“What be goin’ to du wi’ ’ammer, Jarge?” inquired the Ancient.

“Why,” explained the smith, “this chap thinks ’e can throw it further nor me.”  At this there was a general laugh.  “If so be ’e can,” pursued Black George, “then ’e comes to work for me at ’is own price, but if I beat ’im, then ‘e must stand up to me wi’ ’is fists for ten minutes.”

“Ten minutes!” cried a voice; “’e won’t last five—­see if ’e do.”

“Feel sorry for un,” said a second, “’e do be so pale as a sheet a’ready.”

“So would you be if you was in ’is shoes!” chimed in a third; whereat there was a general laugh.

Indeed, as, I looked round the ring of grinning, unresponsive faces, it was plain to see that all sympathy was against the stranger, as is the way of bird, beast, fish, but especially man, the world over—­and I experienced a sudden sense of loneliness which was, I think, only natural.  Yet, as I put up my hand to loose the strap of my knapsack, I encountered another already there, and, turning, beheld Simon the Innkeeper.

“If it do come to fightin’,” he whispered close in my ear, “if it do come to fightin’, and I’m fair sure it will, keep away as much as you can; you look quick on your pins.  Moreover, whatever you do, watch ’is right, and when you do see a chance to strike, go for ’is chin—­a little to one side—­and strike danged ’ard!”

“Many thanks for your friendly advice,” said I, with a grateful nod and, slipping off my coat, would have handed it to him but that the Ancient hobbled up, and, taking it from me, folded it ostentatiously across his arm.

“Mark my words, Simon,” said he, “this young chap is as like what I were at his age as one pea is to another—­I says so, and I means so.”

“Come,” said Black George, at this juncture, “I’ve work waitin’ to be done, and my forge fire will be out.”

“I’m quite ready,” said I, stepping forward.  It was now arranged that, standing alternately within the circle, we should each have three throws—­whoever should make the two best throws to win.  Hereupon, the smith took his place within the circle, hammer in hand.

“Wait,” said I, “the advantage usually lies with the last thrower, it would be fairer to you were we to toss for it.”

“No,” answered Black George, motioning the onlookers to stand back, “I’ve got th’ ’ammer, and I’ll throw first.”

Now, as probably every one knows, it is one thing to swing a sledge-hammer in the ordinary way but quite another to throw it any distance, for there is required, beside the bodily strength, a certain amount of knowledge, without which a man is necessarily handicapped.  Thus, despite my opponent’s great strength of arm, I was fairly sanguine of the result.

Black George took a fresh grip upon the hammer-shaft, twirled it lightly above his head, swung it once, twice, thrice—­and let it go.

With a shout, Job and two or three others ran down the road to mark where it had fallen, and presently returned, pacing out the distance.