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 going to hang from one foot from that cross section. I don’t know how long that pergola’s been built, and there’s been a lot of water thrown on it to wash the vines. It may be as rotten as sin.”

Steadily the Scout Master climbed upward and presently sat on the second bar bouncing up and down on it to ascertain its stability.

Jamie looked belligerent.

“I told you not to do that!” he said, provokedly.

“I ain’t goin’ to do it,” answered the Scout Master, serenely. “I heard you. There’s nothing the matter with my ears. I can pull another one just as good, and if I come a smasher ’twon’t break any more than my leg. I’m going to hang by my little finger!”

Before Jamie had time either to say or to do anything, the body of the Scout Master was dangling and it was supported by one little finger of the right hand and nothing more.

“All in!” shouted the swaying youngster. “Look out! I’m comin’ down! I’m aimin’ for the dirt, Call Grayson if I hit the stone!”

Down came the Scout Master, landing deftly and with perfect precision on the freshly watered soil of the garden, perhaps four inches from the stones that might very easily have broken a leg.

“Now, look here,” said Jamie, “I told you I wasn’t feeling as good as I might one time, didn’t I?”

“Yes, and you didn’t need to tell me!” said the Scout Master. “I could see it for myself, but I can see now