"I congratulate you, old fellow," murmured Dave eagerly. "And I'm going with you to the base of the flagpole! The last climb is yours you've won it!"

CHAPTER XII

The Nerve of the Soldier

Again Mrs. Macey sought to interpose. Her husband, too, was at first against it.

But, now that the die was fairly cast, Herr Schimmelpodt firmly championed the boys.

"Eider von of dem gan do it---easy!" declared the big German.

"You don't know dem boys----vot? Ach, I do. Dey got der brain, der nerves und der muscle."

"It's a crime to let such youths attempt the thing," shivered an anaemic-looking man in the crowd. "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 d.i.c.k 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. d.i.c.k 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 d.i.c.k 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, d.i.c.k; 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.

"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, d.i.c.k," 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 d.i.c.k, sitting down, inside the spire top.

"What are you doing?" demanded the real estate man.

"Taking off my shoes," d.i.c.k 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 d.i.c.k, 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. Then Prescott followed.

"Give me one foot," called Dave, kneeling and making a cup of his hands.

d.i.c.k placed his foot, then started to climb the sloping surface of slate, Darrin aiding.

As Dave straightened to a standing position d.i.c.k reached up, getting hold of the base of the flagstaff.

"Hold on there, a minute," advised Dave, as his chum stood on the little ledge at the top of the spire. "And don't be foolish enough to look down into the street."

Dave darted inside, picking up the lighter of the ropes. Going out on the balcony again Darrin tossed one end of the rope to d.i.c.k, who made it fast around the flagpole.

Using the rope, Dave went easily up and stood beside Prescott.

"There is a fearful wind here," muttered d.i.c.k, as both swayed while holding to the stout, vibrating mast. "But you can make it, old fellow."

It had been the original intention in building the church to use this mast as a flag pole. Then some doubt had arisen among the members of the parish. A weather vane had been put at the top of the pole, and the question of connecting flag tackle had been left to be decided at a later date.

Had the flag tackle been there now d.i.c.k could have made an easier problem of the ascent; yet, even with the rope, it would have been an undertaking from which most men would have shrunk.

"I'm going to start now," said d.i.c.k very quietly.

"Good luck, d.i.c.k, old fellow!" called Dave cheerily. "You'll get through."

Darrin still remained standing on top of the spire after d.i.c.k had started to climb.

The only way that Prescott could move upward was to wrap arms and legs around the pole.

How the wind swayed, jarred and vibrated it! Once, when ten feet of the ascent had been accomplished, d.i.c.k felt his heart fail him.