There are no more cruel, or perhaps thoughtless people in the world than a number of school-boys, under certain conditions.  The peculiar dress and the broken language of little Nick excited laughter at once, and this soon turned into ridicule.

Nick was beset continually at recess and at noon by the boys, who immediately christened him “Dutchy.”  He laughed and did not seem to mind it, for his philosophy was that no words applied to him could injure him, and so long as the boys kept their hands off he did not care.

Among the pupils was Herbert Watrous, a spruce young gentleman from the city, who dressed better than the others, and who threw out hints about the sparring lessons he had taken at home, and his wish that he might soon have a chance to show his playmates how easily he could vanquish an opponent, much larger than himself, by reason of his “science.”

He was fully four years older than Nick, and much taller—­a fact which Herbert regretted as the Pennsylvania Hollander was too insignificant for him to pick a quarrel with.

But that was no reason, as he looked at his privileges in this life, why he should not play the tyrant and bully over the honest little fellow and he proceeded at once to make life unbearable to Nicholas.

He began the cry of “Dutchy,” and, finding that it did not disturb the serenity of the lad, he resorted to more active measures on the way home from school.

He began by knocking off his hat, and when Nick looked at him in a surprised way and asked why he did it, the city youth assumed a pugilistic attitude and answered, “Greens; what are you going to do about it, Dutchy?”

“Be careful of him,” whispered one of the boys, who felt some sympathy for Nick in his persecutions; “he’s science.”

“I don’t care vat he ain’t,” replied Nick, beginning to lose his temper; “if he don’t lets me be, he’ll got into trouble.”

Just then Nick started to overtake a lad, who tapped him on the back and invited him to play a game of tag.  As he passed close to Herbert, that boy threw out his foot and Nick went sprawling headlong, his book and slate flying from under his arm, while his cap shot a dozen-feet in another direction.

The other boys broke into laughter, while several of the girls cried out that it was a shame.

Nick picked himself up, and putting on his cap, turned about to ask Herbert what he meant by such cruelty, when he was confronted by the bully, who had thrown himself into his fancy pugilistic posture, and with one eye shut and his tongue thrust out, said: 

“What are you going to do about it, Dutchy?”

“I’ll show you vot I do!”

CHAPTER II.

School days.

Nicholas Ribsam proceeded to show Master Herbert Watrous what he meant to do about it.