Give us your hand, old tinder-box! I meant no harm, and you know it." John Briggs took the proffered hand sulkily enough; and Tom went out of the glass door, whistling as merry as a cricket.
"My dear boy," said the Doctor, when they were alone, "you must try to curb this temper of yours.

Don't be angry with me, but--" "I should be an ungrateful brute if I was, sir.

I can bear anything from you.

I ought to, for I owe everything to you; but--" "But, my dear boy--'better is he that ruleth his spirit, than he that taketh a city.'" John Briggs tapped his foot on the ground impatiently.

"I cannot help it, sir.