Mr. Harland's first pupil from America made his appearance at Mulberry
House School under rather peculiar circumstances. Mr. Harland received
one morning this tersely-worded note:--
"219, Twentieth Street, New York.
"Sir,--I have the honour to inform you that I am shipping my son, John
F. Ernest, to your academy. He will arrive per s.s. _Germanic_. I have
decided to educate him in England. Please acknowledge enclosed bank
draft, value two hundred and fifty dollars ($250), in payment of six
months' fees. Any sum in excess, to the amount of one hundred dollars
($100), will be paid, on demand, by my agents, Messrs. Rödenheim, of
London.
"Yours faithfully,
"J. Bindon.
"P.S.--John F. Ernest to stay the holidays."
Mr. Harland received this communication by the morning post, and on
the afternoon of the same day there appeared at Mulberry House the
John F. Ernest thus alluded to. He was a slender, fair-haired boy,
about twelve or thirteen years of age. He was self-possessed enough
for thirty. He had come quite alone, he explained to the schoolmaster
and the schoolmaster's wife. Apparently he, a tender child just in his
teens, thought no more of travelling from America to England than the
lady thought of travelling from her own village to the next. It is
generally understood that at least the elementary education to be
obtained in the United States is not to be despised. When asked why
his father had sent him to England to get what he would have got
equally well at home:
"I rather guess," replied John F. Ernest, "that my pa, he was raised
at Duddenham."
Mulberry House School was situated on the outskirts of the delightful
village of Duddenham. Mr. and Mrs. Harland glanced at one another. It
almost seemed that it was as they feared. A J. Bindon, otherwise
"Jolly Jack," had been known at Duddenham, not wisely, nor in any way
pleasantly, but far too well. Although he had removed himself, for
the good of Duddenham, some fourteen or fifteen years before, his
memory--which had a strong savour--lingered still. However, Mr. and
Mrs. Harland allowed no hint to escape them that that J. Bindon might
be in any way connected with the father of John F. Ernest.
The term passed away. During the holidays the Harlands went to enjoy
the ozone-laden breezes at Bielsham-by-the-Sea. While they were
staying there Mr. Harland received a second letter from America, a
communication which was, in some respects, a colourable imitation of
the first.
"219, Twentieth Street, New York.
"Sir,--I have the honour to inform you that I am shipping my son, John
F. Stanley, to your academy. He will arrive per s.s. _Aurania_. I have
decided to educate him in England. Please acknowledge enclosed bank
draft for two hundred and fifty dollars ($250) in payment of six
months' fees. Any sum in excess, to the amount of one hundred dollars
($100), will be paid, on demand, by my agents, Messrs. Rödenheim, of
London.
"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.
Rödenheim."
"Mr. Bindon," observed Mr. Harland when he had finished reading this
epistle, "appears to be rather a curious man."
"What is the matter?" inquired his wife. "Is he going to withdraw that
son of his?"
"Not exactly. He has 'shipped'--the word is his own--two more. The
second, who is 'shipped' in a postscript, is, apparently, a sort of
afterthought."
When the lady and gentleman returned to Mulberry House the new-comers
had arrived. The three Masters Bindon were interviewed together. One
thing about them was noticeable--that they were all about the same
age.
"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 both
were 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 into
that 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 to
fraternity was thus denied, "till we get outside. I'll rub you down
with a rail."
"I hope," said Mrs. Harland, when the Masters Bindon had withdrawn, "I
do hope, Andrew, that there is nothing wrong."
"Pooh!" replied her husband. But when he was alone he rubbed his chin
and murmured _sotto voce_, "It strikes me that there's not much
difference between J. Bindon and 'Jolly Jack.'"
He thought that there might be even less than he had imagined when one
day, before the term was half-way through, he received a cablegram
from New York:
"Son coming _Batavia_, Forgot to write. Draw Rödenheim. BINDON."
The son came. He proved to be John G. William. He, too, had just
turned twelve. He did not seem pleased to see his brothers. Nor, to
tell the truth, did they appear overjoyed at sight of him. He was a
lad with a round bullet-shaped head, and was extraordinarily broad
across the shoulders. He had not been twenty-four hours in the house
before he had fought and thrashed the three other Masters Bindon. It
was not surprising, when it was seen how he had damaged them, that his
relatives, knowing his tastes and his capacity, had not welcomed him
with 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 lost
it.
"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 Bindon
whose eye looked queer. "How, my boy, did you manage to get that black
eye?"
"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 dreadfully
disfigured 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 as
well as the damaged state of his "optics" would permit. He uttered the
ubiquitous name, "John G. William." Then he added, "He's been fighting
us. 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 surprised
but 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 conduct
on the part of a father was scarcely in accordance with the traditions
of Mulberry House. But the behaviour of the Masters Bindon one towards
the other, not only now and then but as an invariable rule, was in
itself a curiosity.
"Those Bindons," Mr. Harland told himself, some short time after the
arrival of the latest comer, "are certainly the most remarkable boys I
ever remember to have met, especially John G. William."
But Mr. Harland had not become acquainted with all the peculiarities
of 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 his
pupils, a boy who was to him a stranger. On that occasion Mr. Harland
happened to be a couple of minutes late. The meal had been begun
before he entered the room. As he came in, seated at the other side of
the table, facing him, placidly eating his bread and butter, was this
boy. He was a very thin boy, with high projecting cheek-bones and
light 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 to
be broken. Altogether there was something about him which suggested
that he had quite recently been engaged in a discussion of an animated
character.
"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 stars
and 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 pupils
in the playground."
"I rather reckoned to find the others here," drawled the short-sighted
youth, as, very carefully, he replaced the broken spectacles upon his
nose. "We didn't agree. I guess they're on the road."
"Is this"--Mr. Harland addressed his question to one of the other
Masters Bindon--"is this your brother?"
"I disown him," answered Rufus, on whom the principal's glance
happened 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 adjusting
his broken spectacles, "that I appreciate the value of money. I have
walked from Liverpool to save the charges."
"You have walked from Liverpool?"
"I understand it is a distance in the neighbourhood of one hundred and
fifty miles. I have worn out a pair of boots. Still, I reckon I have
saved better than half a dollar, net."
Mr. Harland took John P. Arthur up into his study. There the young
gentleman explained.
"There was another row, so father decided to ship off three more of
us. I rather think he must have forgotten to write, owing to the
pressure of his business."
"Does your father keep an orphanage?"