“my boy,” said an aged father to his fiery and disobedient son, “a hot temper is the soil of remorse. promise me that when next you are angry you will count one hundred before you move or speak.”

no sooner had the son promised than he received a stinging blow from the paternal walking-stick, and by the time he had counted to seventy-five had the unhappiness to see the old man jump into a waiting cab and whirl away.