Hector's Inheritance Or the Boys of Smith Institute Part 9

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 princ.i.p.al, to make an a.s.sault 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 eyegla.s.ses.

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 gla.s.ses, 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 cla.s.sical 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 cla.s.s, then. I hope you will become one of the ornaments of the inst.i.tute."

"Thank you. Is the first cla.s.s under Mr. Smith?"

"No; I teach the first cla.s.s," said Crabb, with a modest cough.

"I thought the princ.i.p.al usually took the first cla.s.s 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 embarra.s.sed; "I presume so. You should not ask Ahem! irrelevant questions."

In fact, Mr. Crabb had serious doubts as to the fact a.s.sumed. He knew that whenever a pupil went to the princ.i.p.al 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.