Frivolities, Especially Addressed to Those Who Are Tired of Being Serious
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And the General began to collect his numerous progeny with what was, undoubtedly, a considerable show of heat. That he should have been moved to such behaviour in my house was most distressing. My wife regards the Wheelers as being among the most distinguished of her acquaintance-though an uglier lot of girls I never saw. But the General was not the only person who felt himself outraged-I wish he had been.
"Oh! – oh! – oh! Take me out of this dreadful house before I faint!"
That's what my wife's aunt, Mrs. Merridew, said before the whole assemblage-and from that particular aunt my wife has always had the most sanguine expectations. Of course, when she went on like that, my wife began at me-there are occasions on which Louisa has no sense of propriety, nor of justice either.
"This is Mr. Parker's idea of a little surprise! You can always rely on Mr. Parker doing anything to please his friends! When Mr. Parker's in sight you never need look far for a fool!"
That was the sort of remark she kept making-out loud; it was most annoying. I endeavoured to calm her, and the General, and Mrs. Merridew, and others-for I was pained to see that a general feeling of unrest was making itself unpleasantly obvious. While I was striving, as it were, to spread oil upon the troubled waters, the voice of the miscreant Steingard was heard to observe:
"I will now remove de stopper from de dird bottle. If de ladies and gentlemen will keep deir seats dey will be de better able to abbreciate de success of dis exberiment."
In a moment the room was filled with a perfume-I use the word advisedly! – of a kind which no pen could adequately describe. Never did I come across anything of the sort before-it was astounding. Most of the people had been standing up; there and then they most of them sat down again-they had to. I noticed the General drop back on to his chair with a kind of gasp. Folks looked at each other with startled faces; they looked at me; they looked at the lecturer-that bottle fiend; they looked about them dumbly, as if in search of something-speech was impossible while that bottle remained unstoppered. Their countenances were transfigured-it is really no exaggeration to say that they turned most of the colours of the rainbow. Some crammed their handkerchiefs into their mouths; some pinched their nostrils between their fingers; some clapped their hands to the pits of their stomachs. Nothing they could do was the slightest protection against the mephitic vapours which issued from that unstoppered bottle. It was a moving spectacle to see those people all bent double-especially if you regarded it from the point of view of the host, and remembered that you had invited them to an evening party.
At last-it seemed a long at last to me, but I suppose, after all, it could only have been a second or two-at last those against the door began to shuffle through it-when they were once through they never stopped till they had rushed downstairs and were out into the street. Others followed, a tottering crew, so that by degrees the room was emptied, and finally-a happy finally! – my guests, my wife, and I stood, a shivering crowd, on the windblown pavement.
At this point the demon Steingard came out on the landing and shouted to us, so that we heard him in the street.
"Did I not say de dird bottle would make you ill? Very well den-is it not true? Has it not routed you-like a flock of sheep? Just so would it rout an army. Not all de armies of all de nations would stand against dat bottle when it was unstobbered. Now, ladies and gentlemen, if you will return I will bass on to a fresh branch of my subject-or, rather, I will commence my subject brober, and I will show you dings combared to which that bottle is as noding-noding at all. You shall see if I am lying."
That frightful threat finished it; settled the affair out of hand; concluded it at once. Nothing thereafter could have persuaded my guests to stand upon the order of their going. They went at once-before the party had had a chance of starting. It was worse than a catastrophe-it was a cataclysm. I can only trust that such a disaster is unparalleled in the history of festive gatherings. I had not the heart to attempt to stay their going. I was too demoralised, both physically and mentally. The impression made upon me by that third bottle was an enduring one.
When I returned into the house the creature who was the cause of all the trouble was still standing on the landing. He appeared unconscious of the deeds which he had done.
"I am waiting. Do not de ladies and gentlemen return?"
"Mr. Steingard," I said, with as much firmness as at that moment I had it in my power to display, "come downstairs and bring your bottles with you."
He seemed at a loss to understand my meaning.
"My friend, what do you mean? My lecture is hardly begun-my lecture brober not at all."
"Begun!" I screamed. "Begun! – It's finished! – So's the party!"
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 assemblage 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 Illustrations 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 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?"
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're gone 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 got my 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 that one may get mixed, but still-your brother's name! May I ask the ages of 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 three times 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. I reckon John G. William will find him pretty tough."
While Mr. Harland had been talking to John P. Arthur he had been paying no attention to his letters. When he turned to them he found that among them there were two which threw some light upon the proceedings of the missing Masters Bindon. Here is the first:
"The Barracks, Liverpool."Sir, – At our Holiness Meeting on Tuesday-Alleluia! – there came in a new recruit. He gave his name as Thompson Symes, and said that he was seventeen. He now says that his name is John A. Francis Bindon, and that 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 in jail, but that he has been sent by his father in America to be a pupil in your school. We shall be obliged if you will inform us if you know anything of a boy named John A. Francis Bindon. We fear that his present 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 Police Court with the offence of begging tells a somewhat remarkable story. He has been remanded to the workhouse for a week to enable us to inquire into the truth of what he says.
"He is four feet seven inches in height, dark hair, pale face, and he has a deep scar upon his left cheek. Speaks with a decided American accent.
"He states that his name is John B. David Bindon, that he left New York on board the steamship Ocean Star, in company with his two brothers. The names of these two brothers he declares that he forgets, alleging that he has so many brothers that he cannot remember all their names. He says that they were coming from New York to be pupils in your school. On board ship they disagreed, and at Liverpool they parted. He does not know what became of his two brothers. He says that he himself had twenty-five dollars in his pockets in American currency. Part of this he spent upon confectionery and sweets, until he made some acquaintances in the street, who took him to what appears to have been a disreputable house. There they robbed him, not only of his money, but also of his clothes. They kept him, so he states, locked up for three days, only releasing him on his promising to appeal for alms, and on his undertaking to bring back the proceeds of his appeal. No sooner, according to his statement, did he commence to beg 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 with me at these offices. I have had much experience in these cases, and I think myself that the boy's story, strange though it seems, contains at 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 John P. Arthur's story, the lady was, not unnaturally, surprised.
"Andrew, I am sure there is something wrong about those Bindons! There will be a scandal if you don't take care! I never heard of such a thing! 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 two missing Masters Bindon appeared at Duddenham. They were given into the charge of the guard at Liverpool; the schoolmaster himself met them at the village station.
"Them boys," observed the guard, as he handed over his charges to the principal of Mulberry House, "them boys is nice ones."
Ten minutes after their appearance in the playground John G. William was having it out with John B. David.
"Andrew," called Mrs. Harland from an upper room, "those Bindons are fighting again."
"I see they are."
As a matter of fact the uproar had attracted her husband to his study window.
"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. It is perhaps as well that he should."
He was aware, from previous experience, that if he interfered in one of the family discussions it would only be renewed at the earliest opportunity. As he was wondering whether it would not be as well to let 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 principal opened it. It was a cablegram:
"Forgot to advise last shipment. Three. Draw Rödenheim. – Bindon."
"'What sort of a family can that be," inquired the schoolmaster of himself, "which is so large that the father overlooks such a trifling detail as the sending of three of his sons, all of tender years, unescorted, across the Atlantic Ocean? And when, a month after their departure, the incident does occur to his mind, he contents himself with sending nine words-and nine such words-in a telegram. I think I will go up in person to Messrs. Rödenheim, and make a few inquiries."
He made them, but he received little information in return. Messrs. Rödenheim received him with courtesy. They informed him that, up to a certain 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 such Mr. Harland could not suppose that they concerned themselves with the family affairs of their customers.
"One thing seems pretty clear," said Mr. Harland to his wife, when he returned to Mulberry House. "There appears, in the case of the prolific parent of the Bindons, to be plenty of money, and that is more than can be said in the case of the parents of all my boys. I don't see myself, Maria, why I should object to there being seven, or even seventy brothers in a family, especially if the father of the seventy 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 are thirty guineas per annum for boys of twelve, a reduction to be made for brothers. I have to make a reduction sometimes when there are no brothers. In this case there are actually seven brothers, and, instead of being called upon to make a reduction-some fathers would want you to take the seven as though they were four! – I receive one hundred pounds a year with each, besides extras."