He actually betrayed symptoms of irritation.

"Noding of de kind--what you know of it? I have still sixty-seven bottles with which I wish to try my little experiments."

That was enough for me. Still sixty-seven bottles! And, for all I knew, or for anything I could do to prevent him, he might unstopper them, not only one by one, but all together, and at any moment. Half a dozen policemen were outside--they had gathered together under the apparent impression that in my establishment a riotous a.s.semblage was taking place. I called three or four of them into the house. I pointed to Mr. Steingard on the landing.

"Put that man outside--with his bottles!"

A painful and, I may add, an expensive scene ensued. But at last there was an end of Steingard, and of the party.

The next day I called on Nowell. He had returned to town.

"Nowell," I asked, more in sorrow than in anger, "what induced you to suppose that 'A Battlefield Up-to-Date, with Realistic Ill.u.s.trations and Experiments,' would be a suitable subject for an evening party?"

He put his feet on the table and his hands in his pockets, and he rattled his coppers--and he smiled.

"Well, you see, my dear Parker, I wasn't invited. I am aware that it was an oversight--the purest oversight. But, of course, if I had been invited I should not have recommended Steingard's lecture."

I was aware he had not been invited--perfectly aware. There had been no oversight about it. The man is not a member of our social circle.

We had never meant to invite him. But to think that merely on that account he should have played us such a trick!

It just shows what an amount of malevolence is hidden away in the depths of human nature.

At the present moment I am scarcely on speaking terms with a single one of my old friends. They all seem to think that I did it on purpose.

Mr. Harland's Pupils

I.

Mr. Harland's first pupil from America made his appearance at Mulberry House School under rather peculiar circ.u.mstances. 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. Rodenheim, 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 pa.s.sed 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. Rodenheim, 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.

Rodenheim."

"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."