“Maybe I was, too,” granted Toby, reflecting the smile dimly.
“Well, you quarreled. Then what happened? Did you make up?”
“No, sir, he said I was to go out and not come back until I had apologized. And so I did. And then I went upstairs to my room and—and—” Toby faltered.
“Kicked the furniture around?”
“No, sir.” Toby shook his head. “I just—just sat down, I guess, and then, after awhile, I looked at the clock and it was nearly nine. And so I came over here and asked to see you and Mr. Thompson said I couldn’t and I told him. I—I’m very sorry, sir.”
“I see, Tucker.” The Doctor swung away around in his swivel chair and faced one of the broad windows. When he spoke next his face was away from Toby and the boy had to listen hard to hear what he said. “I wonder what your idea of friendship is, my boy. You tell me that you and this other boy were chums. That means that you were fond of each other, would make almost any sacrifice for each other. I know something about friendships between boys. I’ve seen so many of them, Tucker, and some very beautiful ones. And the beautiful ones have always, I think, been based on unselfishness. In fact, I doubt if a true friendship can exist without the constant sacrifice of self. I wish you’d think that over, Tucker.” The Doctor paused and then swung slowly around again in his chair. “The momentary satisfaction that one gets from yielding to one’s temper, Tucker, doesn’t begin to make up for the consequences. See what has happened in your own case. You have made yourself unhappy and this other boy, too. Your self-respect has suffered. Later you will take up your friendship, I hope, and go on with it, but you can’t take it up just as you left it off, Tucker. There will always be a mended place in it, my boy, and you know that a mended place is always weak. A friendship is too fine a thing to take any chances with. One ought to be as careful with a friendship as one would be with a beautiful piece of delicate glass.”
The Doctor picked up the card again, looked at it a moment and once more laid it aside. Then, in more matter-of-fact tones, he went on: “I’m glad you explained to me, Tucker, for it puts a different interpretation on your ‘forgetfulness.’ It wasn’t forgetfulness that caused you to miss chapel, but anger. In so far as I am able to judge, Tucker, it is that temper of yours that will cause you the most trouble in life. If I were you I would start out now to learn to control it, and I wouldn’t stop until I had succeeded. A man without the capacity for becoming angry is not much use in the world, but a man who is unable to control his anger is not only useless but positively dangerous, to himself and the community. Anger controlled is a powerful weapon in the grasp of a strong man, Tucker, but anger uncontrolled is like a child’s sword whittled from a lathe and breaks in our hands, and often wounds us in the breaking. Now I’m going to make a bargain with you, my boy, subject to your agreement. I’ll write the word ‘excused’ on this card if you will give me your promise to go out from here and sit down somewhere quite by yourself and think over very carefully what I have been saying. Will you do that?”
“Yes, sir,” answered Toby subduedly.
“That’s all then, Tucker. I’m not going to make any suggestions as to the healing of the breach with your chum. Those things have to work themselves out in their own way. Only remember, my boy, that friendship and selfishness never mix. Good-morning, Tucker.”