"MY boy," said an aged¹ Father to his fiery² and disobedient Son, "a
hot temper is the soil of remorse³.  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 paternal⁴ 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.

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