To waste coal or not to waste coal? That is the question. Whether 'tis nobler in the pack to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, or to light fires against a sea of troubles and, by pushing through, end them. To sail, to stay -- no more -- and by staying we mean to end the heartache and the thousand natural shocks that a ship is heir to -- 'tis a consummation devoutly to be wished. To bank coals, to raise steam -- to raise steam, perchance to push on. Ay, there's the rub, for in pushing on what progress may be made, when we have shuffled off this infernal ice, must give us pause.
Alas, alas! Something is rotten in the Pack.
We are once more stuck fast, and all weight rests on me to decide whether it looks to be longer than 24 hours or less, yet there is no way for me to know. Raising steam from dead boilers is a dead loss of two tons; yet 24 hour's steam uses 2 tons also.
I have a two-ton headache.
I had better try and shift it before the carols.
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