Any two boys talking to each other about Bull would probably profess to
like him "well enough," but if they were honest, they would generally
end by allowing their contempt.
"We've got a nice set in No. 7, haven't we?" said Duncan to Eric one
day.
"Capital. Old Llewellyn's a stunner, and I like Attlay and Graham."
"Don't you like Bull then?"
"O yes; pretty well."
The two boys looked each other in the face, then, like the confidential
augurs, burst out laughing.
"You know you detest him," said Duncan.
"No, I don't. He never did me any harm that I know of."
"Him!--well, _I_ detest him."
"Well!" answered Eric, "on coming to think of it, so do I. And yet he is
popular enough in the school. I wonder how that is."
"He's not _really_ popular. I've often noticed that fellows pretty
generally despise him, yet somehow don't like to say so."
"Why do you dislike him, Duncan?"
"I don't know. Why do you?"
"I don't know either."
Neither Eric nor Duncan meant this answer to be false, and yet if they
had taken the trouble to consider, they would have found out in their
secret souls the reasons of their dislike.
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