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

CHAPTER VII. THE TYRANT OF THE PLAYGROUND

Under the guidance of the lank boy, named Wilkins, Hector left Mr. Smith’s office, and walked to a barren-looking plot of ground behind the house, which served as a playground for the pupils of Smith Institute.

Wilkins scanned the new arrival closely.

“I say, Roscoe,” he commenced, “what made you come here?”

“Why do boys generally come to school?” returned Hector.

“Because they have to, I suppose,” answered Wilkins.

“I thought they came to study.”

“Oh, you’re one of that sort, are you?” asked Wilkins, curiously.

“I hope to learn something here.”

“You’ll get over that soon,” answered Wilkins, in the tone of one who could boast of a large experience.

“I hope not. I shall want to leave school if I find I can’t learn here.”

“Who is it that brought you here—your father?”

“No, indeed!” answered Hector, quickly, for he had no desire to be considered the son of Allan Roscoe.

“Uncle, then?”

“He is my guardian,” answered Hector, briefly.

They were by this time in the playground. Some dozen boys were playing baseball. They were of different ages and sizes, ranging from ten to nineteen. The oldest and largest bore such a strong personal resemblance to Socrates Smith, that Hector asked if he were his son.

“No,” answered Wilkins; “he is old Sock’s nephew.”

“Who is old Sock?”

“Smith, of course. His name is Socrates, you know. Don’t let him catch you calling him that, though.”

“What sort of a fellow is this nephew?” asked Hector.

“He’s a bully. He bosses the boys. It’s best to keep on the right side of Jim.”

“Oh, is it?” inquired Hector, smiling slightly.

“Well, I should say so.”

“Suppose you don’t?”

“He’ll give you a thrashing.”

“Does his uncle allow that?”

“Yes; I think he rather likes it.”

“Don’t the boys resist?”

“It won’t do any good. You see, Jim’s bigger than any of us.”

Hector took a good look at this redoubtable Jim Smith.

He was rather loosely made, painfully homely, and about five feet nine inches in height. Nothing more need be said, as, in appearance, he closely resembled his uncle.

Jim Smith soon gave Hector an opportunity of verifying the description given of him by Wilkins.

The boy at the bat had struck a ball to the extreme boundary of the field. The fielder at that point didn’t go so fast as Jim, who was pitcher, thought satisfactory, and he called out in a rough, brutal tone:

“If you don’t go quicker, Archer, I’ll kick you all round the field.”

Hector looked at Wilkins inquiringly.

“Does he mean that?” he asked.

“Yes, he does.”

“Does he ever make such a brute of himself?”

“Often.”

“And the boys allow it?”

“They can’t help it.”

“So, it seems, you have a tyrant of the school?”

“That’s just it.”

“Isn’t there any boy among you to teach the fellow better manners? You must be cowards to submit.”

“Oh, you’ll find out soon that you must submit, too,” said Wilkins.

Hector smiled.

“You don’t know me yet,” he said.

“What could you do against Jim? He’s three or four inches taller than you. How old are you?”

“I shall be sixteen next month.”

“And he is nineteen.”

“That may be; but he’d better not try to order me round.”

“You’ll sing a different tune in a day or two,” said Wilkins.

By this time Jim Smith had observed the new arrival.

“What’s that you’ve got with you, Wilkins?” he demanded, pausing in his play.

“The new boy.”

“Who’s he?”

“His name is Roscoe.”

“Ho! Hasn’t he got any other name?” asked Jim, meaningly.

Wilkins had forgotten the new arrival’s first name, and said so.

“What’s your name, Roscoe?” asked Jim, in the tone of a superior.

Hector resented this tone, and, though he had no objection, under ordinary circumstances, to answering the question, he did not choose to gratify his present questioner.

“I don’t happen to have a card with me,” he answered, coldly.

“Oh, that’s your answer, is it?” retorted Jim, scenting insubordination with undisguised pleasure, for he always liked the task of subduing a new boy.

“Yes.”

“I guess you don’t know who I am,” said Jim, blustering.

“Oh, yes, I do.”

“Well, 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 advantages which you all enjoy. Need I say that I refer to Master Roscoe, the ward of our distinguished friend, Mr. Allan Roscoe, who sits beside me, and with interest, I am sure, surveys our institute?”

As 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 Caesar class; but he never ventured to make the suggestion again, so unfavorably was it received by his backward pupil. He might, in the case of a different pupil, have referred the matter to the principal, but Socrates Smith was sure to decide according to the wishes of his nephew, and did not himself possess knowledge enough of the Latin tongue to detect his gross mistakes.

After a time came recess. Hector wished to arrange the books in his desk, and did not go out.

Mr. Crabb came up to his desk and said: “Roscoe, I must compliment you on your scholarship. You enter at the head. You are in advance of all the other members of the class.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Hector, gratified.

“There is one member of the class who is not competent to remain in it.”

“Yes, sir; I observed that.”

“But he is unwilling to join a lower class. It is a trial to me to hear his daily failures, but, perhaps, he would do no better anywhere else. He would be as incompetent to interpret Caesar as Virgil, I am afraid.”

“So I should suppose, sir.”

“By the way, Roscoe,” said the usher, hurriedly; “let me caution you against irritating Smith. He is the principal’s nephew, and so we give him more scope.”

“He seems to me a bully,” said Hector.

“So he is.”

“I can’t understand why the boys should give in to him as they do.”

“He is taller and stronger than the other boys. Besides, he is backed up by the principal. I hope you won’t get into difficulty with him.”

“Thank you, Mr. Crabb. Your caution is kindly meant, but I am not afraid of this Jim—Smith. I am quite able to defend myself if attacked.”

“I hope so,” said the usher; but he scanned Hector’s physical proportions doubtfully, and it was very clear that he did not think him a match for the young tyrant of the school.

Meanwhile, Jim Smith and his schoolfellows were amusing themselves in the playground.

“Where’s that new fellow?” asked Jim, looking back to see whether he had come out.

“He didn’t come out,” said Bates.

Jim nodded his head vigorously:

“Just as I expected,” he said. “He knows where he is well off.”

“Do you think he was afraid to come?” asked Bates.

“To be sure he was. He knew what to expect.”

“Are you going to thrash him?” asked Johnson.

“I should say I might.”

“He’s a very good Latin scholar,” remarked Wilkins.

“He thinks he is!” sneered Jim.

“So Mr. Crabb appears to think.”

“That for old Crabb!” said Jim, contemptuously, snapping his fingers. “He don’t know much himself. I’ve caught him in plenty of mistakes.”

This was certainly very amusing, considering Smith’s absolute ignorance of even the Latin rudiments, but the boys around him did not venture to contradict him.

“But it don’t make any difference whether he knows Latin or not,” proceeded Jim. “He has been impudent to me, and he shall suffer for it. I was hoping to get a chance at him this recess, but it’ll keep.”

“You might spoil his appetite for dinner,” said Bates, who was rather a toady to Jim.

“That’s just exactly what I expect to do; at any rate, for supper. I’ve got to have a reckoning with that young muff.”

The recess lasted fifteen minutes. At the end of that time the schoolbell rang, and the boys trooped back into the schoolroom.

Hector sat at his desk looking tranquil and at ease. He alone seemed unaware of the fate that was destined for him.