Hector's Inheritance, Or, the Boys of Smith Institute, Jr. Horatio Alger [best electronic book reader TXT] 📗
- Author: Jr. Horatio Alger
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“There,” he said to himself, with exultation. “That’ll fix him! Perhaps he’ll wish he hadn’t put on quite so many airs.”
He was rather annoyed, as he walked along the corridor, back to his own room, to encounter Wilkins. He had artfully chosen a time when he thought all the boys would be out, and he heartily wished that some untoward chance had not brought Wilkins in.
“Where are you going, Jim?” asked Wilkins.
“I went to Bates’ room, thinking he might be in, but he wasn’t.”
“Do you want him? I left him out on the playground.”
“Oh, it’s no matter! It’ll keep!” said Jim, indifferently.
“I got out of that pretty well!” he reflected complacently.
Perhaps Jim Smith would not have felt quite so complacent, if he had known that at the time he entered Hector’s room it was occupied, though he could not see the occupant. It so chanced that Ben Platt, one of Hector’s roommates, was in the closet, concealed from the view of anyone entering the room, yet so placed that he could see through the partially open door what wras passing in the room.
When he saw Jim Smith enter he was surprised, for he knew that that young man was not on visiting terms with the boy who had discomfited and humiliated him.
“What on earth can Jim want?” he asked himself.
He did not have long to wait for an answer though not a real one; but actions, as men have often heard, speak louder than words.
When he saw Jim steal up to Hector’s pants, and producing a wallet, hastily thrust it into one of the pockets, he could hardly believe the testimony of his eyes.
“Well!” he ejaculated, inwardly, “I would not have believed it if I hadn’t seen it. I knew Jim was a bully and a tyrant, but I didn’t think he was as contemptible as all that.”
The wallet he recognized at once, for he had more than once seen Socrates take it out of his pocket.
“It’s old Sock’s wallet!” he said to himself. “It’s clear that Jim has taken it, and means to have it found in Roscoe’s possession. That’s as mean a trick as I ever heard of.”
Just then Wilkins entered the room. Wilkins and Ben Platt were Hector’s two roommates.
“Hello, Wilkins! I’m glad you’ve come just as you have.”
“What for, Platt? Do you want to borrow some money?”
“No; there is more money in this room now than there has been for a long time.”
“What do you mean? The governor hasn’t sent you a remittance, has he?”
“No.”
“Expound your meaning, then, most learned and mysterious chum.”
“I will. Within five minutes Jim Smith has been here and left a wallet of money.”
“Jim been here? I met him in the corridor.”
“I warrant he didn’t say he had been here.”
“No; he said he had been to Bates’ room, but didn’t find him there.”
“That’s all gammon! Wilkins, what will you say when I tell you that old Sock’s wallet is in this very room!”
“I won’t believe it!”
“Look here, then!”
As he spoke, Ben went to Hector’s pants and drew out the wallet.
Wilkins started in surprise and dismay.
“How did Roscoe come by that?” he asked; “surely he didn’t take it?”
“Of course he didn’t. You might know Roscoe better. Didn’t you hear me say just now that Jim brought it here?”
“And put it in Roscoe’s pocket?”
“Yes.”
“In your presence?”
“Yes; only he didn’t know that I was present,” said Platt.
“Where were you?”
“In the closet. The door was partly open, and I saw everything.”
“What does it all mean?”
“Can’t you see? It’s Jim’s way of coming up with Roscoe. You know he threatened that he’d fix him.”
“All I can say is, that it’s a very mean way,” said Wilkins in disgust.
He was not a model boy—far from it, indeed!—but he had a sentiment of honor that made him dislike and denounce a conspiracy like this.
“It’s a dirty trick,” he said, warmly.
“I agree with you on that point.” “What shall we do about it?”
“Lay low, and wait till the whole thing comes out. When Sock discovers his loss, Jim will be on hand to tell him where his wallet is. Then we can up and tell all we know.”
“Good! There’s a jolly row coming!” said Wilkins, smacking his lips.
CHAPTER XVIII. THE MISSING WALLET IS FOUND.
Socrates Smith was, ordinarily, so careful of his money, that it was a very remarkable inadvertence to leave it on the bureau. Nor was it long before he ascertained his loss. He was sitting at his desk when his wife looked in at the door, and called for a small sum for some domestic expenditure.
With an ill grace—for Socrates hated to part with his money—he put his hand into the pocket where he usually kept his wallet.
“Really, Mrs. Smith,” he was saying, “it seems to me you are always wanting money—why, bless my soul!” and such an expression of consternation and dismay swept over his face, that his wife hurriedly inquired:
“What is the matter, Mr. Smith?”
“Matter enough!” he gasped. “My wallet is gone!”
“Gone!” echoed his wife, in alarm. “Where can you have left it?”
Mr. Smith pressed his hand to his head in painful reflection.
“How much money was there in it, Socrates?” asked his wife.
“Between forty and fifty dollars!” groaned Mr. Smith. “If I don’t find it, Sophronia, I am a ruined man!”
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