ages and sizes, ranging from ten to
nineteen. The oldest and largest bore such a strong personal resemblance
to Socrates Smith, that Hector asked if he were his son.

"No," answered Wilkins; "he is old Sock's nephew."

"Who is old Sock?"

"Smith, of course. His name is Socrates, you know. Don't let him catch
you calling him that, though."

"What sort of a fellow is this nephew?" asked Hector.

"He's a bully. He bosses the boys. It's best to keep on the right side
of Jim."

"Oh, is it?" inquired Hector, smiling slightly.

"Well, I should say so."

"Suppose you don't?"

"He'll give you a thrashing."

"Does his uncle allow that?"

"Yes; I think he rather likes it."

"Don't the boys resist?"

"It won't do any good. You see, Jim's bigger than any of us."

Hector took a good look at this redoubtable Jim Smith.

He was rather loosely made, painfully homely, and about five feet nine
inches in height. Nothing more need be said, as, in appearance, he
closely resembled his uncle.

Jim Smith soon gave Hector an opportunity of verifying the description
given of him by Wilkins.

The boy at the bat had struck a ball to the extreme boundary of the
field. The fielder at that point didn't go so fast as Jim, who was
pitcher, thought satisfactory, and he called out in a rough, brutal
tone:

"If you don't go quicker, Archer, I'll kick you all round the field."

Hector looked at Wilkins inquiringly.

"Does he mean that?" he asked.

"Yes, he does."

"Does he ever make such a brute of himself?"

"Often."

"And the boys allow it?"

"They can't help it."

"So, it seems, you have a tyrant of the school?"

"That's just it."

"Isn't there any boy among you to teach the fellow better manners? You
must be cowards to submit."

"Oh, you'll find out soon that you must submit, too," said Wilkins.

Hector smiled.

"You don't know me yet," he said.

"What could you do against Jim? He's three or four inches taller than
you. How old are you?"

"I shall be sixteen next month."

"And he is nineteen."

"That may be; but he'd better not try to order me round."

"You'll sing a different tune in a day or two," said Wilkins.

By this time Jim Smith had observed the new arrival.

"What's that you've got with you, Wilkins?" he demanded, pausing in his
play.

"The new boy."

"Who's he?"

"His name is Roscoe."

"Ho! Hasn't he got any other name?" asked Jim, meaningly.

Wilkins had forgotten the new arrival's