It was fully thirty feet to the ground, and no friendly projection offered help in a descent.
It was furthermore a question if he could even squeeze through the window space.
Andy had nothing to make a rope of. The old pieces of carpet could not be utilized in any way. If he could force his body through the window head first, it was a dive to go feet first on a dangerous drop.
Andy investigated the aperture, experimented, took in the situation in all its various phases. Finally he decided what he would do.
He had unearthed a long ironing board from a corner of the room. He pulled a heavy dresser up to the window, and opened one of its drawers a few inches.
By slanting the ironing board, he managed to get its broad end out through the window. Then he dropped it flat, with its narrow end held firmly under the projecting drawer.
Andy got flat on the board, squirmed along it, and just managed to squeeze through the window space.
At the end of five minutes he found himself extended outside on the board. A touch might throw it out of position and drop him like a shot. Very carefully he arose to his feet and backed against the clapboards of the house.
Andy felt sideways and up over his head. He soon located what he knew to be there—two lightning rod staples. The rod itself had rusted away. The staples had been used to hold up a vine. This drew bugs, Miss Lavinia declared, and had been torn down.
Andy hooked his finger around one of the staples. He got one foot on the window sill clear of the board. The other foot he lifted in the air.