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

CHAPTER XX. HECTOR GAINS A VICTORY

There were two persons on whom Ben Platt’s declaration made a profound impression. These were Jim Smith and his uncle, the learned Socrates. The latter was surprised, for he was fully persuaded that the charge he had made was a true one, and Hector was a thief. As for Jim, his surprise was of a very disagreeable nature. Knowing as he did that, he himself had taken the money, he was alarmed lest his offense was to be made known, and that the pit which he had digged for another should prove to be provided for himself.

Socrates was the first to speak after taking time to recover himself from his surprise.

“This is a very extraordinary statement, Platt,” he said. “You say you can prove Roscoe’s innocence?”

“Yes, sir,” answered Platt, firmly.

“I wish no trifling here, sir,” said the principal, sharply. “I myself found the wallet in Roscoe’s pocket.”

“Yes, sir,” answered Ben Platt, “I know it was there.”

“You knew it was there!” repeated Socrates. “How did you know it was there?”

“Because I saw it put in.”

Here Jim Smith’s face turned from red to pale, and he moved about uneasily in his seat. “Could Ben Platt have been hidden somewhere in the room?” he asked himself, “If so, what was he to do?” There was but one answer to this question. He must brazen it out, and boldly contradict the witness. But he would bide his time. He would wait to hear what Ben had to say.

“Did you put it in yourself?” asked Socrates, savagely.

“No, Mr. Smith, I didn’t put it in,” answered Ben, indignantly.

“None of your impudence, sir!” said the schoolmaster, irritated.

“I merely answered your question and defended myself,” answered Ben.

There was a little murmur among the pupils, showing that their sympathy was with the boy who had been so causelessly accused by the principal.

“Silence!” exclaimed Socrates, annoyed. “Now,” he continued, turning to Ben, “since you know who put the wallet into Roscoe’s pocket—a very remarkable statement, by the way—will you deign to inform me who did it?”

“James Smith did it!” said Ben, looking over to the principal’s nephew, who was half expecting such an attack.

“It’s a base lie!” cried Jim, but his face was blanched, his manner was nervous and confused, and he looked guilty, if he were not so.

“My nephew?” asked Socrates, flurried.

“Yes, sir.”

“It isn’t so, Uncle Socrates,” said Jim, excited. “I’ll lick you, Ben Platt, when we get out of school.”

“You forget yourself, James,” said Socrates, with a mildness he would not have employed with any other pupil.

“I beg your pardon, Uncle Socrates,” said Jim, with contrition, “but I can’t be silent when I am accused of things I don’t do.”

“To be sure, you have some excuse, but you should remember the respect you owe to me. Then you did not do it?”

“Certainly not, sir.”

“So it appears, Platt, that you have brought a false charge against your fellow-pupil,” said Mr. Smith, severely. “I can conceive of nothing meaner.”

“Mr. Smith,” said Hector, “what right have you to say that the charge is false? Is it the denial of your nephew? If he took the wallet he would, of course, deny it.”

“So would you!” retorted Socrates.

“No one saw me conceal it,” said Hector, significantly.

Then Wilkins rose.

“Mr. Smith,” he said, “I have some evidence to offer.”

“Out with it, sir,” said the principal, angrily, for he was fighting against an inward conviction that his nephew was really the guilty party.

“I was walking along the corridor about the time Platt speaks of Smith’s visit to Roscoe’s room, and I met your nephew walking in the opposite direction. When I entered the room, Platt told me that, half-concealed by the closet door, he had seen Jim Smith enter and thrust the wallet into Roscoe’s pocket. Soon after, you and Mrs. Smith came into the room, guided by your nephew, who let you know just where the wallet was hidden. He had very good reasons for knowing,” added Wilkins.

If a look would have annihilated Wilkins, the look directed towards him by Jim Smith would have had that effect.

“It’s a conspiracy against me, Uncle Socrates,” said Jim, intent upon brazening it out. “They’re all in league together.”

“The testimony of Wilkins doesn’t amount to much!” said Mr. Smith. “He may have seen James in the corridor, but that is by no means a part of his complicity in this affair.”

“Just so!” said Jim, eagerly.

“Ben Platt’s evidence ought to count for something,” said Hector. “He saw your nephew putting the wallet into the pocket of my pants.”

Socrates was clearly perplexed. In spite of his partiality for his nephew, the case against him certainly looked very strong.

Hector, however, determined to make his defense even stronger.

“I would like to ask Platt,” he said, “at what time this took place?”

“At three o’clock.”

“How do you know it was three?” asked the principal, sharply.

“Because I heard the clock on the village church strike three.”

“I would like to ask another boy—Frank Lewis—if he heard the clock strike three?”

Lewis answered in the affirmative.

“Where were you at the time?”

“In the playground.”

“What were you doing?”

“Playing ball.”

“Was I in the game?”

“Yes.”

“How long had the game been going on?”

“Half an hour.”

“How long had the game been going on, do you know?”

“From half to three-quarters of an hour.”

“Can you remember whether I was with you all the time?”

“You were.”

“Now, Platt, will you tell me how long after the wallet was put into my pocket before Mr. Smith appeared in search of it?”

“Not over half an hour.”

“I submit, then,” said Hector, in a matter-of-fact manner, “that I was absent in the playground during the entire time when it was found in my room. I believe this is what lawyers call an alibi that I have, fortunately, been able to prove.”

“You are a very smart lawyer!” sneered the principal.

The boys were by this time so incensed at Mr. Smith’s evident effort to clear his nephew at the expense of Roscoe, that there was a very audible hiss, in which at least half a dozen joined.

“Is this rebellion?” asked Socrates, furiously.

“No, sir,” said Ben Platt, firmly. “We want justice done; that is all.”

“You shall have justice—all of you!” exclaimed Socrates, carried beyond the limits of prudence.

“I am glad to hear that, sir,” said Hector. “If you do not at once exonerate me from this charge, which you know to be false, and write to my guardian retracting it, I will bring the matter before the nearest magistrate.”

This was more than Socrates had bargained for. He saw that he had gone too far, and was likely to wreck his prospects and those of the school.

“I will look into the matter,” he said, hurriedly, “and report to the school hereafter. You may now apply yourselves to your studies.”

CHAPTER XXI. THE USHER IS DISCHARGED

Among the boys of Smith Institute there was but one opinion on the subject of the principal’s wallet. All acquitted Roscoe of having any part in the theft, and they were equally unanimous in the belief that Jim Smith had contrived a mean plot against the boy whom he could not conquer by fair means. There was a little informal consultation as to how Jim should be treated. It was finally decided to “send him to Coventry.”

As this phrase, which is well understood in English schools, may not be so clear to my readers, I will explain that Jim was to be refused notice by his schoolfellows, unless he should become aggressive, when he was to be noticed in a manner far from agreeable.

Jim could not help observing the cold looks of the boys, who but lately were glad enough to receive notice from him, and he became very angry. As to being ashamed of the exposure, he was not sensitive, nor did he often have any feeling of that kind. Naturally vindictive, he felt especially angry with the two boys, Ben Platt and Wilkins, whose testimony had proved so uncomfortable for him.

“I’ll thrash those boys if I never thrash another,” he said to himself. “So they have turned against me, have they? They’re only fit to black my boots anyway. I’ll give ‘em a lesson.”

Platt and Wilkins were expecting an attack. They knew that Jim would seize the opportunity of attacking them singly, and in the absence of Hector, of whom he was afraid, and with good reason. They concerted measures, accordingly, for defeating the common enemy.

Jim was stalking about the next day, looking sullen and feeling ugly. He could not help observing that whenever he approached a group of boys they immediately scattered and walked away in various directions. This naturally chafed him, for, having no intellectual resources, he found solitude oppressive. Besides, he had been accustomed to the role of boss, and where is a boss without followers?

Tired of the schoolroom precincts, Jim went to walk. In a rustic lane, much to his delight, he saw approaching him one of the boys who had so seriously offended him.

It was Ben Platt.

Ben was sauntering along in idle mood when he came face to face with the dethroned boss.

“So it’s you, Platt, is it?” said Jim, grimly.

“I believe it is,” answered Ben, coolly.

“I’ve got a word or two to say to you,” said Jim, significantly.

“Say them quick,” said Ben, “for I’m in a hurry.”

“I’m not,” said Jim, in his old tone, “and it makes no difference whether you are or not.”

“Indeed! you are as polite as usual,” returned Ben.

“Look here, you young whelp!” Jim broke forth, unable any longer to restrain his wrath, “what, did you mean by lying about me last evening?”

“I didn’t lie about you,” said Ben, boldly.

“Yes, you did. What made you say you saw me put that wallet into Roscoe’s pocket?”

“I can’t think of any reason, unless because it was true,” said Ben.

“Even if it were, how dared you turn against me? First you play the spy, and then informer. Paugh!”

“I see you admit it,” said Ben. “Well, if you want an answer I will give you one. You laid a plot for Hector Roscoe—one of the meanest, dirtiest plots I ever heard of, and I wasn’t going to see you lie him into a scrape while I could prevent it.”

“That’s enough, Platt!” exclaimed Jim, furiously. “Now, do you know what I am going to do?”

“I don’t feel particularly interested in the matter.”

“You will be, then. I am going to thrash you.”

“You wouldn’t if Hector Roscoe were here,” said Ben, not appearing to be much frightened.

“Well, he isn’t here, though if he were it wouldn’t make any difference. I’ll whip you so you can’t stand.”

Ben’s reply was to call “Wilkins!”

From a clump of bushes, where he had lurked, unobserved hitherto, sprang Wilkins, and joined his friend.

“There are two of us, Smith!” said Ben Platt.

“I can thrash you both,” answered Jim, whose blood was up.

Before the advent of Hector no two boys would have ventured to engage Jim in combat, but his defeat by a boy considerably smaller had lost him his prestige, and the boys had become more independent. He still fancied himself a match for both, however, and the conflict began. But both of his antagonists were in earnest, and Jim had a hard time.

Now, it so happened that Mr. Crabb, the usher, was taking a solitary walk, and had approached the scene of conflict unobserved by any of the participants. He arrived at an opportune time. Jim had managed to draw Wilkins away, and by a quick movement threw him. He was about to deal his prostrate foe a savage kick, which might have hurt him seriously, when the usher, quiet and peaceful as he was by nature, could restrain himself no longer. He rushed up, seized him by the collar, dragged him back and shook him with a strength he did not suppose he possessed, saying:

“Leave that boy alone, you brute!”

Jim turned quickly, and was very much surprised when he saw the meek usher, whom he had always despised, because he looked upon him as a Miss Nancy.

“So it’s you, is it?” he said, with a wicked glance.

“Yes, it is I,” answered the usher, manfully; “come up just in time to stop your brutality.”

“Is it any of your business?” demanded Jim, looking as if he would like to thrash the usher.

“I have made it my business. Platt and Wilkins, I advise you to join me, and leave this fellow, who has so disgraced himself as to be beneath your notice.”

“We will accompany you with pleasure, sir,” said the boys.

They regarded the usher with new respect for this display of courage, for which they had not given him credit.

“I’ll fix you, Crabb,” said Jim Smith, insolently, “and don’t you forget it!”

Mr. Crabb did not deign to answer him.

Jim Smith was as good as his word.

An hour later Mr. Crabb was summoned to the presence of the principal.

Socrates received him with marked coldness.

“Mr. Crabb,” he said, “I cannot conceal the amazement I feel at a complaint which has just been made by my nephew.”

“Well, sir?”

Mr. Crabb had nerved himself for the worst, and did not cower or show signs of fear, as Socrates expected he would.

“James tells me that you attacked him savagely this afternoon when he was having a little sport with two of his schoolfellows.”

“Is that what he says, Mr. Smith?”

“Yes, sir, and I require an explanation.”

“You shall have it. The sport in which your nephew was engaged was attempting to thrash Wilkins. He had him down, and was about to deal him a savage kick when I fortunately came up.”

“And joined in the fight,” sneered Socrates.

“Yes, if you choose to put it so. Would you have had me stand by, and see Wilkins brutally used?”

“Of course, you color the affair to suit yourself,” said Socrates, coldly. “The fact is that you, an usher, have lowered yourself by taking part in a playful schoolboy contest.”

“Playful!” repeated Mr. Crabb.

“Yes, and I shall show how I regard it by giving you notice that I no longer require your services in my school. I shall pay you up at the end of the week and then discharge you.”

“Mr. Smith,” said the usher, “permit me to say that anything more disgraceful than your own conduct within the last twenty-four hours I have never witnessed. You have joined your nephew in a plot to disgrace an innocent boy, declining to do justice, and now you have capped the climax by censuring me for stopping an act of brutality, merely because your nephew was implicated in it!”

“This to me?” exclaimed Socrates Smith, hardly crediting the testimony of his ears.

“Yes, sir, and more! I predict that the stupid folly which has characterized your course will, within six months, drive from you every scholar you have in your school!”

“Mr. Crabb,” gasped Socrates, never more surprised in his life than he was at the sudden spirit exhibited by the usher, “I will not be so insulted. Leave me, and to-morrow morning leave my service.”

“I will, sir. I have no desire to remain here longer.”

But when Mr. Crabb had walked away his spirit sank within him. How was he to obtain another situation? He must consult immediately with Hector Roscoe, in whose judgment, boy as he was, he reposed great confidence.

CHAPTER XXII. THE WELCOME LETTER

“Hector,” said Mr. Crabb, nervously, “I am going to leave the institute at the end of the week.”

“Have you secured another situation, Mr. Crabb?” asked Hector, hopefully.

“No,” answered the usher, shaking his head. “I have been discharged.”

“For what reason?”

“For interfering with Mr. Smith’s nephew when he was brutally abusing Wilkins.”

“Did Mr. Smith fully understand the circumstances?”

“Yes; but he stands by his nephew right or wrong. He blamed me for checking his nephew’s brutality.”

“This is shameful!” said Hector, warmly. “May I ask, Mr. Crabb, if you have formed any plans?”

“No, except to seek a new position!” answered Crabb. “I fear,” he added, despondently, “that it may be some time before I am so fortunate. Roscoe, I don’t know what to do when I leave the school. I shall barely have five dollars, and you know I have not only myself, but another to support.”

“Keep up your courage, Mr. Crabb! It is nearly time for me to hear from the friend in New York to whom I wrote is your behalf. If you can secure the position of his private tutor—”

“If I can, I will hail it as providential. It will relieve me at once from all anxiety.”

“I don’t think I shall long remain here myself, Mr. Crabb,” said Hector. “I came here with the full intention of making the most of the facilities the institute affords for education, but I find the principal incompetent, and disposed to connive at injustice and brutality. The only good I have got here has been derived from your instructions.”

“Thank you, Roscoe. Such a tribute is, indeed, welcome,” said the usher, warmly.

“It is quite sincere, Mr. Crabb, and I hope my good wishes may bring you the advantage which I have in view.”

“Thank you, Roscoe. I don’t blame you for being disgusted with the management of the school. You have yourself suffered injustice.”

“Yes; in writing home, and charging me with theft, before he had investigated the circumstances, Mr. Smith did me a great injustice. I doubt whether he has since written to correct the false charge, as I required him to do. If not, I shall owe it to myself to leave the school.”

“You will be justified in doing so.” The next day brought Hector two letters. One was from Allan Roscoe, and read as follows:

“HECTOR: I have received from your worthy teacher a letter which has filled me with grief and displeasure. I knew you had great faults, but I did not dream that you would stoop so low as to purloin money, as it seems you have done. Mr. Smith writes me that there is no room to doubt your guilt. He himself discovered in the pocket of your pantaloons a wallet containing a large sum of money, which he had missed only a short time before. He learned that you had entered his chamber, and taken the money, being tempted by your own dishonest and depraved heart.

“I cannot express the shame I feel at this revelation of baseness. I am truly glad that you are not connected with me by blood. Yet I cannot forget that my poor brother treated you as a son; and took pains to train you up in right ideas. It would give him deep pain could he know how the boy whom he so heaped with benefits has turned out! I may say that Guy is as much shocked as I am, but he, it seems, had a better knowledge of you than I; for he tells me he is not surprised to hear it. I confess I am, for I thought better of you.

“Under the circumstances I shall not feel justified in doing for you as much as I intended. I proposed to keep you at school for two years more, but I have now to announce that this is your last term, and I advise you to make the most of it. I will try, when the term closes, to find some situation for you, where your employer’s money will not pass through your hands. ALLAN ROSCOE.”

Hector read the letter with conflicting feelings, the most prominent being indignation and contempt for the man who so easily allowed himself to think evil of him.

The other letter he found more satisfactory.

It was from his young friend in New York, Walter Boss. As it is short, I subjoin it:

“DEAR HECTOR: I am ever so glad to hear from you, but I should like much better to see you. I read to papa what you said of Mr. Crabb, and he says it is very apropos, as he had made up his mind to get me a tutor. I am rather backward, you see, not having your taste for study, and papa thinks I need special attention. He says that your recommendation is sufficient, and he will engage Mr. Crabb without any further inquiry; and he says he can come at once. He will give him sixty dollars a month and board, and he will have considerable time for himself, if he wants to study law or any other profession. I don’t know but a cousin may join me in my studies, in which case he will pay a hundred dollars per month, if that will be sastisfactory.

“Why can’t you come and make me a visit? We’ll have jolly fun. Come and stay a month, old chap. There is no one I should like better. Your friend, WALTER Boss.”

Hector read this letter with genuine delight. It offered a way of escape, both for the unfortunate usher and himself. Nothing could be more “apropos” to quote Walter’s expression.

Our hero lost no time in seeking out Mr. Crabb.

“You seem in good spirits, Roscoe,” said the usher, his careworn face contrasting with the beaming countenance of his pupil.

“Yes, Mr. Crabb, I have reason to be, and so have you.”

“Have you heard from your friend?” asked the usher, hopefully.

“Yes, and it’s all right.”

Mr. Crabb looked ten years younger.

“Is it really true?” he asked.

“It is true that you are engaged as private tutor to my friend, Walter. You’ll find him a splendid fellow, but I don’t know if the pay is sufficient,” continued Hector, gravely.

“I am willing to take less pay than I get here,” said the usher, “for the sake of getting away.”

“How much do you receive here?”

“Twenty dollar a month and board. I might, perhaps, get along on a little less,” he added doubtfully.

“You won’t have to, Mr. Crabb. You are offered sixty dollars a month and a home.”

“You are not in earnest, Roscoe?” asked the usher, who could not believe in his good fortune.

“I will read you the letter, Mr. Crabb.”

When it was read the usher looked radiant. “Roscoe,” he said, “you come to me like an angel from heaven. Just now I was sad and depressed; now it seems to me that the whole future is radiant. Sixty dollars a month! Why, it will make me a rich man.”

“Mr. Crabb,” said Hector, with a lurking spirit of fun, “can you really make up your mind to leave Smith Institute, and its kind and benevolent principal?”

“I don’t think any prisoner ever welcomed his release with deeper thankfulness,” said the usher. “To be in the employ of a man whom you despise, yet to feel yourself a helpless and hopeless dependent on him is, I assure you, Roscoe, a position by no means to be envied. For two years that has been my lot.”

“But it will soon be over.”

“Yes, thanks to you. Why can’t you accompany me, Hector? I ought not, perhaps, to draw you away, but—”

“But listen to the letter I have received from my kind and considerate guardian, as he styles himself,” said Hector.

He read Allan Roscoe’s letter to the usher.

“He seems in a great hurry to condemn you,” said Mr. Crabb.

“Yes, and to get me off his hands,” said Hector, proudly. “Well, he shall be gratified in the last. I shall accept Walter’s invitation, and we will go up to New York together.”

“That will, indeed, please me. Of course, you will undeceive your guardian.”

“Yes. I will get Wilkins and Platt to prepare a statement of the facts in the case, and accompany it by a note releasing Mr. Roscoe from any further care or expense for me.”

“But, Hector, can you afford to do this?”

“I cannot afford to do otherwise, Mr. Crabb. I shall find friends, and I am willing to work for my living, if need be.”

At this point one of the boys came to Mr. Crabb with a message from Socrates, desiring the usher to wait upon him at once.

CHAPTER XXIII. ANOTHER CHANCE FOR THE USHER

Mr. Smith had been thinking it over. He had discharged Mr. Crabb in the anger of the moment, but after his anger had abated, he considered that it was not for his interest to part with him. Mr. Crabb was a competent teacher, and it would be well-nigh impossible to obtain another so cheap. Twenty dollars a month for a teacher qualified to instruct in Latin and Greek was certainly a beggarly sum, but Mr. Crabb’s dire necessity had compelled him to accept it. Where could he look for another teacher as cheap? Socrates Smith appreciated the difficulty, and decided to take Mr. Crabb back, on condition that he would make an apology to Jim.

To do Mr. Crabb justice, it may be said that he would not have done this even if he saw no chance of another situation. But this Mr. Smith did not know. He did observe, however, that the usher entered his presence calm, erect and appearing by no means depressed, as he had expected.

“You sent for me, sir?” said the usher interrogatively.

“Yes, Mr. Crabb. You will remember that I had occasion to rebuke you, when we last conferred together, for overstepping the limits of your authority?”