Frankl considered. “All right, I don't mind”.
“I shall want a spade, and—a barrow”.
“Go down the path yonder, till you come to the stables, and tell them”.
Frankl resumed his musing stroll, and Hogarth ran for the barrow.
In twenty minutes he was again at the elm tree, and, with a scheme in him for seeing Rebekah, heaped the barrow with refuse, pushed it between a beck and the wood, till, wearying of this, he was about to get the meteorite into the barrow, when he had the mad thought that Frankl must be made to see and touch it, so set off to seek him: and a few yards brought him face to face with Frankl.
“Well, how goes it?” asked the Jew.
“There is a weight there which I can't lift”, said Hogarth. “Then you must do the other thing. Don't lift it, and you don't get the pay. What weight is it?”
“It is here”.
Hogarth led him, led him, pointing. Frankl kicked the meteorite.
“What is it?” he asked.