“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.  Then Prescott followed.

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

Dick placed his foot, then started to climb the sloping surface of slate, Darrin aiding.

As Dave straightened to a standing position Dick 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 Dick, 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 Dick, 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 Dick 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 Dick very quietly.

“Good luck, Dick, old fellow!” called Dave cheerily.  “You’ll get through.”

Darrin still remained standing on top of the spire after Dick 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, Dick felt his heart fail him.