“Fifty-nine!” they announced.

“Can ’ee beat that?” inquired Black George complacently.

“I think I can,” I answered as, taking up the hammer, I, in turn, stepped into the ring.  Gripping the shaft firmly, I whirled it aloft, and began to swing it swifter and swifter, gaining greater impetus every moment, till, like a flash, it flew from my grasp.  Panting, I watched it rise, rise, rise, and then plunge down to earth in a smother of dust.

“’E’ve beat it!” cried the Ancient, flourishing his stick excitedly.  “Lord love me, ’e’ve beat it!”

“Ay, ’e’ve beat it, sure-ly,” said a man who carried a rake that was forever getting in everybody’s way.

“An’ by a goodish bit to!” shouted another.

“Ah! but Jarge aren’t got ’is arm in yet,” retorted a third; “Jarge can do better nor that by a long sight!”

But now all voices were hushed as Job paced up.

“Eighty-two!” he announced.  Black George looked hard at me, but, without speaking, stepped sulkily into the ring, moistened his palms, looked at me again, and seizing the hammer, began to whirl it as he had seen me.  Round and round it went, faster and faster, till, with a sudden lurch, he hurled it up and away.  Indeed it was a mighty throw!  Straight and strong it flew, describing a wide parabola ere it thudded into the road.

The excitement now waxed high, and many started off to measure the distance for themselves, shouting one to another as they went.  As for the smith, he stood beside me, whistling, and I saw that the twinkle was back in his eyes again.

“One hunner and twenty!” cried half-a-dozen voices.

“And a half,” corrected Job, thrusting the hammer into my hand, and grinning.

“Can ’ee beat that?” inquired Black George again.

“Ay, can ’ee beat that?” echoed the crowd.

“It was a marvellous throw!” said I, shaking my head.  And indeed, in my heart I knew I could never hope to equal, much less beat, such a mighty cast.  I therefore decided on strategy, and, with this in mind, proceeded, in a leisurely fashion, once more to mark out the circle, which was obliterated in places, to flatten the surface underfoot, to roll up my sleeves, and tighten my belt; in fine, I observed all such precautions as a man might be expected to take before some supreme effort.

At length, having done everything I could think of to impress this idea upon the onlookers, I took up the hammer.

“Means to do it this time!” cried the man with the rake; knocking off Job’s hat in his excitement, as, with a tremendous swing, I made my second throw.  There was a moment’s breathless silence as the hammer hurtled through the air, then, like an echo to its fall, came a shout of laughter, for the distance was palpably far short of the giant smith’s last.  A moment later Job came pacing up, and announced: 

“Eighty-seven!” Hereupon arose a very babel of voices: