A momentary impulse, almost of cowardice, swept over him.

Then he steeled himself, and went on and up.

That staff must be more than a mile high, it now seemed to the boy, hanging there in momentary danger of his life.

Dave, standing below, looking up, knew far more torment.

Watching d.i.c.k, Darrin began to feel wholly responsible for the whole awful predicament of his chum.

"I urged him on to it," thought Dave, with a rush of horror that his own peril could not have brought to him. "Oh, I hope the splendid old fellow does make this stunt safely!"

It seemed as though thousands were packed in the street below, every face upturned. The breath of the mult.i.tude came short and sharp. Two women and a girl fainted from the strain.

In a window in the building across the street a photographer poised his camera. Behind the shutter was a long-angled lens, fitted for taking pictures at a distance.

Just as d.i.c.k Prescott's arms were within two feet of the weather vane the photographer exposed his plate.

d.i.c.k, in the meantime, was moving in a sort of dumb way now.

The keenness of his senses had left him. He moved mechanically; he knew what he was after, and he kept on. Yet he seemed largely to have lost the power to realize the danger of his position.

A-a-ah! He was up there now, holding to the weathervane! His legs curled doggedly around the flagstaff. He had need now to use all the strength in his legs, for he must use one hand to disentangle the black scarf, which lay twisted about the vane just over his head. But it was the right scarf. The glint and dazzle of the diamonds was in his eyes.

How the extreme end of that flag pole quivered. It seemed to the boy as though the pole must bend and snap, what with the pressure of the heavy wind and the weight of his body!

Slowly, laboriously, mechanically, like one in a trance, d.i.c.k employed his left hand in patiently disentangling the black web from the trap in which it had been caught.

At last the scarf was free. Most cautiously d.i.c.k lowered his left hand, tucking the jeweled fabric carefully into the inner pocket of his coat.

"I---I---guess---it safe---in there," he muttered, hardly realizing that he was saying any thing.

Dave, from below, had looked on, fascinated. Now that he saw the major part of the daring feat accomplished, Darrin did not make the mistake of shouting any advice to his comrade. He knew that any sudden shout might attract Prescott's attention in a way to cause him to lose his head.

Slowly---oh, so slowly! d.i.c.k came down. It seemed as though, at last, he understood his danger to the full and was afraid.

The truth was, Prescott realized that, with all the vibrating of the staff in the wind, his muscular power was being sapped out of him.

Dave Darrin was down again, crouching on top of the spire, when d.i.c.k reached him.

"Just touch your feet, d.i.c.k!" Darrin called coolly. "Then stand holding to the pole until I get down into the balcony."

d.i.c.k obeyed as one who could no longer think for himself.

This done, Dave slipped down the spire's slope, by the aid of the rope, until his feet touched the balcony's floor. Now he stood with upturned face and arms uplifted.

"Use the rope and come down, d.i.c.k," hailed. Darrin softly. "I'm here to catch you, if you need it."

Down came Prescott, holding to the rope, but helped more by Dave's loyal arms.

"Help Prescott inside, you two," Dave ordered sharply. Then, after the men inside the spire top had obeyed, Dave swung himself in. He left the rope fastened above, for whoever cared to go and get it.

Mr. Macey, ashen faced and shaking, stared at d.i.c.k in a sort of fascination.

"I---I got it," said d.i.c.k, when he could control his voice. "Here it is, safe in my pocket."

"I forgot to ask," rejoined Mr. Macey tremulously. "I'm sick of that bauble. Ever since you started aloft, Prescott, I've been calling myself all sorts of names for being a party to this thing."

"Why, it's all right," laughed d.i.c.k, only a bit brokenly. "It was easy enough---with a fellow like Dave to help."

"Did he go up the flagstaff, too?" demanded Mr. Macey, opening his eyes wider.

"No," declared Darrin promptly. "Prescott did it."

"But good old Dave was right at hand to help," d.i.c.k contended staunchly.

"Get yourselves together, boys. Then we'll get down out of here,"

urged Mr. Macey. "I haven't done anything, but I feel as though I'd be the one to reel and faint."

"Take this scarf, now, please," begged d.i.c.k, holding open his coat.

The real estate man looked over the bauble that had placed two manly lives in such desperate jeopardy. The fabric was much torn, but all the precious stones still appeared to be there.

Mr. Macey folded the scarf and placed it in one of his own inner pockets.

"Now, let us get down out of here," begged the real estate man.

"This place is giving me the horrors."

"You can start ahead, sir," laughed Dave. "But we want time to put our shoes on."

Two or three minutes later the four started below, going slowly over the ladder part of the route. When they struck the winding staircase they went a bit more rapidly.

Down in the street it seemed to the watchers as though ages had pa.s.sed since the two boys had been seen going inside from the iron balcony.

But now, at last, Herr Schimmelpodt heard steps inside, so he threw open the heavy door at once.

As d.i.c.k and Dave came out again into the sunlight what a mighty roar of applause and cheering went up.

Then Herr Schimmelpodt, advancing to the edge of the steps, and laying one hand over his heart, bowed profoundly and repeatedly.

That turned the cheering to laughter. The big German held up his right hand for silence.

"Ladies und chentlemen," shouted Herr Schimmelpodt, as soon as he could make him self heard, "I don't vant to bose as a hero!"

"That's all right," came with a burst of goodhumored laughter.

"You're not!"

"It vos really nottings vot I did," continued the German, with another bow.

"True for you."