They had been
caught in the rush and swirl of the
great maelstrom, and had been borne
round and round in it, until having
grasped every coveted thing tossing
upon its circling waters, they
themselves had been flung upon the shore
with both hands full, the rocks about
them strewn with rich possessions,
while they lay prostrate and gazed
at all life had brought with dull,
hopeless, anguished eyes. He knew
--if the worst came to the worst--
what would be said of him, because
he had heard it said of others. "He
worked too hard--he worked too
hard." He was sick of hearing it.
What was wrong with the world--
what was wrong with man, as Man
--if work could break him like this?
If one believed in Deity, the living
creature It breathed into being must
be a perfect thing--not one to be
wearied, sickened, tortured by the
life Its breathing had created. A
mere man would disdain to build
a thing so poor and incomplete.
A mere human engineer who constructed
an engine whose workings
were perpetually at fault--which
went wrong when called upon to
do the labor it was made for--who
would not scoff at it and cast it aside
as a piece of worthless bungling?
"Something is wrong," he mut-
tered, lying flat upon his cross and
staring at the yellow haze which
had crept through crannies in window-
sashes into the room. "Someone
is wrong. Is it I--or You?"
His thin lips drew themselves
back against his teeth in a mirthless
smile which was like a grin.
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