"I'd like to try it," said Flukey.
"If we couldn't get it with bathing suits, you couldn't climb that pole with them long pants," retorted one of the contestants who stood near. "Look! that kid's goin' to get it, after all!" There was disappointment in the tones; but the words had no sooner died away than the climber slipped to the ground.
Flea pinched Flukey's arm. "Be yer knee so twisted that ye can't try, Flukey?"
"Nope, my rheumatiz ain't hurtin' me now."
"Then shinny up it, Fluke—ye can climb it! Get along there!"
She took the dog from his arms, and the boy went forward when the call came for another aspirant.
"I'm goin' to get that there bill!" said Flukey, shutting his teeth firmly.
He advanced and spoke in an undertone to a man, who, with a grin, shouted out the name, "Mr. F. Cronk."
The dignity of the prefix made Flukey spit upon his hands before he started to climb the pole. Flea came closer and stood almost breathless. Her parted lips showed small, even, white teeth, her eyes glistened, and flashes of red blood crimsoned her face. One suspender slipping from her shoulder, the vicious dog in her arms, the beautiful upturned face, was as interesting a spectacle as the onlookers had ever seen. It was with breathless interest that she watched her brother laboriously ascend the pole.
Flukey was indeed making a masterful climb. But at last he halted; and then, a moment later, he climbed desperately. The girl on the ground saw him falter, and knew that he was becoming faint-hearted. To encourage him, she lifted a voice broken by emotion and shouted: