He propped up the basket again, but this time with greater care, and swarmed up it, finding little difficulty in that part of the task, for it was almost as easy as climbing a ladder, there being numerous gaps affording a foothold in the wicker. Then he steadily raised himself to his full height, and stretched his arms above his head. The window was within two feet of his fingers.
'And has to be reached. Can't get much of a spring here,' he thought, 'but it's worth trying. I'll chance the fall, for if I miss, there's a good chance of coming down standing.'
With a sharp kick he leaped at the window, and actually contrived to grip the edge with the fingers of one hand. But they slid off instantly, and within a second he was back on the floor of his prison, not so shaken or jarred on this occasion, but hot and desperate, exasperated at his want of good fortune. But as we have had occasion to remark before, David was nothing if not determined. It was that very characteristic in the lad which troubled his stepmother, and which had, no doubt, carried him safely and successfully through many an undertaking. He propped the basket into place again, ascending with all speed and caution, and drawing in a long breath, made a huge spring at the window. On this occasion the fingers of both hands obtained a grip of the edge, and retained it. He hung in mid-air, flattened against the wall of his prison, listening to the basket as it slid sideways, and finally came with a crash to the floor. Then he pulled himself up, flung one arm round a pillar dividing the window, and soon had himself hoisted higher. After that it was easy enough to squeeze his body through the narrow opening, and to lie there securely while he regained his breath.
'And what now?' he asked himself, when he was again ready for further exertion. 'Outside here there's nothing that's very promising. We came up stairs. That is to say, I recollect that my bearers carried me up a flight before entering the prison. That makes the drop below me pretty big, bigger than I'm anxious to tackle. But there's nothing else.'
It did appear as if there were no other alternative, for as he cast his eyes downwards David could detect nothing that offered a foothold below him. The smooth stone wall descended sheer to the street, which ran along under the bright moonbeams some thirty or more feet under the window. It was not an impossible drop. On the other hand, it was none too easy, and might very well result in a sprained ankle, or something equally hampering and disagreeable. Then David did the wisest thing under the circumstances. Bearing in mind the old motto, perhaps, 'look before you leap,' he cast his eyes in all directions, first in front and then behind him, without obtaining any encouragement, and then up over his head. Ah! He could have shouted: the roof was within a few inches of his hand, a roof composed of large, flat tiles, with a deep channel at each side, and sloping so gradually that to walk upon it should be easy. He reached up a hand, gripped the edge of the roof, and hoisted himself cautiously upon it. Then he lay down flat, and rolled himself slowly upward. For there was something to alarm him. A man was standing out in the moon-lit road, and was gesticulating violently.
'Seen me I'm afraid,' thought David. 'Wants to make sure before he kicks up a ruction; but they don't have me without a little trouble. Out here on this roof I ought to be able to put up a fight that'll make them careful. Bother that chap! He must have been hiding in the deep shadow over yonder, and have watched me as I clambered out of the window.'
'Misser Davie, Misser Davie.'
The words came to him as if in a nightmare. David could not believe that he had actually heard them. He put his fingers to his ears and rubbed them vigorously. But he had no sooner removed them than the words came again, 'Misser Davie, Misser Davie.'
'Awfully queer,' he thought, mopping his forehead with the tail end of a voluminous sleeve, 'I could have sworn that that——'
'Misser Davie, am dat youself, Misser Davie?'