[Drum and fife music plays]
Blacksmith: Whoa, hold on a moment. Let me just step away from the bellows. This heat is enough to melt the buttons right off a man’s waistcoat. I’m right in the middle of tiring a carriage wheel. I shrink a red-hot iron hoop onto this timber wheel.
[Sound of a heavy metallic clang]
Blacksmith: ...so the wood doesn’t splinter on these rough Philly cobblestones. A gentleman was here earlier? Why yes, he came by to check the shoes on his mare.
[Sound of a horse whinnying]
Blacksmith: She’d thrown a shoe somewhere on the road. I remember him well; a pleasant enough fellow, but certainly not a tall man. I noticed because he walked straight through my low door...
[Sound of footsteps]
Blacksmith: ...without having to duck his head at all. Most of those tall, high-hatted delegates have to double over just to get in here. Blacksmith: He was in a bit of a lather to get going, though.
[Blacksmith chuckles]
Blacksmith: He mentioned needing a drink at the City Tavern to wash the roadway dust from his throat. Delegate Voice: I’m much obliged for your tending to my steed. I must now take my leave.
Blacksmith: If you’re looking for him, I’d head that way. It’s just down the street. Now, if you’ll excuse me, this iron is cooling and I need to get back to my anvil.
[Sound of rhythmic hammering on an anvil]
[Ending musical flourish]