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

“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.”