“Well done, young un!” shouted the plumber, catching up the coil of rope. “I like pluck, I do.”
“You stand aside,” cried Ike, snatching the rope from him and giving him a rough thrust with his elbow. “I’ll do this here.”
He ran the rope rapidly through his hands, and secured one end about my chest.
Then he made a running noose at the other end.
“Look here,” he cried. “You take this here noose in your hand, my lad; there’s plenty of rope to reach down
double. When you gets to him put it over his arm or his leg, or anywhere, and pull it tight. I’ll take care o’ you, my boy, and have you up again like a shot.”
“Shake hands, Ike,” I said, all of a tremble.
“Ay, I will, boy.”
“Go, and God help you!” groaned Mr Solomon; and the next instant, with the noose in my hand and just feeling the rope drag on my chest, I stepped on to the ladder, clasped it as Courtenay had done, and let myself slide down.