Socrates took the hint.

He rang a hand bell, and a lank boy, of fifteen, appeared.

“Wilkius,” said Mr. Smith, “this is a new scholar, Hector Roscoe.  Take him to the playground, and introduce him to Mr. Crabb.”

“All right, sir.  Come along.”

This last was addressed to Hector, who went out with the new boy.

“I thought it best to speak with you briefly about Hector, Professor Smith,” commenced Allan Roscoe.

“Very appropriate and gratifying, Mr. Roscoe.  I can assure you he will be happy here.”

“I dare say,” returned Mr. Roscoe, carelessly.  “I wish to guard you against misinterpreting my wishes.  I don’t want the boy pampered, or too much indulged.”

“We never pamper our boarding pupils,” said Socrates, and it is quite certain that he spoke the truth.

“It spoils boys to be too well treated.”

“So it does,” said Socrates, eagerly.  “Plain, wholesome diet, without luxury, and a kind, but strict discipline—­such are the features of Smith Institute.”

“Quite right and judicious, professor.  I may remark that the boy, though reared in luxury by my brother, is really penniless.”

“You don’t say so?”

“Yes, he is solely dependent upon my generosity.  I propose, however, to give him a good education at my own expense, and prepare him to earn his living in some useful way.”

“Kind philanthropist!” exclaimed Socrates.  “He ought, indeed, to be grateful.”

“I doubt if he will,” said Mr. Roscoe, shrugging his shoulders.  “He has a proud spirit, and a high idea of his own position, though he is of unknown parentage, and has nothing of his own.”

“Indeed!”

“I merely wish to say that you do not need to treat him as if he were my nephew.  It is best to be strict with him, and make him conform to the rules.”

“I will, indeed, Mr. Roscoe.  Would that all guardians of youth were as judicious!  Your wishes shall be regarded.”

After a little more conversation, Allan Roscoe took his leave.

So, under auspices not the most pleasant, Hector’s school life began.

CHAPTER VII.

The tyrant of the playground.

Under the guidance of the lank boy, named Wilkins, Hector left Mr. Smith’s office, and walked to a barren-looking plot of ground behind the house, which served as a playground for the pupils of Smith Institute.

Wilkins scanned the new arrival closely.

“I say, Roscoe,” he commenced, “what made you come here?”

“Why do boys generally come to school?” returned Hector.

“Because they have to, I suppose,” answered Wilkins.

“I thought they came to study.”

“Oh, you’re one of that sort, are you?” asked Wilkins, curiously.

“I hope to learn something here.”