Some one brought the janitor of the church. A hardware dealer near by came along with two coils of rope, which he thought might be handy.
Mr. Macey went inside with the janitor and the two chums. A score or two more would have followed, but the janitor called to Herr Schimmelpodt to bar the way, which the big German readily did.
Then the four inside began to climb the winding staircase to the bell loft.
"Go slowly, Dick; loaf," counseled Dave. "Don't waste a bit of your wind foolishly."
At the bell loft all four paused to look down at the crowd.
Now up a series of ladders the four were obliged to climb, inside the spire top. This spire top was thirty-six feet above the floor of the bell loft; but eight feet from the top of the spire a window let out upon a narrow iron gallery that ran around the spire.
"I—-I don't believe I'll step out there," faltered Mr. Macey, who was stout and apoplectic-looking.
"I don't blame ye any," agreed the janitor. "It ain't just the place, out there, for a man o' your weight and years."
"Don't look down at the street, Dick," begged Dave.
"Why not?" asked Prescott, deliberately disobeying. "If I couldn't do that without getting dizzy, it would be foolish to climb the pole."