But Wayne had no thought of giving up. He only paused a moment to gather breath for further effort and then went on, his feet, legs, and arms gripping the rocking pole with all their strength. One circumstance aided him: the mast had been varnished but a few days before, and presented to his hands a slightly sticky surface that made his grip surer and easier. He feared but one thing, and that was a look downward. He strove with all his might against the irresistible temptation to let his gaze drop for just a fraction of a second; he knew that if he yielded vertigo would master him. So far he had been successful, but now, with his task almost accomplished, the golden ball but a few feet above him, something seemingly stronger than his will forced him to lower his head. He stopped climbing again and, with despair at his heart, clung tightly to the swaying mast. His eyes dropped to the roof of the neighboring laboratories, to the ice-covered walk that led to Academy Building, to the edge of the throng!
A murmur of dismay and apprehension crept through the crowd. For a moment the March tempest was stilled, and in that moment, faint, and as though from a great distance, came a cry from below:
“Keep agoing, Old Virginia!”
Wayne recognized Paddy’s deep voice. With a rush the blood drove back to the boy’s chilled heart. He gave a gasp, threw back his head, and found himself staring at the golden ball, which, for the first time, seemed to beckon him upward. Arms and legs responded strongly to his demand, and inch by inch the remaining distance was won.
Some five feet from the swaying tip he again paused and gripped the mast, now scarcely more than a rod, and again hauled up the boat hook. The skull and crossbones flared and snapped loudly and derisively. Taking a firm hold of the mast with his left hand, he reached forward the long shaft. The first effort drove the hook through a corner of the white cloth; the first tug freed it from the pulley block, and with a rush the hook and flag came down. But Wayne was careful not to let the former drop. Holding it firmly, he started to descend, the flag following. And from the throng below broke a cheer that was quickly hushed lest it confuse the boy. But the rest was simple and the crosstree was quickly gained. The wind, as though angry at having been deprived of its seeming prey, lashed and whirled at him as he dropped easily and quickly from one foot rest to another. A few feet from the ground the boy paused and detached the flag from the rope. Then he stepped down into the throng. A dozen pairs of arms were outstretched to him and a rousing cheer went up. Don, pale and trembling, thrust himself through the crowd roughly and threw one arm around his shoulders.
“Wayne!” he whispered huskily.
Wayne smiled lightly back at him and pushed forward. He met a glance of sly understanding from Professor Durkee’s little gray eyes and a nod of approval. Then the principal was speaking.
“That was bravely done, Gordon, and we owe you thanks. But don’t try anything of the sort again.”
Wayne met the principal’s grave eyes and grinned.
“I won’t, sir. But nobody owes any thanks. You see, I put it up there!”