“It needs but a steady head and a clear conscience and the thing is done.” Those were old Jacob’s words.
“The clear conscience is not lacking, thank God! but all these weeks of watching by a sick bed, and the scanty meals, have made the head anything but steady. If it were but three months ago, my courage would not fail me, but now——”
The boy broke off abruptly, and, stepping back several feet, stood looking up at the stately spire that towered above him. Fair and shapely it rose, with gradually receding buttress and arch, until it terminated at a point over four hundred feet from the pavement.
All day long little groups of men had straggled across the Platz and gathered in front of the great cathedral, elbowing one another, and stretching upon tiptoe to read the notice nailed to the massive door. Many were the jests passed around.
“Does the old sexton think men are flies, to creep along yonder dizzy height?” asked one.
“The prize is indeed worth winning,” said another, “but”—he turned away with an expressive shrug of the shoulder—“life is sweet.”
“When I try to reach heaven ’twill be by some less steep and dangerous way,” laughed a third, with an upward glance at the spire.
“It makes a strong man feel a bit queer to go up inside as far as the great bell and look up at the network of crossing ladders; but to stand outside and wave a flag!—why, the mere thought of it is enough to make one’s head swim,” said the first speaker.
“Jacob Wirtig is the only man in all Vienna who has the nerve for such a part.”
“But he served a good apprenticeship! He learned the knack of keeping a steady head during his early days of chamois-hunting in the Tyrol. But why does he seek to draw others into danger? For so much gold many a man would risk his life.”