“Well, I suppose you think I couldn’t do that, do you?” cried Scarlett.
“Not I. Any one could do it if he tried.”
“Yes, I should think he could, and in half the time you took. Look here; I’ll show you.”
“Try if you can do it with your face turned this way, Scar,” cried Fred.
For answer, the boy, who had reached the gallery, ran along to the end, climbed over, and then lowered himself down till he hung at full length by both hands clasping the balusters. Then he hung by one, and cleverly swinging round, grasped another baluster, and hung facing his companion, who stood looking up and eagerly watching every movement.
“Go on, Scar.”
“Oh yes, it’s very easy to say go on; but see how awkward it is this way.”
“Well, try the other.”
“Going to,” said Scarlett, laconically, as he swung himself back, and then hand over hand passed along the front of the gallery, reached the turn, grasped the second of the descending balusters, loosed his hold of the last one on the level of the landing, made a dash to catch the first baluster side by side with that he already held, missed it, and swung round, hanging by one hand only, when suddenly there was a loud crick-crack, and, under the impression that the slight wooden pillar had broken, Fred sprang up the stairs to his companion’s assistance, but only to trip as he nearly reached the top and fall sprawling upon the landing upon a great deer-skin rug.