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"Jim been here? I met him in the corridor." "I warrant he didn't say he had been here." "No; he said he had been to Bates' room, but didn't find him there." "That's all gammon! Wilkins, what will you say when I tell you that old Sock's wallet is in this very room!" "I won't believe it!" "Look here, then!" As he spoke, Ben went to Hector's pants and drew out the wallet.
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."
The wallet he recognized at once, for he had more than once seen Socrates take it out of his pocket. "It's old Sock's wallet!" he said to himself. "It's clear that Jim has taken it, and means to have it found in Roscoe's possession. That's as mean a trick as I ever heard of." Just then Wilkins entered the room. Wilkins and Ben Platt were Hector's two roommates. "Hello, Wilkins!
"I shall write to my father in what manner I have been treated, and let him understand how the principal manages the school, and I feel sure he will withdraw me." "Ditto for me!" said Ben Platt. "Old Sock's partiality for his nephew has been carried too far, and now that the only decent teacher is going Mr. Crabb I don't mean, to stay here if I can help it."
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