"To be sure he was. He knew what to expect."

"Are you going to thrash him?" asked Johnson.

"I should say I might."

"He's a very good Latin scholar," remarked Wilkins.

"He thinks he is!" sneered Jim.

"So Mr. Crabb appears to think."

"That for old Crabb!" said Jim, contemptuously, snapping his fingers.

"He don't know much himself. I've caught him in plenty of mistakes."

This was certainly very amusing, considering Smith's absolute ignorance of even the Latin rudiments, but the boys around him did not venture to contradict him.

"But it don't make any difference whether he knows Latin or not,"

proceeded Jim. "He has been impudent to me, and he shall suffer for it.

I was hoping to get a chance at him this recess, but it'll keep."

"You might spoil his appet.i.te for dinner," said Bates, who was rather a toady to Jim.

"That's just exactly what I expect to do; at any rate, for supper. I've got to have a reckoning with that young m.u.f.f."

The recess lasted fifteen minutes. At the end of that time the schoolbell rang, and the boys trooped back into the schoolroom.

Hector sat at his desk looking tranquil and at ease. He alone seemed unaware of the fate that was destined for him.

CHAPTER X. DINNER AT SMITH INSt.i.tUTE.

At twelve o'clock the morning session closed. Then came an intermission of an hour, during which the day scholars either ate lunch brought with them, or went to their homes in the village to partake of a warm repast.

At ten minutes past twelve, a red-armed servant girl made her appearance at the back door looking out on the playground, and rang a huge dinner bell. The boys dropped their games, and made what haste they could to the dining room.

"Now for a feast!" said Wilkins to Hector, significantly.

"Does Mr. Smith furnish good board?" asked Hector, for he felt the hunger of a healthy boy who had taken an early breakfast.

"Good grub?" said Wilkins, making a face. "Wait till you see. Old Sock isn't going to ruin himself providing his pupils with the delicacies of the season."

"I'm sorry for that. I am confoundedly hungry."

"Hungry!" exclaimed Wilkins. "I've been I hungry ever since I came here."

"Is it as bad as that?" asked Hector, rather alarmed.

"I should say so. I haven't had a square meal--what I call a square meal--for four weeks, and that's just the time since I left home."

They had reached the door of the dining-room by this time.

In the center stood a long table, but there didn't seem to be much on it except empty plates. At a side table stood Mrs. Smith, ladling out soup from a large tureen.

"That's the first course," whispered Wilkins. "I hope you'll like it."

The boys filed in and took seats. The servant girl already referred to began to bring plates of soup and set before the boys. It was a thin, unwholesome-looking mixture, with one or two small pieces of meat, about the size of a chestnut, in each plate, and fragments of potatoes and carrots. A small, triangular wedge of dry bread was furnished with each portion of soup.

"We all begin to eat together. Don't be in a hurry," said Wilkins, in a low tone.

When all the boys were served, Socrates Smith, who sat in an armchair at the head of the table, said:

"Boys, we are now about to partake of the bounties of Providence, let me hope, with grateful hearts."

He touched a hand bell, and the boys took up their soup spoons.

Hector put a spoonful gingerly into his mouth, and then, stopping short, looked at Wilkins. His face was evidently struggling not to express disgust.

"Is it always as bad?" he asked, in a whisper.

"Yes," answered Wilkins, shrugging his shoulders.

"But you eat it!"

Wilkins had already swallowed his third spoonful.

"I don't want to starve," answered Wilkins, significantly. "You'll get used to it in time."

Hector tried to dispose of a second spoonful, but he had to give it up.

At home he was accustomed to a luxurious table, and this meal seemed to be a mere mockery. Yet he felt hungry. So he took up the piece of bread at the side of his plate, and, though it was dry, he succeeded in eating it.

By this time his left-hand neighbor, a boy named Colburn, had finished his soup. He looked longingly at Hector's almost untasted plate.

"Ain't you going to eat your soup?" he asked, in a hoa.r.s.e whisper

"No."

"Give it to me?"

"Yes."

In a trice, Colburn had appropriated Hector's plate and put his own empty one in its place. Just after this transfer had been made, Mr.

Smith looked over to where Hector was sitting. He observed the empty plate, and said to himself: "That new boy has been gorging himself. He must have a terrible appet.i.te. Well, that's one good thing, he ain't dainty. Some boys turn up their noses at plain, wholesome diet. I didn't know but he might."

Presently the hand bell rang again, and the soup plates were removed. In their places were set dinner plates, containing a small section each of corned beef, with a consumptive-looking potato, very probably "soggy."