"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 pa.s.sage. "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 m.u.f.fled 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 pa.s.sed 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 p.r.o.nounce 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 circ.u.mstances 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?"