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."