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 of
ladies, who, judging from their man[oe]uvres, appeared to be spying
out the land. As he came up one of them hailed him. A tall, angular
lady, who wore spectacles and low shoes and skirts which did not reach
to her ankles, and who spoke in a loud, shrill, rasping voice, which
might have been audible on the other side the meadow.
"Say, stranger, can you hitch us on to Mulberry House Academy, where
they 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 is
your 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 depôt. The driver said
his carriage wouldn't hold no more than seven. We didn't see the use
of 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 to
Mulberry House, a lady on either side of him, "that your sons all
enjoy good health."
"Lord save the man!" cried the lady with the glasses, "you don't
suppose all them byes is mine. I've one of 'em, and he's enough--the
limb! 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 would
in any way cause annoyance to a lady."
When they reached Mulberry House a couple of flys were standing at the
front door.
"I guess," observed the angular lady, "there's more of them come up
than seven."
As Mr. Harland and his companions ascended the steps two gentlemen
came rushing down them. They were the drivers of the flys. Unless
circumstances belied them they had been whiling away the interval of
waiting by listening at the drawing-room door. In the hall were the
cook, housemaid, and the small girl who acted as general help. Their
presence in that particular spot required explanation. Their
countenances, when they perceived their master, showed that it did.
"What is the meaning of this?" inquired Mr. Harland. "Where's your
mistress?"
"If you please, sir, she's in the drawing-room."
"Is she engaged?"
"There are----" The girl choked back a giggle. "There are some ladies
with 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 as
she was about to seek refuge with her colleagues in flight, "show
these ladies into the drawing-room, and tell your mistress that I wish
to 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 I
should 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's
another."
"Not the Louisa Brown?"
"And there are two or three more whose faces I know quite well, but I
can'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, and
some of them have found their mothers and some of them haven't. And
there's Jane Cooper come all this way to see her son, and it appears
he's been sent by mistake to Canada. And there's Louisa Brown been
knocking those three poor stammering creatures' heads together, and
she says that you've been neglecting them shamefully because you
haven't cured their stutter. And there's a woman been thrashing John
G. 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 feel
quite ill. That Mr. Bindon must be an awful man!"
"He appears to be, in his way, a character. A character, so far as
Duddenham 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 women
speak you would think that there were hundreds, and not one of them
seems in the least ashamed. There are some of them in Canada looking
for their children--for all I know eleven more are coming here.
Andrew!" The lady rose. She laid her hand, with a solemn gesture, upon
her husband's arm. "I will not have those women and their children in
my house. I will not have a Bindon, now that I know all, under my
roof, 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 may
feel that they are being slighted."
"No half measures! You will turn them out of my house, the mothers and
their 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 upstairs
and 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, "to
interview that very compound noun--the wife of Mr. Bindon." He went
out into the passage. "They appear to be employing the shining hour.
Unless I am mistaken that is John G. William's howl, and _that_ is
John B. David's. The ladies are either thrashing the young gentlemen
upon their own account, or else they are setting them on, in what is
possibly Salt Lake City style, to thrash each other." Then arose a
hubbub of women's voices. "What a peaceful household Jolly Jack's must
be." He stood and listened. The din grew greater. "They're at it. Are
they scratching each other's eyes out, or are they merely giving their
lungs free play? Perhaps on the whole I had better go and see."
He had hardly taken two steps in the direction of the drawing-room
when someone twitched his coat-sleeve from behind.
"Mr. 'arland! Mr. 'arland!"
There came the twitch at his sleeve again. Someone addressed him in a
very 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 sudden
movement almost knocked him down, stood a man. He had his finger
pressed against his lips. "Ssh! I came round by the back; I knew that
they was in the front."
He spoke in a low and tremulous whisper. Beads of perspiration stood
on his face. Agitation was on every line. Mr. Harland stared at him,
astonished. He had approached from behind so noiselessly that the
schoolmaster 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 direction
of the study which he had just now quitted. Mr. Harland allowed
himself to be led. At the study door the stranger paused. He jerked
his thumb in the direction of the drawing-room. His voice dropped to a
whisper: "How many of 'em are there?"
"How many are there, sir, of what?"
Mr. Harland put the counter-question in his ordinary tones. This
seemed 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 key
from the lock.
"Softly! softly! I don't mean no 'arm. I only want to be a little
private. Don't you know me, Mr. 'arland?"
"Know you?" The schoolmaster looked the stranger up and down. He was a
man of medium height, of a fleshy habit. His face, which was fat and
broad, and pasty hued, suggested a curious mixture of shrewdness and
of folly. His eyes were small and bright. He wore carefully-trimmed
mutton-chop whiskers, adjuncts which lent him an air of flashy
imbecility. When he removed his glossy silk hat, which he did to
enable him to mop his brow with his pink silk pocket-handkerchief, it
was seen that he was almost bald, and that what little hair he had was
straw-coloured, parted in the middle, and curled close to his head. He
was dressed from head to foot in shiny black broadcloth. His hands
were large and fat, and the fingers were loaded with rings. A thick
gold chain passed from pocket to pocket of his waistcoat, and in his
light-blue necktie was an enormous diamond pin.
"Know you?" repeated Mr. Harland, continuing his examination of the
man. "I've seen you somewhere before, and yet"--then came a sudden
burst of recollection. "Why, you're Jolly Jack!" The stranger
simpered. He carefully wiped the lining of his hat.
"Ah, Mr. 'arland, I used to be. But that's a many years ago. There's
not much jollity about me now. I'm just J. Bindon."
"Oh, you're just J. Bindon. The Mr. Bindon, I presume, with whose
correspondence 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 are
aware, 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 me
something, I'd sooner you was to call me Jack."
"Is your name, Mr. Bindon, not one of which you have reason to be
proud?"
"Don't you, Mr. 'arland, don't you now." He put a question from behind
the 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 some
more of 'em about. I suppose you couldn't tell me which of 'em is
there?"
"I'm afraid not. I have not myself been introduced to the whole of
Mrs. Bindon--only to two of her. And in the case of that two I have
not been honoured with a formal introduction. But if you like I will
ring the bell, and the servant shall make inquiries."
"Not for worlds, Mr. 'arland, not for worlds! I wouldn't ave 'em know
that I was 'ere not for a thousand dollars. Mr. 'arland, you look upon
a man who's in a remarkable situation."
"I can easily believe, Mr. Bindon, that I look upon a man who, upon
more than one occasion, has been in a remarkable situation."
"It's easy to laugh, Mr. 'arland, but circumstances is stronger than
us. 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 I
ain'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'll
swear it wasn't me. I was very much misjudged in them days, Mr.
'arland. 'Owsomever, I suppose all that is forgotten years ago, and
when I left Duddenham, Mr. 'arland, I went to America, and then I
found 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; I
certainly got on. But I soon saw that there was one way of getting on
which was better than any other."
"And that was?"
"Marrying. Not as you understand it over here, marrying one young
woman and getting done with it; but marrying in the wholesale line. In
them days no man came to much in Salt Lake City who 'adn't got at
least a dozen wives. I always 'ad 'ad an eye for a female. I'd got no
objection to a dozen, nor yet a score. So I looked about to see 'ow I
could 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 looked at 'ome. There was Jane Cooper; I knew she was
in a little trouble; I asked 'er to come. There was Louisa Brown; she
was in a little trouble too, so I asked 'er. Then there was Susan
Baxter over at Basingthorpe. I always 'ad been sweet on Susan; I asked
'er too. There was one or two other gals about the countryside for
whom I'd 'ad a liking, so I asked 'em all."
"Do you mean to tell me, Mr. Bindon, that all these young women came
to you, each knowing that the other one was coming?"
"Well--not exactly. They didn't know that they all was coming till
they all was there."
"And then?"
"Well, there was little differences just at first. But they settled
down; they settled down. They 'ad a way in Salt Lake City, in them
days, of getting the women to settle down. Well, Mr. 'arland, I got
on! I got on! I got wives and children, and then more wives and more
children. Some of the wives was widdies, and they brought children of
their own. So we grew and multiplied, and all went well--till
persecution came."
"Persecution?"
"You know, Mr. 'arland, we always 'ad 'ad enemies--the Saints! They
was against the Peculiar Institootion."
"Wholesale marrying?"
Mr. Bindon only sighed.
"By degrees things got warm for us, especially for me. I was a
prominent member of the Church, and they went for me special because
they 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 a
little complicated. There's some you're married to, and some you're
sealed to, and some you're on the point of being sealed to, and there
you are. When I first went out, marrying was the surest way of getting
on. 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 times
across his brow. Again he sighed.
"Ah, Mr. 'arland, there 'adn't never been in my 'ousehold that perfect
peace there ought to have been. There was complications. It's a long
story, 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, some
on 'em, and stamped on me. It ain't all beer and skittles, married
life, especially when you don't know 'ow many wives you 'as, and most
of 'em 'as tempers."
Again Mr. Bindon paused to wipe his brow. It needed it. As he
continued to unfold his narrative he was in a constant state of
perspiration.
"What with Gentile persecution, and what with family ructions, I got
desprit. Them byes and gals was at the bottom of the shindies, so I
made 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 bound
to 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 I
made."
"Another!"
"It was this way, Mr. 'arland. My partner, he died, J. B. G. Dixon. He
left three wives. These 'ere three wives, they wanted to withdraw his
capital. 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 I
took 'em for a little wedding trip. My managing clerk--'e was a
regular villain--I knows it now, but I didn't then. 'E 'ad a eye on
Dixon's wives 'imself, 'e 'ad. So when I married 'em 'e thought 'e'd
take it out of me. That very day I married 'em I was going to ship off
an assorted lot of sons to your academy. That there villain of a clerk
'e pretended 'e'd misunderstood my instructions. 'E went and shipped
off them eight gals of J. B. G. Dixon's, instead of my assorted lot of
sons. My crikey! when them wives of Dixon's found it out, wasn't there
a shindy! They made out it was a regular plot of mine to rob 'em of
their gals. I couldn't stand it, I tell you straight. So I've come
over 'ere to fetch 'em back again--nothing else would suit them women
but that I should. If you'll 'and 'em over, Mr. 'arland, I'll pay you
what is doo, and I'll take 'em away with me round by the back if you
don't mind."
"About the ladies in the drawing-room, Mr. Bindon?"
"There's been a little family difference, Mr. 'arland. When they 'eard
that I'd taken on with Dixon's wives they didn't seem to like it, some
of 'em. They'd found out where their byes 'ad gone to, or they thought
they 'ad, so they came over 'ere to look for 'em--mind you, without
saying a word to their 'usband, which was me. They came by one
steamer, I came by another, and if they was to know that I was 'ere
they'd want to take my life, some of 'em--I give you my word they
would."
"Give me the key of the door."
"Mr. 'arland."
"I wish to give instructions for the Misses Dixon to be sent to the
study."
"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. He
stood trembling as Mr. Harland unlocked the door. When the
schoolmaster threw it open he gave a positive start. Mr. Harland
stepped into the passage.
"Sarah!" He called for the housemaid in a tone of voice which must
have 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 your
mistress 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 that
Mr. 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 the
cart!"
Mr. Bindon's agitation was extreme. There was a rush of feet along the
passage, a sound of many skirts. A whirlwind of excited women dashed
through 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.