Hector's Inheritance, Or, the Boys of Smith Institute by Jr. Horatio Alger (short novels to read .txt) 📕

always sympathize with the weaker side. In the present instance, there was hardly a boy who had not at some time or other felt the weight of Jim’s fist, and, as there is an old saying that “misery loves company,” it was not, perhaps, a matter of wonder that they looked forward with interest to seeing another suffer the same ill-treatment which they had on former occasions received!

Presently Bates came back.

Jim looked over his head for the boy whom he expected to see in his company.

“Where’s the new boy?” he demanded, with a frown.

“He won’t come.”

“Won’t come?” repeated Jim, with an ominous frown. “Did you tell him I wanted him?”

“Yes, I did.”

“And what did he say?”

“That if you wanted to see him, you could come to him.”

All the boys regarded each other with looks of surprise. Was it possible that any boy in Smith Institute could have the boldness to send such a message to Jim! Most of all, Jim was moved by such a bold defiance of his authority. For the moment, he could not think of any adequate terms in which to express his feelings.

“Did the new boy say that?” he asked, hoarsely.

“Yes, he did.”

Jim nodded his head vigorously two or three times.

“You fellows,” he said, appealing to the boys around him, “did you ever hear such impudence?”

“No!” “Never!” exclaimed the boys in concert, Bates being the loudest and most emphatic.

“I have never been so insulted since I was at the institute,” said Jim, again looking about him for a confirmation of his statement.

“It’s because he’s a new boy. He don’t understand,” suggested one.

“That’s no excuse,” said Jim, sternly. “He needn’t think I’ll let him off on that account.”

“Of course not,” answered Bates.

“What would you advise me to do, boys?” asked Jim, with the air of a monarch asking the opinion of his counselors.

“Thrash him till he can’t stand!” said the subservient Bates. He was always ready to go farther than anyone else in supporting and defending the authority of the tyrant of the playground.

“Bates, you are right. I shall follow your advice,” said Jim. “Where is the young reprobate?”

“He is over in Carver’s field.”

“Is anyone with him?”

“Yes, Wilkins.”

“Ha! Wilkins and I will have an account to settle. If he is going to side with this young rascal he must take the consequences. So, he’s over in the field, is he? What’s he doing?”

“I think he was going to walk down to the brook.”

Carver’s field was a tract, several acres in extent, of pasture land, sloping down to one corner, where a brook trickled along quietly. Here three large trees were located, under whose spreading branches the boys, in the intervals of study, used often to stretch themselves for a chat or engage in some schoolboy games, such as nimble peg or quoits. The owner of the field was an easy-going man, who did not appear to be troubled by the visits of the boys, as long as they did not maltreat the peaceful cows who gathered their subsistence from the scanty grass that grew there.

“He wants to keep out of your way, I guess,” volunteered Bates.

As this suggestion was flattering to the pride of the “boss,” it was graciously received.

“Very likely,” he said; “but he’ll find that isn’t so easy. Boys, follow me, if you want to see some fun.”

Jim started with his loose stride for the field, where he expected to meet his adversary, or, rather, victim, for so he considered him, and the smaller boys followed him with alacrity. There was going to be a scrimmage, and they all wanted to see it.

Jim and his followers issued from the gate, and, crossing the street, scaled the bars that separated Carver’s field from the highway. Already they could see the two boys—Roscoe and Wilkins-slowly walking, and nearly arrived at the brook in the lower part of the field.

“He doesn’t seem much afraid,” remarked Talbot, one of the recent comers, incautiously.

Upon him immediately Jim frowned ominously.

“So you are taking sides with him, Talbot, are you?” he said, imperiously.

“No, Jim,” answered Talbot, hurriedly, for he now saw that he had been guilty of an imprudence.

“What made you say he wasn’t scared, then?”

“I only said he didn’t seem afraid,” answered Talbot, apologetically.

“Be careful what you say in future, young fellow!” said Jim, sternly; “that is, if you are a friend of mine. If you are going over to Roscoe, you can go, and I shall know how to treat you.”

“But I am not going over to him. I don’t like him,” said the cowardly boy.

“Very well; I accept your apology this time. In future be careful what you say.”

By this time Wilkins and Roscoe had reached the clump of big trees, and had seated themselves under their ample branches. Then, for the first time, glancing backward toward the school, they became aware of the advancing troop of boys. Wilkins saw them first.

“There’s Jim coming!” he exclaimed. “Now you are in a pickle. He means business.”

“I suppose,” said Hector, coolly, “he has decided to accept my invitation, and come to see me.”

“You’ll find he has,” said Wilkins, significantly.

“He seems to have considerable company,” remarked Hector, scanning the approaching party with tranquillity.

“They’re coming to see the fun!” said Wilkins.

“I suppose you mean the fight between Jim Smith and myself.”

“Well, not exactly. They’ve come to see you thrashed.”

Hector smiled.

“Suppose they should see Jim thrashed instead—what then?”

“They might be surprised: but I don’t think they will be,” answered Wilkins, dryly. He was, on the whole, well disposed toward Hector, and he certainly disliked Jim heartily, but he did not allow his judgment to be swayed by his preferences, and he could foresee but one issue to the impending conflict. There was one thing that puzzled him exceedingly, and that was Hector’s coolness on the brink of a severe thrashing, such as Jim was sure to give him for his daring defiance and disregard of his