gently slid it out from its holding place and upright.

He brought it and himself erect. Moving up his hand, he transferred its
grasp to the second iron staple higher up the side of the house.

Now Andy rested the board on his toes. He clasped it like a shield
against his body, its broad end nearest his face.

Beyond its edge he took a keen glance. The moon shone brightly. The
nearest object it showed was a high, broad-branched thorn apple tree.

It stood about twelve feet from the house, and its top was perhaps as
far below his foothold.

"It's my only show," said Andy. "I've got to coast it, or get all torn
up."

He let go his hold of the staple. Instantly he had a hand firmly
grasping either side of the ironing board Andy dropped to a
past-centre slant.

Giving his feet a prodigious push against the window sill, he shot
forward and downward.

For an instant Andy sailed through the air. He feared he might dive
short of the tree. He hoped he would land flat.

The latter by luck or his own precision he did. The board struck the
tree top.