"We'll attend to this mix-up ourselves."

Very cautiously and deliberately, more from force of habit
than otherwise, the lad had let his feet down, and with them
was groping for the rope.

"Swing the line between his legs!" roared the owner. "Going to
let him stay up there all day?"

"That's what we're trying to do," answered a tentman.

"Yes, I see you trying. That's the trouble with you fellows.
You always think you're trying, and if you are, you never
accomplish anything. Got, it, Phil?"

"Y--ye--yes."

Twisting his legs about the rope the boy next took a weak grip on
it with both hands, then started slowly to descend. This he knew
how to do, so the feat was attended with no difficulty other than
the strength required, and of which he had none to spare just at
the present moment.

"Look out!" he called. He thought he had shouted it in a
loud tone. As a matter of fact no sound issued from his lips.

But Mr. Sparling whose eyes had been fixed upon the boy,
saw and understood.

"He's falling. Catch him!"