'
"Good boy!" said I. "Now that's where Dr. Watts--"
"Don't interrupt," said Jimmy. "It isn't manners so to do, when I'm
just getting into my stride--"
'But, children, you should never let
Such angry passions rise:
Your little hands were never made
To tear each other's eyes . . .'
"Please, I don't know any more."
"Nor need you," I assured him, "for, according to Jack, it's
completely out of date."
"'M'yes!" Jimmy agreed. "But he won't get a European reputation by
discovering _that_. They don't tear each other's eyes at the N.S.C.,
even--it's against the rules. Come and see for yourself, Professor."
"Angry passions," I went on patiently; "envy, hatred, and malice--
especially hatred--are Jack's special lay; the Grand Research we call
it. Take simple anger, for instance. What is it makes a man angry?"
"Lots of things. . . . Being called a liar, for one."
Foe took the mischief in the boy's eye, and let out a laugh.
"I can't be angry with _you_, anyway. Go on, Roddy. You're doing it
quite well so far, though I'm almost too sleepy to listen.
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