Hector's Inheritance, Or, the Boys of Smith Institute

CHAPTER XIV. SOCRATES CALLS HECTOR TO ACCOUNT

Jim Smith, as he walked back to the institute, nursing his wrath, felt very much like a dethroned king. He was very anxious to be revenged upon Hector, but the lesson he had received made him cautious. He must get him into trouble by some means. Should he complain to his uncle? It would involve the necessity of admitting his defeat, unless he could gloss over the story in some way.

This he decided to do.

On reaching the school he sought his dormitory, and carefully wiped away the blood from his face. Then he combed his hair and arranged his dress, and sought his uncle.

Mr. Smith was at his desk, looking over his accounts, and estimating the profits of the half year, when his nephew made his appearance.

“Uncle Socrates, I’d like to speak to you.”

“Very well, James. Proceed.”

“I want to complain of the new boy who came this morning.”

Socrates Smith looked up in genuine surprise. As a general thing, his nephew brought few complaints, for he took the responsibility of punishing boys he did not like himself.

“What! Roscoe?” inquired the principal.

“Yes.”

“Is he in any mischief?”

“Mischief? I should say so! Why, he’s a regular young Turk.”

“A young Turk? I don’t think I understand you, James.”

“I mean, he’s a young ruffian.”

“What has he been doing?” asked Socrates, in surprise.

“He pitched into me a short time ago,” said Jim, in some embarrassment.

“Pitched into you! You don’t mean to say that he attacked you?”

“Yes, I do.”

“But he’s a considerably smaller boy than you, James. I am surprised that he should have dared to attack you.”

“Yes, he is small, but he’s a regular fighter.”

“I suppose you gave him a lesson?”

“Ye-es, of course.”

“So that he won’t be very likely to renew the attack.”

“Well, I don’t know about that. He’s tough and wiry, and understands boxing. I found it hard work to thrash him.”

“But you did thrash him?” said Socrates, puzzled.

“Yes.”

“Then what do you want me to do?”

“I thought you might punish him for being quarrelsome.”

“It may be a good idea. I remember now that his uncle warned me that he would need restraining.”

“Just so, uncle,” said Jim, eagerly. “His uncle was right.”

“Well, I will give him a lecture. He will find that he cannot behave as he pleases at Smith Institute,” said Socrates, pompously. “He will find that I do not tolerate any defiance of authority. I will speak of it after vespers.”

“Thank you, uncle.”

“He’ll get a raking down!” thought Jim, with gratification. “I’ll make it hot for him here, he may be sure of that.”

Half an hour after supper was read a brief evening service called vespers, and then the boys’ study hours commenced. During this time they were expected to be preparing their lessons for the next day.

The service was generally read by Socrates Smith, A. M., in person. It was one of the few official duties he performed, and he was generally very imposing in his manner on this occasion.

When the service had been read on that particular evening, the principal did not immediately give the signal for study to be commenced. Instead, he cleared his throat, saying:

“Boys, I have a few words to say to you. This morning a new boy made his appearance among us. His uncle, or perhaps I should say his guardian, attracted by the well-deserved fame of Smith Institute, came hither to enter him among my pupils. I received him cordially, and promised that he should share with you the rich, the inestimable educational advantages which our humble seminary affords. I hoped he would be an acquisition, that by his obedience and his fidelity to duty he would shed luster on our school.”

Here Socrates blew his nose sonorously, and resumed:

“But what has happened? On the very first day of his residence here he brutally assaults one of our numbers, my nephew, and displays the savage instincts of a barbarian. His uncle did well to warn me that he would need salutary restraint.”

Hector, who had been amused by the solemn and impressive remarks of Socrates, looked up in surprise. Had Allan Roscoe really traduced him in this manner, after robbing him of his inheritance, as Hector felt convinced that he had done?

“Hector Roscoe!” said Socrates, severely; “stand up, and let me hear what you have to say for yourself.”

Hector rose calmly, and faced the principal, by no means awe-stricken at the grave arraignment to which he had listened.

“I say this, Mr. Smith,” he answered, “that I did not attack your nephew till he had first attacked me. This he did without the slightest provocation, and I defended myself, as I had a right to do.”

“It’s a lie!” muttered Jim, in a tone audible to his uncle.

“My nephew’s report is of a different character. I am disposed to believe him.”

“I regret to say, sir, that he has made a false statement. I will give you an account of what actually occurred. On my return from a walk he sent a boy summoning me to his presence. As he was not a teacher, and had no more authority over me than I over him, I declined to obey, but sent word that if he wished to see me he could come where I was. I then walked down to the brook in Carver’s field. He followed me, as soon as he had received my message, and, charging me with impertinence, challenged me to a fight. Well, we had a fight; but he attacked me first.”

“I don’t know whether this account is correct or not,” said Socrates, a little nonplused by this new version of the affair.

“I am ready to accept the decision of any one of the boys,” said Hector.

“Bates,” said Socrates, who knew that this boy was an adherent of his nephew, “is this account of Roscoe’s true?”

Bates hesitated a moment. He was still afraid of Jim, but when he thought of Hector’s prowess, he concluded that he had better tell the truth.

“Yes, sir,” he answered.

Jim Smith darted an angry and menacing glance at his failing adherent.

“Ahem!” said Socrates, looking puzzled: “it is not quite so bad as I supposed. I regret, however, that you have exhibited such a quarrelsome disposition.”

“I don’t think I am quarrelsome, sir,” said Hector.

“Silence, sir! I have Mr. Allan Roscoe’s word for it.”

“It appears to me,” said Hector, undauntedly, “that your nephew is at least as quarrelsome as I am. He forced the fight upon me.”

“Probably you will not be in a hurry to attack him again,” said Socrates, under the impression that Hector had got the worst of it.

Some of the boys smiled, but Socrates did not see it.

“As you have probably received a lesson, I will not punish you as I had anticipated. I will sentence you, however, to commit to memory the first fifty lines of Virgil’s ‘AEneid.’ Mr. Crabb, will you see that Roscoe performs his penance?”

“Yes, sir,” said Crabb, faintly.

“Is your nephew also to perform a penance?” asked Hector, undaunted.

“Silence, sir! What right have you to question me on this subject?”

“Because, sir, he is more to blame than I.”

“I don’t know that. I am not at all sure that your story is correct.”

Mr. Crabb, meek as he was, was indignant at this flagrant partiality.

“Mr. Smith,” he said, “I happen to know that Roscoe’s story is strictly correct, and that your nephew made an unprovoked attack upon him.”

Hector looked grateful, and Jim Smith furious.

“Mr. Crabb,” said Socrates, angrily, “I did not ask your opinion. So far as my nephew is concerned, I will deal with him privately. Boys, you may begin your studies.”

All the boys understood that Jim was to be let off, and they thought it a shame. But Mr. Crabb took care to make Hector’s penance as light as possible.

And thus passed the first day at Smith Institute.

CHAPTER XV. THE USHER CONFIDES IN HECTOR

Mr. Crabb acted rashly in siding with Hector, and speaking against Mr. Smith’s nephew. Socrates showed his displeasure by a frigid demeanor, and by seeking occasions for snubbing his assistant. On the other hand, Hector felt grateful for his intercession, and an intimacy sprang up between them.

A few days afterward, on a half holiday, Mr. Crabb said: “Roscoe, I am going out for a walk. Do you care to accompany me?”

“I will do so with pleasure,” said Hector, sincerely.

“Mr. Crabb,” he said, after they were fairly on their way, “I am sorry to see that Mr. Smith has not forgiven you for taking my part against Jim.”

“I would do it again, Roscoe,” said the usher. “I could not sit silent while so great an injustice was being done.”

“Do you think Jim was punished?”

“I am sure he was not. He is a boy after Mr. Smith’s own heart, that is, he possesses the same mean and disagreeable qualities, perhaps in a greater degree. Has he interfered with you since?”

“No,” answered Hector, smiling; “he probably found that I object to being bullied.”

“You are fortunate in being strong enough to withstand his attacks.”

“Yes,” said Hector, quietly; “I am not afraid of him.”

“Bullies are generally cowards,” said the usher.

“I wonder, Mr. Crabb, you are willing to stay at Smith Institute, as usher to such a man as Mr. Smith.”

“Ah, Roscoe!” said Mr. Crabb, sighing; “it is not of my own free will that I stay. Poverty is a hard task-master. I must teach for a living.”

“But surely you could get a better position?”

“Perhaps so; but how could I live while I was seeking for it. My lad,” he said, after a pause, “I have a great mind to confide in you; I want one friend to whom I can talk unreservedly.”

“Mr. Crabb,” said Hector, earnestly, “I shall feel flattered by your confidence.”

“Thank you, Roscoe; or, rather, since we are going to be friends, let me distinguish you from the other boys and call you Hector.”

“I wish you would, sir.”

“I need not tell you that I am poor,” continued Mr. Crabb; “you can read it in my shabby clothes. I sometimes see the boys looking at my poor suit, as if they wondered why I dressed so badly. Smith has more than once cast insulting looks at my rusty coat. It is not penuriousness, as some of the boys may think—it is poverty that prevents me from attiring myself more becomingly.”

“Mr. Crabb, I sympathize with you,” said Hector.

“Thank you, Hector. Of that I am sure.”

“Mr. Smith ought to pay you enough to clothe yourself neatly. He makes you work hard enough.”

“He pays me twenty dollars a month,” said the usher; “twenty dollars and my board.”

“Is that all?” asked Hector, in amazement. “Why, the girl in the kitchen earns nearly that.”

“To be sure,” answered the usher, bitterly; “but in Mr. Smith’s estimation, I stand very little higher. He does not value education, not possessing it himself. However, you may wonder why, even with this sum, I cannot dress better. It is because I have another than myself to support.”

“You are not married?” asked Hector, in surprise.

“No; but I have an invalid sister, who is wholly dependent upon me. To her I devote three-quarters of my salary, and this leaves me very little for myself. My poor sister is quite unable to earn anything for herself, so it is a matter of necessity.”

“Yes, I understand,” said Hector, in a tone of sympathy.

“You now see why I do not dare to leave this position, poor as it is. For myself, I might take the risk, but I should not feel justified in exposing my sister to the hazard of possible want.”

“You are right, Mr. Crabb. I am very sorry now that you spoke up for me. It has prejudiced Mr. Smith against you.”

“No, no; I won’t regret that. Indeed, he would hesitate to turn me adrift, for he would not be sure of getting another teacher to take my place for the same beggarly salary.”

“Something may turn up for you yet, Mr. Crabb,” said Hector, hopefully.

“Perhaps so,” answered the usher, but his tone was far from sanguine.

When they returned to the school, Hector carried out a plan which had suggested itself to him in the interest of Mr. Crabb. He wrote to a boy of his acquaintance, living in New York, who, he had heard, was in want of a private tutor, and recommended Mr. Crabb, in strong terms, for that position. He did this sincerely, for he had found the usher to be a good teacher, and well versed in the studies preparatory to college. He did not think it best to mention this to Mr. Crabb, for the answer might be unfavorable, and then his hopes would have been raised only to be dashed to the earth.

Later in the day, Hector fell in with Bates, already referred to as a special friend of Jim Smith. The intimacy, however, had been diminished since the contest in which Hector gained the victory. Bates was not quite so subservient to the fallen champion, and Jim resented it.

“I saw you walking out with old Crabb,” said Bates.

“He isn’t particularly old,” said Hector.

“Oh, you know what I mean. Did you ever see such a scarecrow?”

“Do you refer to his dress?” asked Hector.

“Yes; he’ll soon be in rags. I shouldn’t wonder at all if that old suit of his was worn by one of Noah’s sons in the ark.”

“You don’t suppose he wears it from choice, do you?”

“I don’t know. He’s stingy, I suppose—afraid to spend a cent.”

“You are mistaken. He has a sister to support, and his salary is very small.”

“I can believe that. Old Sock is mean with his teachers. How much does he pay Crabb?”

“It is very little, but I don’t know that I ought to tell.”

“I say, though, Roscoe, I wouldn’t go to walk with him again.”

“Why not?”

“The boys will say that, you are trying to get into his good graces, so he’ll let you off easy in your lessons.”

“I don’t want him to let me off easy; I generally intend to be prepared.”

“I know, but that’s what they will say.”

“Let them say what they please, and I will do what I please,” said Hector, independently.

“Old Sock ain’t any too fond of Crabb since he took your part the other day. Jim says the old man means to bounce him before long.”

“I suppose that means discharge him.”

“It means giving him his walking papers. Jim will see that he does it, too.”

Hector did not reply, but he felt more than ever glad that he had written a letter which might possibly bring the poor usher more profitable and, at the same time, agreeable employment.

“Jim doesn’t like you, either,” added Bates.

“I never supposed he did. I can do without his favor.”

“He will get you into a scrape if he can.”

“I have no doubt whatever of his benevolent intentions toward me. I shall not let it interfere with my happiness.”

Just then a sharp cry was heard, as of a boy in pain. It came from the school yard, which the two boys were approaching on their return from a walk.

“What’s that?” asked Hector, quickly.

“I expect it’s the new boy.”

One had arrived the day before.

“Is he hurt, I wonder?” asked Hector, quickening his steps.

“Jim’s got hold of him, probably,” said Bates; “he said this morning he was going to give the little chap a lesson to break him into school ways.”

“He did, did he?” said Hector, compressing his lips. “I shall have something to say to that,” and he quickened his steps.

CHAPTER XVI. TOSSED IN A BLANKET

The last new boy was a little fellow only eleven years old. His name was Tommy Cooper, as he was called at home. It was his first absence from the sheltering care of his mother, and he felt lonesome in the great, dreary school building, where he was called “Cooper,” and “you little chap.” He missed the atmosphere of home, and the tenderness of his mother and sister. In fact, the poor boy was suffering from that most distressing malady, homesickness.

Had Mrs. Socrates Smith been a kind, motherly woman, she might have done much to reconcile the boy to his new home; but she was a tall, gaunt, bony woman, more masculine than feminine, not unlike Miss Sally Brass, whom all readers of Dickens will remember.

I am sorry to say that a homesick boy in a boarding school does not meet with much sympathy. Even those boys who have once experienced the same malady are half ashamed of it, and, if they remember it at all, remember it as a mark of weakness. There was but one boy who made friendly approaches to Tommy, and this was Hector Roscoe.

Hector had seen the little fellow sitting by himself with a sad face, and he had gone up to him, and asked him in a pleasant tone some questions about himself and his home.

“So you have never been away from home before, Tommy,” he said.

“No, sir,” answered the boy, timidly.

“Don’t call me sir. I am only a boy like you. Call me Hector.”

“That is a strange name. I never heard it before.”

“No, it is not a common name. I suppose you don’t like school very much?”

“I never shall be happy here,” sighed Tommy.

“You think so now, but you will get used to it.”

“I don’t think I shall.”

“Oh, yes, you will. It will never seem like home, of course, but you will get acquainted with some of the boys, and will join in their games, and then time will pass more pleasantly.”

“I think the boys are very rough,” said the little boy.

“Yes, they are rough, but they don’t mean unkindly. Some of them were homesick when they came here, just like you.”

“Were you homesick?” asked Tommy, looking up, with interest.

“I didn’t like the school very well; but I was much older than you when I came here, and, besides, I didn’t leave behind me so pleasant a home. I am not so rich as you, Tommy. I have no father nor mother,” and for the moment Hector, too, looked sad.

The little fellow became more cheerful under the influence of Hector’s kind and sympathetic words. Our hero, however, was catechised about his sudden intimacy with the new scholar.

“I see you’ve got a new situation, Roscoe,” said Bates, when Hector was walking away.

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve secured the position of nurse to that little cry baby.”

“You mean Tommy Cooper?”

“Yes, if that’s his name.”

“I was cheering up the little fellow a bit. He’s made rather a bad exchange in leaving a happy home for Smith Institute.”

“That’s so. This is a dreary hole, but there’s no need of crying about it.”

“You might if you were as young as Tommy, and had just come.”

“Shall you take him under your wing?”

“Yes, if he needs it.”

We now come to the few minutes preceding the return of Hector from his walk, as indicated in the last chapter.

Tommy Cooper was sitting in the school yard, with a disconsolate look, when Jim Smith, who was never happier than when he was bullying other boys, espied him.

“What’s the matter with you, young one?” he said, roughly, “Is your grandmother dead?”

“No,” answered Tommy, briefly.

“Come here and play.”

“I would rather not.”

“I am not going to have you sulking round here. Do you hear me?”

“Are you one of the teachers?” asked Tommy, innocently.

“You’ll find out who I am,” answered Jim, roughly. “Here, Palmer, do you want a little fun with this young one?”

Palmer and Bates were Jim Smith’s most devoted adherents.

“What are you going to do, Jim?” questioned Palmer.

“I’m going to stir him up a little,” said Jim, with a malicious smile. “Go and get a blanket.”

“All right!” said Palmer.

“We’ll toss him in a blanket. He won’t look so sulky after we get through with him.”

There were two or three other boys standing by, who heard these words.

“It’s a shame!” said one, in a low voice. “See the poor little chap, how sad he looks! I felt just as he does when I first came to school.”

“Jim ought not to do it,” said the second. “It’s a mean thing to do.”

“Tell him so.”

“No, thank you. He’d treat me the same way.”

The two speakers were among the smaller boys, neither being over fourteen, and though they sympathized with Tommy, their sympathy was not likely to do him any good.

Out came Palmer with the blanket.

“Are there any teachers about?” asked Jim.

“No.”

“That’s good. We shan’t be interfered with. Here, young one, come here.”

“What for?” asked Tommy, looking frightened.

“Come here, and you’ll find out.”

But Tommy had already guessed. He had read a story of English school life, in which a boy had been tossed in a blanket, and he was not slow in comprehending the situation.

“Oh, don’t toss me in a blanket!” said the poor boy, clasping his hands.

“Sorry to disturb you, but it’s got to be done, young one,” said Jim. “Here, jump in. It’ll do you good.”

“Oh, don’t!” sobbed the poor boy. “It’ll hurt me.”

“No, it won’t! Don’t be a cry baby. We’ll make a man of you.”

But Tommy was not persuaded. He jumped up, and tried to make his escape. But, of course, there was no chance for him. Jim Smith overtook him in a couple of strides, and seizing him roughly by the collar, dragged him to the blanket, which by this time Palmer and one of the other boys, who had been impressed into the service reluctantly, were holding.

Jim Smith, taking up Tommy bodily, threw him into the blanket, and then seizing one end, gave it a violent toss. Up went the boy into the air, and tumbling back again into the blanket was raised again.

“Raise him, boys!” shouted Jim. “Give him a hoist!”

Then it was that Tommy screamed, and Hector heard his cry for help.

He came rushing round the corner of the building, and comprehended, at a glance, what was going on.

Naturally his hot indignation was much stirred.

“For shame, you brutes!” he cried. “Stop that!”

If there was anyone whom Jim Smith did not want to see at this moment, it was Hector Roscoe. He would much rather have seen one of the ushers. He saw that he was in a scrape, but his pride would not allow him to back out.

“Keep on, boys!” he cried. “It’s none of Roscoe’s business. He’d better clear out, or we’ll toss him.”

As he spoke he gave another toss.

“Save me, Hector!” cried Tommy, espying his friend’s arrival with joy.

Hector was not the boy to let such an appeal go unheeded. He sprang forward, dealt Jim Smith a powerful blow, that made him stagger, and let go the blanket, and then helped Tommy to his feet.

“Run into the house. Tommy!” he said. “There may be some rough work here.”

He faced round just in time to fend off partially a blow from the angry bully.

“Take that for your impudence!” shouted Jim Smith. “I’ll teach you to meddle with, me.”