He began to wander aimlessly about for a few minutes, and then, finding a piece that must have been about a hundredweight, he began to prise it about using the iron bar as a lever, and to such good effect that he soon had it close to the edge.
“Look here, lads,” he cried, “here’s a game! I’m going to send this rolling down.”
We joined him directly, for there seemed to be a prospect of some amusement in seeing the heavy rugged mass go rolling down here, making a leap down the perpendicular parts there, and coming to an anchor somewhere many hundred feet below where we were perched.
For there was not even a sheep in sight, the side of the valley below us being a rugged mass of desolation, only redeemed by patches of whortleberry and purple heath with the taller growing heather.
“Over with it, Bob,” cried Bigley; “shall I help?”
“No, no, you needn’t help neither,” said Bob. “I’m going to do it all myself scientifically, as Doctor Stacey calls it. This bar’s a fulcrum.”
“No, no,” I said; “that isn’t right.”
“Ha, ha, ha!” laughed Bigley.
“Then what is it, please, Mr Clever? Doctor Stacey said bars were fulcrums, and you put the end under a big stone, and then put a little one down for a lever—just so, and then you pressed down the end of the bar—so, and then—”
“Oh! Look at it,” cried Bigley.