Perhaps he had to touch off a large quantity at once, more tightly compressed yet. He pestered the foundry daily until the second cannon appeared.
Early next morning he and Fritharik and a couple of helpers mounted the cannon on a crude carriage of planks in a vacant space near the Viminal Gate. The helpers had previously piled up a sandhill for a target, thirty feet from the gun.
Padway rammed several pounds of powder down the barrel, and a cast-iron ball after it. He filled the touch-hole.
He said in a low voice: "Fritharik, give me that candle. Now get back everybody. Way over there, and lie down. You too, Fritharik."
"Never!" said Fritharik indignantly. "Desert my lord in the hour of danger? I should say not!"
"All right, if you want to chance being blown to bits. Here goes."
Padway touched the candle flame to the touch-hole.
The powder sizzled and sparkled.
The gun went pfoomp! The cannon-ball hopped from the muzzle, thumped to earth a yard away, rolled another yard, and stopped.
Back went the beautiful shiny new gun to Padway's house, to be put in the cellar with the clock.