Only the wrought-iron races can do the work.

All this I felt but could not say in the days when I piled the pig-iron in the puddling furnace and turned with boyish eagerness to have my father show me how.
Six hundred pounds was the weight of pig-iron we used to put into a single hearth.

Much wider than the hearth was the fire grate, for we needed a heat that was intense.

The flame was made by burning bituminous coal.

Vigorously I stoked that fire for thirty minutes with dampers open and the draft roaring while that pig-iron melted down like ice-cream under an electric fan.