"Here is another vacant desk, but it is not as well located."

"Never mind. I will take it. I shall probably have a better
neighbor."

The bell was rung. Another teacher appeared, an elderly man, who
looked as if all his vitality had been expended on his thirty years
of teaching. He, too, was shabbily dressed--his coat being shiny and
napless, and his vest lacking two out of the five original buttons.

"I guess Smith doesn't pay very high salaries," thought Hector.
"Poor fellows. His teachers look decidedly seedy."

The boys began to pour in, not only those on the playground, but as
many more who lived in the village, and were merely day scholars.
Jim Smith stalked in with an independent manner and dropped into his
seat carelessly. He looked around him patronizingly. He felt that he
was master of the situation. Both ushers and all the pupils stood in
fear of him, as he well knew. Only to his uncle did he look up as
his superior, and he took care to be on good terms with him, as it
was essential to the maintenance of his personal authority.

Last of all, Mr. Smith, the learned principal, walked into the
schoolroom with the air of a commanding general, followed by Allan
Roscoe, who he had invited to see the school in operation.

Socrates Smith stood upright behind his desk, and waved his hand
majestically.