listen. You say that we like people because of their good qualities?"
"Yep."
"Well, there's Bob Stevens;—Fred Walker likes him awfully well, you like him some, and I don't like him at all."
"That's so," I said.
"Well, Fred Walker is one of the very nicest boys in our school, isn't he?"
"He sure is," I said.
"And he knows Bob better than either of us does."
"He ought to; he's lived next door to him for two years."
"And you know Bob better than I do."
"Yep. What are you driving at?"
"Now wait. Here are three of us looking at the same fellow in three different ways. Is that because of Bob,—or us?"
I had to stop and think things over. "It's queer, isn't it?" I said. "Why, there are as many different opinions of him as there are pupils in school,—and some of the teachers have liked him, and some haven't, and have nagged him dreadfully,—and he was mean to those."
