He lifts his life to strike as miners lift their picks.
He swings his body as harvesters their scythes.

He will make himself an augur for boring, a chisel for drilling, a muck-rake for scratching, if only he may get gain.

He will sweat and swelter and burn in the tropics until malaria has made his face as yellow as gold, if thereby he can fill his purse, and for a like end he will shiver and ache in the arctics.

He will deny his ear music, he will deny his mind culture, he will deny his heart friendship that he may coin concerts and social delights into cash.

At length the shortness of breath startles him; the stoppage of blood alarms him.