“What do you want there?” asked the giant.
“I want three of the golden apples,” shouted Hercules, “for my cousin, the king.”
“There is nobody but myself,” quoth the giant, “that can go to the garden of the Hesperides and gather the golden apples. If it were not for this little business of holding up the sky, I would make half a dozen steps across the sea and get them for you.”
“You are very kind,” replied Hercules. “And cannot you rest the sky upon a mountain?”
“None of them are quite high enough,” said Atlas, shaking his head. “But if you were to take your stand on the summit of that nearest one your head would be pretty nearly on a level with mine. You seem to be a fellow of some strength. What if you should take my burden on your shoulders while I do your errand for you?”
“Is the sky very heavy?” he inquired.
“Why, not particularly so at first,” answered the giant, shrugging his shoulders, “but it gets to be a little burdensome after a thousand years.”
“And how long a time,” asked the hero, “will it take you to get the golden apples?”
“Oh, that will be done in a few moments!” cried Atlas. “I shall take ten or fifteen miles at a stride, and be at the garden and back again before your shoulders begin to ache.”
“Well, then,” answered Hercules, “I will climb the mountain behind you, and relieve you of your burden.”