The wish was father to the thought. Mr. Bindon shipped them. Not a fortnight after that discussion Mr. Harland had this letter:
"219, Twentieth Street, New York.
"Sir,--I am shipping, per s.s. City of Thay, an assorted lot of five sons. My final selection not being yet made I am unable to advise you as to their names. For fees please draw, on their arrival, on Messrs. Rödenheim.
"Yours faithfully,
"J. Bindon.
"P.S.--Probably the lot may consist of seven."
"Maria," said Mr. Harland, when he handed this epistle to his wife, "Mr. Bindon is a truly remarkable man."
The lady read the letter.
"Andrew, what does he mean? 'An assorted lot of five sons. Probably the lot may consist of seven.' I take my stand, Andrew, and I insist upon an explanation. I will not have this man shooting his children--or what he calls his children--into my house as though they were coals. Seven sons all of an age were hard to swallow, but at fourteen I draw the line."
"You're not a philosopher, Maria. At the rate of a hundred pounds a head I shouldn't draw the line at forty."