“Is Mr. Smith at leisure?” Mr. Roscoe asked of a bare-arm servant girl who answered the bell.

“I guess he’s in his office,” was the reply.

“Take him this card,” said Mr. Roscoe.  The girl inspected the card with some curiosity, and carried it to the eminent principal.  When Socrates Smith read upon the card the name

Allan Roscoe,

and, penciled in the corner, “with a pupil,” he said, briskly: 

“Bring the gentleman in at once, Bridget.”

As Mr. Roscoe entered, Mr. Smith beamed upon him genially.  It was thus he always received those who brought to him new scholars.  As he always asked half a term’s tuition and board in advance, every such visitor represented to him so much ready cash, and for ready cash Socrates had a weakness.

“I am glad to see you, Mr. Roscoe,” said the learned principal, advancing to meet his visitor.  “And this is the young lad.  Dear me! he is very well grown, and looks like he was fond of his books.”

This was not exactly the way in which a learned scholar might be expected to talk; but Mr. Smith’s speech was not always elegant, or even grammatically correct.

“I believe he is reasonably fond of study,” said Mr. Roscoe.  “Hector, this is your future instructor, Prof.  Socrates Smith.”

At the name of professor, which he much affected, Socrates Smith looked positively benignant.

“My young friend,” he said, “we will try to make you happy.  Smith Institute is a regular beehive, full of busy workers, who are preparing themselves for the duties and responsibilities of life.  I aim to be a father to my pupils, and Mrs. Smith is a mother to them.  I am truly glad to receive you into my happy family.”

Hector scanned attentively the face of his new teacher.  He was not altogether prepossessed in his favor.  That the reader may judge whether he had reason to be, let me describe Mr. Smith.

He was a trifle over six feet in height, with yellowish, sandy hair, high cheek bones, a rough and mottled skin, a high but narrow forehead, a pair of eyes somewhat like those of a ferret, long, ungainly limbs, and a shambling walk.  A coat of rusty black, with very long tails, magnified his apparent height, and nothing that he wore seemed made for him.

Perhaps, as the first Socrates was said to have been the homeliest of all the Athenians, it was fitting that the man who assumed his name should also have the slightest possible claim to beauty.

“He may be a learned man,” thought Hector, “but he is certainly plain enough.  It is well that he has something to compensate for his looks.”

“I hope you are glad to come here, my boy,” said Socrates, affably.  “I sincerely trust that you will be contented at the institute.”

“I hope so, too,” said Hector, but he evidently spoke doubtfully.

“I should like a little conversation with you, Professor Smith,” said Allan Roscoe.  “I don’t know that it is necessary to keep Hector here during our interview.”