"I---I don't believe I'll step out there," faltered Mr. Macey,
who was stout and apoplectic-looking.
"I don't blame ye any," agreed the janitor. "It ain't just the
place, out there, for a man o' your weight and years."
"Don't look down at the street, Dick," begged Dave.
"Why not?" asked Prescott, deliberately disobeying. "If I couldn't
do that without getting dizzy, it would be foolish to climb the
pole."
"Prescott, you'd better not try it," protested Mr. Macey. "Just
listen to how strong the wind is at this height. I'm afraid you'll
be dashed down to the ground. Gracious! Hear the flagstaff rattle."
"I expected it," replied Dick, sitting down, inside the spire
top.
"What are you doing?" demanded the real estate man.
"Taking off my shoes," Dick replied coolly.
"Do you really mean to make the attempt?"
"You don't think a Gridley boy would back out at this late moment?"
queried Dick, in surprise.
"Ye couldn't stop these younkers, now, by force," chuckled the
janitor.
"I certainly wouldn't care to try force," remarked Mr. Macey dryly.
"These young men are too well developed."
Dave was now on the floor, getting off his shoes.
"What are you going to do, old fellow?" asked Prescott.
"Going to follow you as far as the top of the spire," replied
Darrin quietly. "Who knows but I may be able to be of some use?"
Dave stepped out first on the little iron balcony. The crowd
below saw him, but at the distance could not make out clearly
which boy it was.
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