As soon as school was out, Jim Smith had looked round for the new
boy, who seemed disposed to defy his authority. On account of eating
at different tables, they had not met during the noon intermission.
At any rate, there had not been time to settle the question of
subserviency. Through the afternoon session Jim had been
anticipating the signal punishment which he intended to inflict upon
the newcomer.

"I'll show him!" he said to himself. "Tomorrow he'll be singing a
different tune, or I am mistaken."

This was the way Jim had been accustomed to break in refractory new
arrivals. The logic of his fist usually proved a convincing
argument, and thus far his supremacy had never been successfully
resisted. He was confident that he would not be interfered with.
Secretly, his Uncle Socrates sympathized with him, and relished the
thought that his nephew, who so strongly resembled him in mind and
person, should be the undisputed boss--to use a word common in
political circles--of the school. He discreetly ignored the
conflicts which he knew took place, and if any luckless boy, the
victim of Jim's brutality, ventured to appeal to him, the boy soon
found that he himself was arraigned, and not the one who had abused
him.

"Where's that new boy?" asked Jim, as he left the schoolroom.

He had not seen our hero's departure--but his ready tool, Bates,
had.