"'Ow'll that suit yer?" inquired Stinky, with a malicious grin, for he
counted on his superior weight and muscle to overcome his rival.

"Let 'er go!" cried Chook.

Stinky spat on his hands, and seized the wooden mallet. Cripes, he would
show Pinkey which was the better man of the two! He tightened his muscles
with tremendous effort as he swung the hammer, turning red in the face
with the exertion. The mallet fell, and a little manikin flew up the
pillar, marking the weight of the blow. It was a good stroke, and he
threw down the hammer with the air of a Sandow.

Then Chook seized the mallet, still with his provoking grin at Pinkey,
and swung it with the ease of a man using an axe. The manikin flew level
with Stinky's mark. And they disputed angrily which was the heavier blow.
But Stinky, whose blood was up, seized the mallet again, and forced every
ounce of his strength into the blow. The manikin flew a foot higher than
the previous mark. The contest went on, each striving to beat the other's
mark, with blows that threatened to shatter the machine, till both were
tired. But Stinky's second blow held the record. Chook was beaten.

"Is there any other game yer know?" sneered Stinky.

Near them were the shooting-galleries, looking like enormous chimneys that
had blown down. A sharp, spitting crack came from each rifle as it
was fired.

"A dollar even money yer can't ring the bell in six shots," cried Chook.

"Done!" shouted Stinky.