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

“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.

CHAPTER XVI. TOSSED IN A BLANKET

The last new boy was a little fellow only eleven years old. His name was Tommy Cooper, as he was called at home. It was his first absence from the sheltering care of his mother, and he felt lonesome in the great, dreary school building, where he was called “Cooper,” and “you little chap.” He missed the atmosphere of home, and the tenderness of his mother and sister. In fact, the poor boy was suffering from that most distressing malady, homesickness.

Had Mrs. Socrates Smith been a kind, motherly woman, she might have done much to reconcile the boy to his new home; but she was a tall, gaunt, bony woman, more masculine than feminine, not unlike Miss Sally Brass, whom all readers of Dickens will remember.

I am sorry to say that a homesick boy in a boarding school does not meet with much sympathy. Even those boys who have once experienced the same malady are half ashamed of it, and, if they remember it at all, remember it as a mark of weakness. There was but one boy who made friendly approaches to Tommy, and this was Hector Roscoe.

Hector had seen the little fellow sitting by himself with a sad face, and he had gone up to him, and asked him in a pleasant tone some questions about himself and his home.

“So you have never been away from home before, Tommy,” he said.

“No, sir,” answered the boy, timidly.

“Don’t call me sir. I am only a boy like you. Call me Hector.”

“That is a strange name. I never heard it before.”

“No, it is not a common name. I suppose you don’t like school very much?”

“I never shall be happy here,” sighed Tommy.

“You think so now, but you will get used to it.”

“I don’t think I shall.”

“Oh, yes, you will. It will never seem like home, of course, but you will get acquainted with some of the boys, and will join in their games, and then time will pass more pleasantly.”

“I think the boys are very rough,” said the little boy.

“Yes, they are rough, but they don’t mean unkindly. Some of them were homesick when they came here, just like you.”

“Were you homesick?” asked Tommy, looking up, with interest.

“I didn’t like the school very well; but I was much older than you when I came here, and, besides, I didn’t leave behind me so pleasant a home. I am not so rich as you, Tommy. I have no father nor mother,” and for the moment Hector, too, looked sad.

The little fellow became more cheerful under the influence of Hector’s kind and sympathetic words. Our hero, however, was catechised about his sudden intimacy with the new scholar.

“I see you’ve got a new situation, Roscoe,” said Bates, when Hector was walking away.

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve secured the position of nurse to that little cry baby.”

“You mean Tommy Cooper?”

“Yes, if that’s his name.”

“I was cheering up the little fellow a bit. He’s made rather a bad exchange in leaving a happy home for Smith Institute.”

“That’s so. This is a dreary hole, but there’s no need of crying about it.”

“You might if you were as young as Tommy, and had just come.”

“Shall you take him under your wing?”

“Yes, if he needs it.”

We now come to the few minutes preceding the return of Hector from his walk, as indicated in the last chapter.

Tommy Cooper was sitting in the school yard, with a disconsolate look, when Jim Smith, who was never happier than when he was bullying other boys, espied him.

“What’s the matter with you, young one?” he said, roughly, “Is your grandmother dead?”

“No,” answered Tommy, briefly.