And the more they thought of it, the more ashamed of themselves they grew, till at last one sat down and wrote,-- "Dear Dick, I'm sorry I offended you; make it up," to which epistle came, by return post, a reply,-- "Dear Bob, _I'm_ sorry _I_ offended you; let's be friends." And the first day of next term these two met and shook hands, and laughed, and owned what fools they had both been.
A great many of the faults of this life come from the lack of a sense of humour.

Certainly, if sulky boys had more of it, they would be inclined to follow the example of these two.
But, although there is a great deal about the sulky boy that merits pity rather than blame, there is much that deserves merciless censure.

Why should one boy, by a whim of selfish resentment, mar the pleasure, not only of those with whom he has his quarrel, but with every one else he comes in contact with?
"One dead fly," the proverb says, "makes the apothecary's ointment unsavoury"; and one sulky boy, in like manner, may destroy the harmony of a whole school.

Isn't it enough, if you must be disagreeable, to confine your disagreeableness to those for whom it is meant, without lugging a dozen other harmless fellows into the shadow of it?
Do you really think so much of your own importance as to imagine all the world will be interested in your quarrel with Smith, because he insisted a thing was tweedledum and you insisted it was tweedledee?
Or, if you have the grace to confine your sulkiness to Smith alone, for his private benefit, do you imagine you will convince him of the error of his ways by shutting yourself up and never looking or speaking to him?
It used to be a matter of frequent debate at school what ought to be done to Tom Sulks.
"Kick him," said some.

"Laugh at him," said others.