I knew what he meant in a way, because Bill came from New
York and he had a different point of view.

"Now, here's one instance," Bill said, "that brings out my point.
What does everybody keep calling him Bo-jo for?"

"Everybody's always called him that," I said.

"That's it," Bill said. "As a matter of fact, his name is Lester --
Lester Brown -- and as you say, everybody has always called him
Bo-jo. And I can imagine who called him Bo-jo first. His mother
did. Probably the first thing he ever said was Bo-jo. Now, don't you
frankly think that's perverted? If he had ever had a good kick in
the pants --"

"You never did like him," I said.

"He's a bastard," Bill said, "and he's never had a kick in the
pants."

"Well, if you only tried to know him --" I said. "If you only tried
to like him, there are lots of nice things about Bo-jo. After all, he
does a lot for the Class."

"My God," said Bill, "what's that got to do with it? Just because
I was thrown by accident with six hundred people into an insti-
tution of learning why do I have to be loyal to the Class?"

"You don't really mean that, Bill," I said.

"Are you being serious?" Bill asked.

"Well, more or less," I said. "Of course it all was an accident, but
the Class means something to a lot of people. A lot of people have
got a lot out of it."

"What have they got?" Bill asked.

"Well, I don't know exactly," I answered, "but we shared a com-
mon experience."

"And what sort of an experience?" said Bill. "And why should
anyone be any better for sharing an experience with Bo-jo?"

"Well," I said, "you're different. I've known Bo-jo almost all my
life. He can be awfully nice when he wants to. I think a good deal
of what you don't like in his manner is because he's shy."

"That's the excuse they always make about snotty people," Bill
said. "They're always shy. He ought to get a kick in the pants."

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