He flung it down, and says: "Gimme a CASE-KNIFE." I didn't know just what to do--but then I thought.

I scratched around amongst the old tools, and got a pickaxe and give it to him, and he took it and went to work, and never said a word.
He was always just that particular.

Full of principle.
So then I got a shovel, and then we picked and shoveled, turn about, and made the fur fly.

We stuck to it about a half an hour, which was as long as we could stand up; but we had a good deal of a hole to show for it.
When I got up stairs I looked out at the window and see Tom doing his level best with the lightning-rod, but he couldn't come it, his hands was so sore.

At last he says: "It ain't no use, it can't be done.