easterly wind was likely to bring with it a cold storm, and Bobby,
suspended thirty feet above the water, and not warmly dressed, might
perish.

"Yes," said Jimmy, "he might perish! He might perish! And it would be my
fault!"

The thought brought a cold perspiration to Jimmy's forehead, and a cold,
unnatural feeling to his spine, and in desperation he tried the line
again. But it was useless effort. He could not pull it up. And again he
ran to the cliff, crawled out and peered over at the dangling and by no
means silent Bobby.

"Hey there, Jimmy! Pull me up! Hurry!" shouted Bobby.

"I can't! I can't budge you! Oh, Bobby, what are we going to do?"

"If you can't pull me up, let me down!" Bobby was growing impatient. "I
can't stand this much longer. The line is cutting me in two."

"Try to climb up the line," suggested Jimmy, the idea striking him as a
bright one. "Just climb up, and when you get up here where I can reach
you I'll pull you over."

Bobby tried the experiment, but the line was oily, and in spite of his
best efforts he could climb only a little way, when he would slide back
again.

"I can't do it," he shouted up to Jimmy, after several vain efforts.
"The line is too greasy. I can't get a good hold."