's cruse of oil; and the little heap of sawed
bits lying in a corner, barely a couple of dozen, looked like the
result of a child's play, begun in a whim and as lightly thrown aside.

Now both the old men were to work at it. It was necessary to arrange
for a combination, since there was only one saw-horse and one saw.
After a few preparatory motions, sighs, and remarks, they conquered
their inner reluctance and addressed themselves to their task. And now,
unfortunately, Karl Huerlin's glad hopes showed themselves to have been
idle dreams, for the manner of working of the two displayed the
essential difference between them.

Each had his own special way of being busy. In both, alongside of the
innate overmastering laziness, a remnant of conscience exhorted timidly
to work; neither of them really wanted to work, but they wanted to be
able to pretend to themselves at least that they were of some use in
the world. They strove to attain this result in different ways; and in
these two worn-out and useless fellows, whom fate had apparently
destined to be brothers, there appeared an unexpected divergence of
aptitudes and inclinations.

Huerlin was master of a method by which, though he did next to nothing,
he was or seemed continually busy. The simple act of taking hold of a
thing had come with him to be a highly developed man[oe]uvre, owing to
the way in which he associated with this small action a noticeable
_ritardando_. Moreover, he invented and employed, between two simple
motions, as between the grasping and applying the saw, a whole series
of useless but easy intervening details, and was always concerned in
keeping actual work as far as possible from contact with his body by
such unnecessary trivialities. Thus he resembled a condemned criminal
who devises this and that and the other thing that must be done and
cared for and attended to before he goes to suffer the inevitable
penalty. And so he contrived to fill the required hours with an
incessant activity and to bring to them a pretence of honest toil,
without having really accomplished anything that could be called work.

In this characteristic and practical system he had hoped to be
understood and supported by Heller, and now found himself disappointed.
The sailmaker, in accordance with his inner character, followed an
entirely opposite method. He worked himself up by a convulsive decision
into a foaming fury, rushed at his work as though he did not care for
life,