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.