"Help you down? I can't help you. You will have to get out the best way you can. Can't you crawl up and free your feet?"
"No; go get Phil."
"Can you hold on?"
"I—I'll try. Go get Phil."
Conley dashed away as fast as he could run.
"I knew it, I knew it," he repeated at almost every bound.
Teddy's climbers had lost their grip in the rotting wood. Before he could recover himself he had tumbled backward. Fortunately the rope had clung to the pole; he was held fast but Teddy was hanging with his back against the pole, being powerless to help himself in the slightest degree. Again, he was afraid that, were he to stir about, the rope, which had slipped down and drawn tight about his ankles, might suddenly slide down the pole and dash him to his death.
Not many minutes had elapsed before Phil and Conley came running back. Phil, at the suggestion of the assistant manager, had brought a pair of climbers with him, Billy explaining, as they ran, the fix that the Circus Boy was in.
For a wonder, all the disturbance had attracted no attention on the street.
"Are you all right?" called Phil as he ran to the spot.