“How, Will?” inquired the interested Mr. Bertram.
“They were just putting on the spire to the tower, and, ready to arrange the tackle and climb the ropes, was the steeple Jack.”
“What’s a steeple Jack?” inquired the mystified old man.
“He’s a professional climber who makes a business of going up to high places like steeples and towers. They had sent to Portland for him. He wanted one of the workmen to help him by going to the top of the tower, but they said it was too risky, and they were more used to platforms than ropes. Well, to make a long story short, [I offered my services].”
“Oh, Will, always venturesome and running into danger!” spoke a reproachful voice.
Will turned and surveyed his mother, who had come unobserved to the door, with a quizzical smile.
“Now, don’t scold, mother,” he said. “I’m at home among the ropes, as the man soon found. I was on the tower before he was half way up, and when he had set the vane on the tower, two hours later, he told me he wished he had me for an apprentice. Anyway, I earned a little money, and there it is. To-morrow I’ll start in for more, and then you’ll receive pay for the ship’s head, father, and we’ll get along famously.”
Old Solomon Bertram shook his head sadly.
“I shall get no pay for that work, Will,” he said.