Sorry kids, no feet.

What a fine feeling it had been to bring the hammer down squarely on the head of a nail, driving it through a plank into a fence post as the impact echoed in the morning air. But on the very first stroke of this hammer what the Count squarely hit was the back of his thumb. (Lest you have forgotten, it is quite excrruciating to hammer the back of your thumb. It inevitably prompts  a hopping up and down and the taking of the Lord's name in vain.)

But Fortune does favor the bold. So, while the next swing of the hammer glanced of the nail's head, on the third the Count hit home; and by the second nail, he had recovered the rhythm of set, drive, and sink - that ancient cadence which is not to be found in quadrilles, or hexameters, or Vronsky's saddlebags. 

It's possible I uttered a four letter word or two of my own when I envisioned a hammer hitting a thumb.