“I can’t think of a way myself,” replied Caspar, looking inquiringly at his brother.
“I fancy I can,” said Karl. “What is to hinder us to ascertain the weight of the rope before making it, and also decide as to whether the bird can carry so much?”
“But how are you to weigh the rope until it is made? You know it’s the trouble of making it we wish to avoid—that is, should it prove useless afterwards.”
“Oh! as for that,” rejoined Karl, “it is not necessary to have it finished to find out what weight it would be. We know pretty near the length that will be needed, and by weighing a piece of that already in our hands, we can calculate for any given length.”
“You forget, brother Karl, that we have no means of weighing, even the smallest piece. We have neither beam, scales, nor weights.”
“Pooh!” replied Karl, with that tone of confidence imparted by superior knowledge. “There’s no difficulty in obtaining all these. Any piece of straight stick becomes a beam, when properly balanced; and as for scales, they can be had as readily as a beam.”
“But the weights?” interrupted Caspar. “What about them? Your beam and scales would be useless, I apprehend, without proper weights? I think we should be ‘stumped’ for the want of the pounds and ounces.”
“I am surprised, Caspar, you should be so unreflecting, and allow your ingenuity to be so easily discouraged and thwarted. I believe I could make a set of weights under any circumstances in which you might place me—giving me only the raw material, such as a piece of timber and plenty of stones.”
“But how, brother? Pray, tell us!”
“Why, in the first place, I know the weight of my own body.”