"Uncle, then?"

"He is my guardian," answered Hector, briefly.

They were by this time in the playground. Some dozen boys were
playing baseball. They were of different 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."