goon, and yet not motionless, but living! The great black coils
spun, spun, spun, the rings ran round under the brushes, and the
deep note of its coil steadied the whole. It affected Azuma-zi
queerly.

Azuma-zi was not fond of labour. He would sit about and watch
the Lord of the Dynamos while Holroyd went away to persuade the
yard porter to get whisky, although his proper place was not in the
dynamo shed but behind the engines, and, moreover, if Holroyd
caught him skulking he got hit for it with a rod of stout copper
wire. He would go and stand close to the colossus and look up at
the great leather band running overhead. There was a black patch
on the band that came round, and it pleased him somehow among all
the clatter to watch this return again and again. Odd thoughts
spun with the whirl of it. Scientific people tell us that savages
give souls to rocks and trees--and a machine is a thousand times
more alive than a rock or a tree. And Azuma-zi was practically a
savage still; the veneer of civilisation lay no deeper than his
slop suit, his bruises, and the coal grime on his face and hands.
His father before him had worshipped a meteoric stone, kindred
blood it may be had splashed the broad wheels of Juggernaut.

He took every opportunity Holroyd gave him of touching and
handling the great dynamo that was fascinating him. He polished
and cleaned it until the metal parts were blinding in the sun. He
felt a mysterious sense of service in doing this. He would go up
to it and touch its spinning coils gently. The gods he had
worshipped were all far away. The people in London hid their gods.

At last his dim feelings grew more distinct, and took shape in
thoughts and at last in acts. When he came into the roaring shed
one morning he salaamed to the Lord of the Dynamos, and then when
Holroyd was away, he went and whispered to the thundering machine
that he was its servant, and prayed it to have pity on him and save
him from Holroyd. As he did so a rare gleam of light came in
through the open archway of the throbbing machine-shed, and the
Lord of the Dynamos, as he whirled and roared, was radiant with
pale gold. Then Azuma-zi knew that his service was acceptable to
his Lord. After that he did not feel so lonely as he had done, and
he had indeed been very much alone in London. And even when his
work time was over, which was rare, he loitered about the shed.

Then, the next time Holroyd maltreated him, Azum