we were overhung the side of the house, and the pipe began under it, just below where we stood.
“We must try, anyhow,” said Jack, desperately. “I’ll go first; catch hold of my hands, Fred.”
And he was actually going to attempt to scramble over and round under the ledge, when he suddenly paused, and cried, “Hold hard. I do believe this bit of ledge is loose!”
So it was. It shook as we stood upon it.
“We might be able to move it,” said Jack.
So we knelt down and with all our might tugged away at the stone that divided us from our water-pipe. It was obstinate at first, but by dint of perseverance it yielded to pressure at last, and we were able triumphantly to lift it from its place.
It was easy enough now reaching the pipe. But here a new peril arose. Sliding down water-pipes is an acquired art, and not nearly as easy as it seems. Jack, who volunteered to make the first descent, looked a little blue as he found the pipe was so close to the wall that he couldn’t get his hands round, much less his feet.
“You’ll have to grip it hard with your ankles and elbows,” he said, beginning to slide down an inch or two; “and go slow, whatever you do.”
It was nervous work watching him, and still more nervous work when at length I braced myself up to the effort and proceeded to embrace the slender pipe. How I ever managed to get to the bottom I can’t say. I remember reflecting about half way down that this would be good daily exercise for the Henniker, and the mere thought of her almost sent me headlong to the bottom.
At last, however, I stood safe beside my chum on the gravel walk.