“See me, you mean—see me doing stunts on a high something-or- other in a circus. Watch me turn a somersault.”
The lad stood poised on the edge of the ditch, on the other side of which the billboard stood. This gave him the advantage of an elevated position from which to attempt his feat.
“Look out that you don’t break your neck,” warned Phil. “I’d try it on a haymow, or something like that, first.”
“Don’t you worry about me. See how easy that fellow in the picture is doing it. Here goes!”
Teddy launched himself into the air, with a very good imitation of a diver making a plunge into the water, hands stretched out before him, legs straight behind him.
He was headed straight for the ditch.
“Turn, Teddy! Turn! You’ll strike on your head.”
Teddy was as powerless to turn as if he had been paralyzed from head to foot. Down he went, straight as an arrow. There followed a splash as his head struck the water of the ditch, the lad’s feet beating a tattoo in the air while his head was stuck fast in the mud at the bottom of the ditch.
“He’ll drown,” gasped Phil, springing down into the little stream, regardless of the damage liable to be done to his own clothes.
Throwing both arms about the body of his companion he gave a mighty tug. Teddy stuck obstinately, and Phil was obliged to take a fresh hold before he succeeded in hauling the lad from his perilous position. Teddy was gasping for breath. His face, plastered with mud, was unrecognizable, while his clothes were covered from head to foot.