Hard work, that it was, but as to giving up ... At last he
got the nose of his lever down and tried it; the stone did not move.
Technically speaking, there was nothing wrong with his method, but it
did not work. What was the matter, then? He had got out stones before
in his life. Was he getting old? Funny thing, he he he! Ridiculous,
indeed. True, he had noticed lately that he was not so strong as he
had been--that is to say, he had noticed nothing of the sort, never
heeded it; 'twas only imagination. And he goes at the stone once more,
with the best will in the world.
Oh, 'twas no little matter when Isak bore down on a levering pole
with all his weight. There he is now, hoisting and hoisting again, a
Cyclop, enormous, with a torso that seems built in one to the knees. A
certain pomp and splendour about him; his equator was astounding.
But the stone did not move.
No help for it; he must dig again. Try blasting? Not a word! No, dig
again. He was intent on his work now. The stone should come up! It
would be wrong to say there was anything at all perverse in this on
Isak's part; it was the ingrown love of a worker on the soil,
but altogether without tenderness.
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