The Iron Bellows

Upright metal cylinder stood by the rear tire. Bicycle floor pump. Sturdy T-handle mounted at the top. I clamped both claws around the grooved grip, dropped my center, and drove downward with my full torso. Hrrn! PSSST! A violent jet of cold air blasted straight into my snout. I blinked, bared my teeth, and held my ground. Inside the round glass dial, a tiny red needle jumped forward! I hauled the steel shaft high, let the chamber gulp in air, then slammed down hard again. Hrr-ugh! PSHHH! The needle spiked toward the red line. Invisible force trapped inside iron. I snorted, feeling the breeze whip my scales. Good pressure. Great bellows.