"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.