chair.

  He began again to mop his brow. "That's all, is it? Then there's somemore of 'em about. I suppose you couldn't tell me which of 'em isthere?"

  "I'm afraid not. I have not myself been introduced to the whole ofMrs. Bindon--only to two of her. And in the case of that two I havenot been honoured with a formal introduction. But if you like I willring the bell, and the servant shall make inquiries."

  "Not for worlds, Mr. 'arland, not for worlds! I wouldn't ave 'em knowthat I was 'ere not for a thousand dollars. Mr. 'arland, you look upona man who's in a remarkable situation."

  "I can easily believe, Mr. Bindon, that I look upon a man who, uponmore than one occasion, has been in a remarkable situation."

  "It's easy to laugh, Mr. 'arland, but circumstances is stronger thanus. Do you remember when I left Duddenham?"

  "For the benefit of your health, was it not?"

  "Just--just so. For the benefit of my 'ealth. By the way, I suppose Iain't running no risk in coming back?"

  "You should be a better judge than I."

  "Some--someone had been knocking a gamekeeper on the 'ead, but I'llswear it wasn't me. I was very much misjudged in them days, Mr.'arland. 'Owsomever, I suppose all that is forgotten years ago, andwhen I left Duddenham, Mr. 'arland, I went to America, and then Ifound myself in the City of the Saints."

  "The City of the Saints?"

  "In Salt Lake City, Mr. 'arland. I got on in my modest way; Icertainly got on. But I soon saw that there was one way of getting onwhich was better than any other."

  "And that was?"

  "Marrying. Not as you understand it over here, marrying one youngwoman and getting done with it; but marrying in the wholesale line. Inthem days no man came to much in Salt Lake City who 'adn't got atleast a dozen wives. I always 'ad 'ad an eye for a female. I'd got noobjection to a dozen, nor yet a score. So I looked about to see 'ow Icould get 'em."

  Mr. Bindon coughed modestly behind his handkerchief. He took a chair.He continued to tell his tale with the aid of his fingers.

  "First of all I look
ed at 'ome. There was Jane Cooper; I knew she wasin a little trouble; I asked 'er to come. There was Louisa Brown; shewas in a little trouble too, so I asked 'er. Then there was SusanBaxter over at Basingthorpe. I always 'ad been sweet on Susan; I asked'er too. There was one or two other gals about the countryside forwhom I'd 'ad a liking, so I asked 'em all."

  "Do you mean to tell me, Mr. Bindon, that all these young women cameto you, each knowing that the other one was coming?"

  "Well--not exactly. They didn't know that they all was coming tillthey all was there."

  "And then?"

  "Well, there was little differences just at first. But they settleddown; they settled down. They 'ad a way in Salt Lake City, in themdays, of getting the women to settle down. Well, Mr. 'arland, I goton! I got on! I got wives and children, and then more wives and morechildren. Some of the wives was widdies, and they brought children oftheir own. So we grew and multiplied, and all went well--tillpersecution came."

  "Persecution?"

  "You know, Mr. 'arland, we always 'ad 'ad enemies--the Saints! Theywas against the Peculiar Institootion."

  "Wholesale marrying?"

  Mr. Bindon only sighed.

  "By degrees things got warm for us, especially for me. I was aprominent member of the Church, and they went for me special becausethey said I had so many wives."

  "May I ask, Mr. Bindon, how many wives you had?"

  "That's more than I can say, Mr. 'arland, more than I can say. It's alittle complicated. There's some you're married to, and some you'resealed to, and some you're on the point of being sealed to, and thereyou are. When I first went out, marrying was the surest way of gettingon. But, by degrees, marrying didn't pay. There was a talk of bigamy.There was threats of bringing me before the Gentile courts."

  Mr. Bindon paused. He drew his silk handkerchief two or three timesacross his brow. Again he sighed.

  "Ah, Mr. 'arland, there 'adn't never been in my 'ousehold that perfectpeace there ought to have been. There was complications. It's a longstory, and it's no use going into it now, but there they was. I kep''em under--with great care, I kep' 'em under until persecution came.Then keep 'em under I could not, try 'ow I might. There was, Mr.'arland, I tell you plainly, there was ructions. I've been struck, Mr.'arland, struck! by my own wives. They knocked me down one day, someon 'em, and stamped on me. It ain't all beer and skittles, marriedlife, especially when you don't know 'ow many wives you 'as, and mostof 'em 'as tempers."

  Again Mr. Bindon paused to wipe his brow. It needed it. As hecontinued to unfold his narrative he was in a constant state ofperspiration.

  "What with Gentile persecution, and what with family ructions, I gotdesprit. Them byes and gals was at the bottom of the shindies, so Imade up my mind to ship 'em off, and I ships 'em."

  "Without their mothers' knowledge?"

  "There was bound to be little deceptions, Mr. 'arland, there was boundto be--or I couldn't 'ave lived. I daresay I should have managed"--Mr.Bindon sighed--"if it 'adn't been for another little marriage what Imade."

  "Another!"

  "It was this way, Mr. 'arland. My partner, he died, J. B. G. Dixon. Heleft three wives. These 'ere three wives, they wanted to withdraw hiscapital. I couldn't stand that, anyhow. So I married 'em, just to give'em satisfaction. Three more or less didn't seem to make no odds. So Itook 'em for a little wedding trip. My managing clerk--'e was aregular villain--I knows it now, but I didn't then. 'E 'ad a eye onDixon's wives 'imself, 'e 'ad. So when I married 'em 'e thought 'e'dtake it out of me. That very day I married 'em I was going to ship offan assorted lot of sons to your academy. That there villain of a clerk'e pretended 'e'd misunderstood my instructions. 'E went and shippedoff them eight gals of J. B. G. Dixon's, instead of my assorted lot ofsons. My crikey! when them wives of Dixon's found it out, wasn't therea shindy! They made out it was a regular plot of mine to rob 'em oftheir gals. I couldn't stand it, I tell you straight. So I've comeover 'ere to fetch 'em back again--nothing else would suit them womenbut that I should. If you'll 'and 'em over, Mr. 'arland, I'll pay youwhat is doo, and I'll take 'em away with me round by the back if youdon't mind."

  "About the ladies in the drawing-room, Mr. Bindon?"

  "There's been a little family difference, Mr. 'arland. When they 'eardthat I'd taken on with Dixon's wives they didn't seem to like it, someof 'em. They'd found out where their byes 'ad gone to, or they thoughtthey 'ad, so they came over 'ere to look for 'em--mind you, withoutsaying a word to their 'usband, which was me. They came by onesteamer, I came by another, and if they was to know that I was 'erethey'd want to take my life, some of 'em--I give you my word theywould."

  "Give me the key of the door."

  "Mr. 'arland."

  "I wish to give instructions for the Misses Dixon to be sent to thestudy."

  "That's all? No games! It's serious, you know."

  "Don't be absurd, sir. Give me the key."

  "Mr. 'arland!"

  Mr. Bindon yielded the key. His demeanour betokened agitation. Hestood trembling as Mr. Harland unlocked the door. When theschoolmaster threw it open he gave a positive start. Mr. Harlandstepped into the passage.

  "Sarah!" He called for the housemaid in a tone of voice which musthave been audible at some considerable distance.

  "Not so loud, Mr. 'arland! You don't know what ears them women's got."

  Mr. Harland rather raised his voice than otherwise. "Tell yourmistress that Mr. Bindon's here. You understand--Mr. Bindon."

  "Mr. 'arland!"

  "And send the Misses Dixon into the study."

  "You've done it, Mr. 'arland!"

  "Done what, sir?"

  "They've 'eard you--I'll bet my boots they 'ave."

  Mr. Harland turned again and shouted, "Tell your mistress at once thatMr. Bindon's here!"

  "They're coming!"

  "How dare you, sir, try to shut the door in my face!"

  "They're coming, Mr. 'arland! They'll murder me! You've spilt thecart!"

  Mr. Bindon's agitation was extreme. There was a rush of feet along thepassage, a sound of many skirts. A whirlwind of excited women dashedthrough the study door.

  "Where's Mr. Bindon?" cried Louisa Brown--that was.

  "I see him! He's underneath the table!"

  "Fetch him out!" exclaimed the thick-set woman. They fetched him.

  IV.

  The procession left Mulberry House in the following order: the firstfly contained all that was left of Mr. Bindon. The seats were occupiedby four ladies--excited ladies. Mr. Bindon--all, we repeat, that wasleft of him--stood up between the four. He had not much standing room.

  Around the first fly circled a crowd of boys. The crowd consisted oftwelve--twelve sons! They hurrahed and shouted, they jumped and ran.Their proceedings gave to the procession an air of triumph. Eightyoung ladies walked beside the fly, the driver of which had receivedinstructions not to proceed above a walking pace. These young ladieswept.

  The second fly contained seven ladies, five inside and two upon thebox. The language of these ladies was both fluent and fervid. Theybeguiled the tedium of the way by making personal remarks which musthave been distinctly audible to at least one person in the fly infront. This person was kept in a perpendicular position by the pointsof four umbrellas.

  "I hope," observed Mrs. Harland, when the procession had started,"that they won't murder him."

  "I don't think you need be afraid of that, my love. They will merelyescort him back, in the bosom of his family, to the City of theSaints."

  Mr. Harland examined a cheque, which was written in a trembling hand,and the ink on which was scarcely dry. And the procession passed fromsight.