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

he spoke he turned towards Mr. Roscoe, who nodded an acknowledgment.

      “I may say to Mr. Roscoe that I am proud of my pupils, and the progress they have made under my charge. (The principal quietly ignored the two ushers who did all the teaching.) When these boys have reached a high position in the world, it will be my proudest boast that they were prepared for the duties of life at Smith Institute. Compared with this proud satisfaction, the few paltry dollars I exact as my honorarium are nothing—absolutely nothing.”

      Socrates looked virtuous and disinterested as he gave utterance to this sentiment.

      “And now, boys, you will commence your daily exercises, under the direction of my learned associates, Mr. Crabb and Mr. Jones.”

      Mr. Crabb looked feebly complacent at this compliment, though he knew it was only because a visitor was present. In private, Socrates was rather apt to speak slightingly of his attainments.

      “While I am absent with my distinguished friend, Mr. Roscoe, I expect you to pursue your studies diligently, and preserve the most perfect order.”

      With these words, the stately figure of Socrates passed through the door, followed by Mr. Roscoe.

      “A pleasant sight, Mr. Roscoe,” said the principal; “this company of ambitious, aspiring students, all pressing forward eagerly in pursuit of learning?”

      “Quite true, sir,” answered Allan Roscoe.

      “I wish you could stay with us for a whole day, to inspect at your leisure the workings of our educational system.”

      “Thank you, Mr. Smith,” answered Mr. Roscoe, with an inward shudder; “but I have important engagements that call me away immediately.”

      “Then we must reluctantly take leave of you. I hope you will feel easy about your nephew—”

      “My ward,” corrected Allan Roscoe.

      “I beg your pardon—I should have remembered—your ward.”

      “I leave him, with confidence, in your hands, my dear sir.”

      So Allan Roscoe took his leave.

      Let us look in upon the aspiring and ambitious scholars, after Mr. Smith left them in charge of the ushers.

      Jim Smith signalized his devotion to study by producing an apple core, and throwing it with such skillful aim that it struck Mr. Crabb in the back of the head.

      The usher turned quickly, his face flushed with wild indignation.

      “Who threw that missile?” he asked, in a vexed tone.

      Of course no one answered.

      “I hope no personal disrespect was intended,” continued the usher.

      Again no answer.

      “Does anyone know who threw it?” asked Mr. Crabb.

      “I think it was the new scholar,” said Jim Smith, with a malicious look at Hector.

      “Master Roscoe,” said Mr. Crabb, with a pained look, “I hope you have not started so discreditably in your school life.”

      “No, sir,” answered Hector; “I hope I am not so ungentlemanly. I don’t like to be an informer, but I saw Smith himself throw it at you. As he has chosen to lay it to me, I have no hesitation in exposing him.”

      Jim Smith’s face flushed with anger.

      “I’ll get even with you, you young muff!” he said.

      “Whenever you please!” said Hector, disdainfully.

      “Really, young gentlemen, these proceedings are very irregular!” said Mr. Crabb, feebly.

      With Jim Smith he did not remonstrate at all, though he had no doubt that Hector’s charge was rightly made.

      CHAPTER IX. THE CLASS IN VIRGIL

      Presently the class in Virgil was called up. To this class Hector had been assigned, though it had only advanced about half through the third book of the AEneid, while Hector was in the fifth.

      “As there is no other class in Virgil, Roscoe, you had better join the one we have. It will do you no harm to review.”

      “Very well, sir,” said Hector.

      The class consisted of five boys, including Hector. Besides Jim Smith, Wilkins, Bates and Johnson belonged to it. As twenty-five lines had been assigned for a lesson, Hector had no difficulty in preparing himself, and that in a brief time. The other boys were understood to have studied the lesson out of school.

      Bates read first, and did very fairly. Next came Jim Smith, who did not seem quite so much at home in Latin poetry as on the playground. He pronounced the Latin words in flagrant violation of all the rules of quantity, and when he came to give the English meaning, his translation was a ludicrous farrago of nonsense. Yet, poor Mr. Crabb did not dare, apparently, to characterize it as it deserved.

      “I don’t think you have quite caught the author’s meaning, Mr. Smith,” he said. By the way, Jim was the only pupil to whose name he prefixed the title “Mr.”

      “I couldn’t make anything else out of it,” muttered Jim.

      “Perhaps some other member of the class may have been more successful! Johnson, how do you read it?”

      “I don’t understand it very well, sir.”

      “Wilkins, were you more successful?”

      “No, sir.”

      “Roscoe, can you translate the passage?”

      “I think so, sir.”

      “Proceed, then.”

      Hector at once gave a clear and luminous rendering of the passage, and his version was not only correct, but was expressed in decent English. This is a point in which young classical scholars are apt to fail.

      Mr. Crabb was not in the habit of hearing such good translations, and he was surprised and gratified.

      “Very well! Very well, indeed, Roscoe,” he said, approvingly. “Mr. Smith, you may go on.”

      “He’d better go ahead and finish it,” said Smith, sulkily. “He probably got it out of a pony.”

      My young readers who are in college or classical schools, will understand that a “pony” is an English translation of a classical author.

      “He is mistaken!” said Hector, quietly. “I have never seen a translation of Virgil.”

      Mr. Smith shrugged his shoulders, and drew down the corners of his mouth, intending thereby to express his incredulity.

      “I hope no boy will use a translation,” said the usher; “it will make his work easier for the time being, but in the end it will embarrass him. Roscoe, as you have commenced, you may continue. Translate the remainder of the passage.”

      Hector did so, exhibiting equal readiness.

      The other boys took their turns, and then words were given out to parse. Here Jim Smith showed himself quite at sea; though the usher, as it was evident, selected the easiest words for him, he made a mistake in every one. Apparently he was by no means certain which of the words were nouns, and which verbs, and as to the relations which they sustained to other words in the sentence he appeared to have very little conception.

      At length the recitation was over. It had demonstrated one thing, that in Latin scholarship Hector was far more accurate and proficient than any of his classmates, while Jim Smith stood far below all the rest.

      “What in the world can the teacher be thinking of, to keep such an ignoramus in the class?” thought Hector. “He doesn’t know enough to join a class in the Latin Reader.”

      The fact was, that Jim Smith was unwilling to give up his place as a member of the highest class in Latin, because he knew it would detract from his rank in the school. Mr. Crabb, to whom every recitation was a torture, had one day ventured to suggest that it would be better to drop into the