-- and of course he didn't have to worry much after that. He naturally
became the president of the Paisley Mills in time.

Some of the boys used to say Bo-jo was conceited, but Bo-jo was
always able to do everything he said he could. He could walk up and
down stairs on his hands, for instance, and he could memorize whole
pages out of the telephone directory. It was only natural that he
should have had his name on the Humphrey I. Walker silver cup for
THE BOY WHO MOST NEARLY TYPIFIES THE IDEALS OF ST. SWITHIN'S
-- and he could have had his name on other cups in later life, if
they had given cups like that.

I wondered occasionally why it was, as time went on, that there
seemed to be quite a clique that did not like him. It certainly is a
fact that when Bo-jo used to come around, five or six of us would
always get into a corner and say things about him. Bill King,
for instance, always used to say that Bo-jo was a bastard, a big
bastard. Perhaps he meant that Bo-jo sometimes threw his weight
around.

"Some day," Bill said, "someone is going to stop that bastard."
But then Bill never did like Bo-jo and Bo-jo never liked him
either.

I remember when Bill discussed him once at a big dinner party
where everybody got swept together from odd corners and all the
men were in the library and didn't seem anxious to join the ladies.
Bo-jo was telling what was the matter with the football team and
what was going to happen to Electric Bond and Share, so you can
guess the date, and I was sitting next to Bill, listening to Bo-jo's
voice.

"My God," said Bill, "I don't see how you stand him."

"Bo-jo is all right," I said.

"Well," Bill said, "it's my personal opinion he's a bastard."

"You said that before," I said. "As a matter of fact, there're lots
of nice things about Bo-jo."

"The trouble with you is," Bill said, "you always play the game."

"Well, what's wrong with playing the game?" I asked.

"Because you're old enough not to be playing it," Bill said.

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