“All right,” said the Tutor, “suggest an occupation.”
“Let me see,” said the Ruler of the Shades, and he pondered a few moments. “How would it be, now, if you were to take a turn with our friend Sisyphus? He rolls a big stone up a hill, and just as he thinks it’s going to get to the top, down it comes again—most disappointing. Quite inexpensive, and very healthy, I should say, and really,
as an object-lesson in the force of gravity, not uninstructive.”
“Won’t do at all,” replied the Tutor. “In the Vacations I was always walking up hills and having to come down before I got to the top. Then in the Term I used to teach Logic to passmen; and really, if you think—”
“Yes, yes,” Pluto agreed; “the occupations would be practically identical. Of course, that won’t suit you. Well, then, there’s Ixion, who goes round on a wheel.”
“I’m a bicyclist myself,” objected the Tutor.
“Are you? Pity, too, because Ixion says his wheel’s old-fashioned; he wants a new one with pneumatic tyres warranted puncturable, which shows that he is really entering into the spirit of the thing. You might have had his old one for a song, I’m sure. However, what do you say to calling on those Danaid girls, and getting them to teach you their little industry? There, again, you have simplicity itself. Take a can with a hole in the bottom, go on pouring water into it—”
“I thought I told you,” murmured the deceased, wearily, “that I have followed the profession of teaching.”
“Very true; I had forgotten. Don’t know what
we can do to suit you, really! Perhaps you’d like to imitate Theseus—sedet aeternumque sedebit, as Virgil said. Astonishing how Virgil picked these details up! There’s old Theseus, sitting like a hen. They say he’s as tired of sitting as if he were a rowing-man.”