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

CHAPTER XIII. WHO SHALL BE VICTOR?

Hector was not slow to accept the challenge conveyed by his antagonist’s action. He, too, sprang to his feet, flung off his coat, and stood facing the bully.

Hector was three inches shorter, and more than as many years younger, than Jim. But his figure was well proportioned and strongly put together, as the boys could see. On the other hand; Jim Smith was loosely put together, and, though tall, he was not well proportioned. His arms were long and his movements were clumsy. His frame, however, was large, and he had considerable strength, but it had never been disciplined. He had never learned to box, and was ignorant of the first rudiments of the art of self-defense. But he was larger and stronger than any of his school-fellows, and he had thus far had no difficulty in overcoming opposition to his despotic rule.

The boys regarded the two combatants with intense interest. They could see that Hector was not alarmed, and meant to defend himself. So there was likely to be a contest, although they could not but anticipate an easy victory for the hitherto champion of the school.

Hector did not propose to make the attack. He walked forward to a favorable place and took his stand. The position he assumed would have assured the casual observer that he knew something of the art in which his larger antagonist was deficient.

“So you are ready to fight, are you?” said Jim.

“You can see for yourself.”

Jim rushed forward, intending to bear down all opposition. He was whirling his long arms awkwardly, and it was clear to see that he intended to seize Hector about the body and fling him to the earth. Had he managed to secure the grip he desired, opposition would have been vain, and he would have compassed his design. But Hector was far too wary to allow anything of this kind. He evaded Jim’s grasp by jumping backward, then dashing forward while his opponent was somewhat unsteady from the failure of his attempt, he dealt him a powerful blow in the face.

Jim Smith was unprepared for such prompt action. He reeled, and came near falling. It may safely be said, also, that his astonishment was as great as his indignation, and that was unbounded.

“So that’s your game, is it?” he exclaimed, furiously. “I’ll pay you for this, see if I don’t.”

Hector did not reply. He did not propose to carry on the battle by words. Already the matter had come to a sterner arbitrament, and he stood on the alert, all his senses under absolute control, watching his big antagonist, and, from the expression of his face, seeking to divine his next mode of attack. He had this advantage over Jim, that he was cool and collected, while Jim was angry and rendered imprudent by his anger. Notwithstanding his first repulse, he did not fully understand that the new boy was a much more formidable opponent than he anticipated. Nor did he appreciate the advantage which science gives over brute force. He, therefore, rushed forward again, with the same impetuosity as before, and was received in precisely the same way. This time the blood started from his nose and coursed over his inflamed countenance, while Hector was still absolutely unhurt.

Meanwhile the boys looked on in decided amazement. It had been as far as possible from their thoughts that Hector could stand up successfully against the bully even for an instant. Yet here two attacks had been made, and the champion was decidedly worsted. They could not believe the testimony of their eyes.

Carried away by the excitement of the moment, Wilkins, who, as we have said, was disposed to espouse the side of Hector, broke into a shout of encouragement.

“Good boy, Roscoe!” he exclaimed. “You’re doing well!”

Two or three of the other boys, those who were least under the domination of Jim, and were only waiting for an opportunity of breaking away from their allegiance, echoed the words of Wilkins. If there was anything that could increase the anger and mortification of the tyrant it was these signs of failing allegiance. What! was he to lose his hold over these boys, and that because he was unable to cope with a boy much smaller and younger than himself? Perish the thought! It nerved him to desperation, and he prepared for a still more impetuous assault.

Somewhere in his Greek reader, Hector had met with a saying attributed to Pindar, that “boldness is the beginning of victory.” He felt that the time had now come for a decisive stroke. He did not content himself, therefore, with parrying, or simply repelling the blow of his antagonist, but he on his part assumed the offensive. He dealt his blows with bewildering rapidity, pressed upon Jim, skillfully evading the grasp of his long arms, and in a trice the champion measured his length upon the greensward.

Of course, he did not remain there. He sprang to his feet, and renewed the attack. But he had lost his confidence. He was bewildered, and, to confess the truth, panic-stricken, and the second skirmish was briefer than the first.

When, for the third time, he fell back, with his young opponent standing erect and vigorous, the enthusiasm of the boys overcame the limits of prudence. There was a shout of approval, and the fallen champion, to add to his discomfiture, was forced to listen to his own hitherto subservient followers shouting, “Hurrah for the new boy! Hurrah for Hector Roscoe!”

This was too much for Jim.

He rose from the ground sullenly, looked about him with indignation which he could not control, and, shaking his fist, not at one boy in particular, but at the whole company, exclaimed: “You’ll be sorry for this, you fellows! You can leave me, and stand by the new boy if you want to, but you’ll be sorry for it. I’ll thrash you one by one, as I have often done before.”

“Try Roscoe first!” said one boy, jeeringly.

“I’ll try you first!” said Jim; and too angry to postpone his intention, he made a rush for the offender.

The latter, who knew he was no match for the angry bully, turned and fled. Jim prepared to follow him, when he was brought to by Hector placing himself in his path.

“Let that boy alone!” he said, sternly.

“What business is it of yours?” demanded Jim, doggedly; but he did not offer to renew the attack, however.

“It will be my business to put an end to your tyranny and bullying,” said Hector, undauntedly. “If you dare to touch one of these boys, you will have to meet me as well.”

Jim had had enough of encountering Hector. He did not care to make a humiliating spectacle of himself any more before his old flatterers. But his resources were not at an end.

“You think yourself mighty smart!” he said, with what was intended to be withering sarcasm. “You haven’t got through with me yet.”

He did not, however, offer to pursue the boy who had been the first to break away from his allegiance. He put on his coat, and turned to walk toward the school, saying, “You’ll hear from me again, and that pretty soon!”

None of his late followers offered to accompany him. He had come to the contest with a band of friends and supporters. He left it alone. Even Bates, his most devoted adherent, remained behind, and did not offer to accompany the discrowned and dethroned monarch.

“What’s Jim going to do?” asked Talbot.

“He’s going to tell old Sock, and get us all into trouble.”

“It’ll be a cowardly thing to do!” said Wilkins. “He’s been fairly beaten in battle, and he ought to submit to it.”

“He won’t if he can help it.”

“I say, boys, three cheers for the new boy!” exclaimed Wilkins.

They were given with a will, and the boys pressed forward to shake the hand of the boy whose prowess they admired.

“Thank you, boys!” said Hector, “but I’d rather be congratulated on something else. I would rather be a good scholar than a good fighter.”

But the boys were evidently of a different opinion, and elevated Hector straightway to the rank of a hero.

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.