Hector's Inheritance, Or, the Boys of Smith Institute. Alger Horatio Jr.

who am I, then?”

      “The bully of the school, I should suppose, from your style of behavior.”

      “Do you hear that, boys?” demanded Jim, in a theatrical tone, turning to the other boys.

      There was a little murmur in response, but whether of approval or reprobation, it was not easy to judge.

      “That boy calls me a bully! He actually has the audacity to insult me! What do you say to that?”

      The boys looked uneasy. Possibly, in their secret hearts, they admired the audacity that Jim complained of; but, seeing the difference between the two boys in size and apparent strength, it did not seem to them prudent to espouse the side of Hector.

      “Don’t you think I ought to teach him a lesson?”

      “Yes!” cried several of the smaller boys, who stood in awe of the bully.

      Hector smiled slightly, but did not seem in the least intimidated.

      “Jim,” said Wilkins, “the boy’s guardian is inside with your uncle.”

      This was meant as a warning, and received as such. A boy’s guardian is presumed to be his friend, and it would not be exactly prudent, while the guardian was closeted with the principal, to make an assault upon the pupil.

      “Very well,” said Jim; “we’ll postpone Roscoe’s case. This afternoon will do as well. Come, boys, let us go on with the game.”

      “What made you speak to Jim in that way?” expostulated Wilkins. “I’m afraid you’ve got into hot water.”

      “Didn’t I tell the truth about him?”

      “Yes,” answered Wilkins, cautiously; “but you’ve made an enemy of him.”

      “I was sure to do that, sooner or later,” said Hector, unconcernedly. “It might as well be now as any time.”

      “Do you know what he’ll do this afternoon?”

      “What will he do?”

      “He’ll give you a thrashing.”

      “Without asking my permission?” asked Hector, smiling.

      “You’re a queer boy! Of course, he won’t trouble himself about that. You don’t seem to mind it,” he continued, eying Hector curiously.

      “Oh, no.”

      “Perhaps you think Jim can’t hurt. I know better than that.”

      “Did he ever thrash you, then?”

      “Half a dozen times.”

      “Why didn’t you tell his uncle?”

      “It would be no use. Jim would tell his story, and old Sock would believe him. But here’s Mr. Crabb, the usher, the man I was to introduce you to.”

      Hector looked up, and saw advancing a young man, dressed in rusty black, with a meek and long-suffering expression, as one who was used to being browbeaten. He was very shortsighted, and wore eyeglasses.

      CHAPTER XIII. IN THE SCHOOLROOM

      “Mr. Crabb,” said Wilkins, “this is the new scholar, Roscoe. Mr. Smith asked me to bring him to you.”

      “Ah, indeed!” said Crabb, adjusting his glasses, which seemed to sit uneasily on his nose. “I hope you are well, Roscoe?”

      “Thank you, sir; my health is good.”

      “The schoolbell will ring directly. Perhaps you had better come into the schoolroom and select a desk.”

      “Very well, sir.”

      “Are you a classical scholar, Roscoe?”

      “Yes, sir.”

      “And how far may you have gone now?” queried Crabb.

      “I was reading the fifth book of Virgil when I left off study.”

      “Really, you are quite a scholar. I suppose you don’t know any Greek?”

      “I was in the second book of the Anabasis.”

      “You will go into the first class, then. I hope you will become one of the ornaments of the institute.”

      “Thank you. Is the first class under Mr. Smith?”

      “No; I teach the first class,” said Crabb, with a modest cough.

      “I thought the principal usually took the first class himself?”

      “Mr. Smith comes into the room occasionally and supervises, but he has too much business on hand to teach regularly himself.”

      “Is Mr. Smith a good scholar?” asked Hector.

      “Ahem!” answered Mr. Crabb, evidently embarrassed; “I presume so. You should not ask Ahem! irrelevant questions.”

      In fact, Mr. Crabb had serious doubts as to the fact assumed. He knew that whenever a pupil went to the principal to ask a question in Latin or Greek, he was always referred to Crabb himself, or some other teacher. This, to be sure, proved nothing, but in an unguarded moment, Mr. Smith had ventured to answer a question himself, and his answer was ludicrously incorrect.

      The schoolroom was a moderate-sized, dreary-looking room, with another smaller room opening out of it, which was used as a separate recitation room.

      “Here is a vacant desk,” said Mr. Crabb, pointing out one centrally situated.

      “I think that will do. Who sits at the next desk?”

      “Mr. Smith’s nephew.”

      “Oh, that big bully I saw on the playground?”

      “Hush!” said Crabb, apprehensively. “Mr. Smith would not like to have you speak so of his nephew.”

      “So, Mr. Crabb is afraid of the cad,” soliloquized Hector. “I suppose I may think what I please about him,” he added, smiling pleasantly.

      “Ye-es, of course; but, Master Roscoe, let me advise you to be prudent.”

      “Is he in your class?”

      “Yes.”

      “Is he much of a scholar?”

      “I don’t think he cares much for Latin and Greek,” answered Mr. Crabb. “But I must ring the bell. I see that it wants but five minutes of nine.”

      “About my desk?”

      “Here is another vacant desk, but it is not as well located.”

      “Never mind. I will take it. I shall probably have a better neighbor.”

      The bell was rung. Another teacher appeared, an elderly man, who looked as if all his vitality had been expended on his thirty years of teaching. He, too, was shabbily dressed—his coat being shiny and napless, and his vest lacking two out of the five original buttons.

      “I guess Smith doesn’t pay very high salaries,” thought Hector. “Poor fellows. His teachers look decidedly seedy.”

      The boys began to pour in, not only those on the playground, but as many more who lived in the village, and were merely day scholars. Jim Smith stalked in with an independent manner and dropped into his seat carelessly. He looked around him patronizingly. He felt that he was master of the situation. Both ushers and all the pupils stood in fear of him, as he well knew. Only to his uncle did he look up as his superior, and he took care to be on good terms with him, as it was essential to the maintenance of his personal authority.

      Last of all, Mr. Smith, the learned principal, walked into the schoolroom with the air of a commanding general, followed by Allan Roscoe, who he had invited to see the school in operation.

      Socrates Smith stood upright behind his desk, and waved his hand majestically.

      “My young friends,” he said; “this is a marked day. We have with us a new boy, who is henceforth to be one of us, to be a member of our happy family, to share in the estimable