"Whichever one goes up that
flagstaff will come down again faster. He'll be killed!"
"Cheer up some more," advised Herr Schimmelpodt stolidly. "It
don't gost you nottings, anyway. If Dick Bresgott preak his neck
soon, I gif him der bulliest funeral dot any boy in Gridley efer
hat."
"But what good-----" began the nervous man tremulously.
"Talk ist cheap," retorted Herr Schimmelpodt, with a wink, "mid
dot's all I haf to bay for dot funeral. Dick Bresgott ain't fool
enough yet to preak der only neck he has."
At this a jolly laugh went around, relieving the tension a bit,
for there were many in the crowd who had begun to feel mighty
serious as soon as they realized that Dick was in earnest.
Some one brought the janitor of the church. A hardware dealer
near by came along with two coils of rope, which he thought might
be handy.
Mr. Macey went inside with the janitor and the two chums. A score
or two more would have followed, but the janitor called to Herr
Schimmelpodt to bar the way, which the big German readily did.
Then the four inside began to climb the winding staircase to the
bell loft.
"Go slowly, Dick; loaf," counseled Dave. "Don't waste a bit of
your wind foolishly."
At the bell loft all four paused to look down at the crowd.
Now up a series of ladders the four were obliged to climb, inside
the spire top. This spire top was thirty-six feet above the floor
of the bell loft; but eight feet from the top of the spire a window
let out upon a narrow iron gallery that ran around the spire.
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