Wood, in deploring his wild career, adverted to the melancholy condition to which it had reduced his mother. If you knew anything about Canton ware, you were, as like as not, sorely tempted to stuff a teacup into your pocket. At last he took up his thoughts again: “I wonder if, some day, one won’t need to rebel against customs and laws? If this discord will have gone? Some day, perhaps—who knows?—the old won’t coddle and hamper the young, and the young won’t need to fly in the faces of the old. ’ ‘Then you will not be disappointed. “Of course, I remember now. She put her hand in his to be squeezed.
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