With Bob Stevens it's different. He's a sort of happy-go-lucky, what's-the-difference-it's-all-in-a-lifetime kind of a fellow;—doing things he shouldn't, just because he wants to,—and then kicking himself afterward;—and then doing the same thing over again;—so really "Bob" just fits him. That is, it fits him on the outside; but there are things underneath, that you catch a glimpse of only once in a great while when you know him real well;—things that make you feel like calling him "Robert" and being proud to know him. Folks think him rowdy and conceited,—until they catch a glimpse of his real self.
Bob and Flo came on down to our house and we all sat on the veranda fora while. Uncle Rob and Flo sat up on the swinging seat, and Bess and Bob and I sat down on the steps and began talking about school. Bob said he hated like the dickens to start in; that he was sure he would scrap with the teacher because he'd been sent up there for a reprimand, from the lower rooms, two or three times;—and you know you never like a person who has only seen you when you are in disgrace. It really doesn't give a fellow a fair show when he begins to go to school to that
