put his hand on
Dedele; Fifine fell to Golden-Mug.

While waiting for the iron to get hot enough, Salted-Mouth, otherwise
Drink-without-Thirst, again showing off, struck a pose before the anvil
while casting side glances toward Gervaise. He planted himself solidly,
tapping his feet impatiently like a man ready for a fight, throwing all
his strength into practice swings with Dedele. _Mon Dieu!_ He was good
at this; he could have flattened the Vendome column like a pancake.

"Now then, off you go!" said Goujet, placing one of the pieces of iron,
as thick as a girl's wrist, in the tool-hole.

Salted-Mouth, otherwise Drink-without-Thirst, leant back, and swung
Dedele round with both hands. Short and lean, with his goatee bristling,
and with his wolf-like eyes glaring beneath his unkempt hair, he seemed
to snap at each swing of the hammer, springing up from the ground as
though carried away by the force he put into the blow. He was a fierce
one, who fought with the iron, annoyed at finding it so hard, and he
even gave a grunt whenever he thought he had planted a fierce stroke.
Perhaps brandy did weaken other people's arms, but he needed brandy in
his veins, instead of blood. The drop he had taken a little while before
had made his carcass as warm as a boiler; he felt he had the power of
a steam-engine within him. And the iron seemed to be afraid of him this
time; he flattened it more easily than if it had been a quid of tobacco.
And it was a sight to see how Dedele waltzed! She cut such capers,
with her tootsies in the air, just like a little dancer at the Elysee
Montmartre, who exhibits her fine underclothes; for it would never do
to dawdle, iron is so deceitful, it cools at once, just to spite the
hammer. With thirty blows, Salted-Mouth, otherwise Drink-without-Thirst,
had fashioned the head of his bolt. But he panted, his eyes were half
out of his head, and got into a great rage as he felt his arms growing
tired. Then, carried away by wrath, jumping about and yelling, he gave
two more blows, just out of revenge for his trouble. When he took
the bolt from the hole, it was deformed, its head being askew like a
hunchback's.

"Come now! Isn't that quickly beaten into shape?" said he all the same,
with his self-confidence, as he presented his work to Gervaise.

"I'm no judge, sir," replied the laundress, reservedly.

But she saw plainly enough the marks of Dedele's last two kicks on the
bolt, and she was very pleased. S