Whack, whack, whack, come his blows, breaking down the gipsy's guard, and threatening to reach his head every moment.

There it is at last.

"Blood, blood!" shout the spectators, as a thin stream oozes out slowly from the roots of his hair, and the umpire calls to them to stop.

The gipsy scowls at Joe under his brows in no pleasant manner, while Master Joe swaggers about, and makes attitudes, and thinks himself, and shows that he thinks himself, the greatest man in the field.
Then follow several stout sets-to between the other candidates for the new hat, and at last come the shepherd and Willum Smith.

This is the crack set-to of the day.