Even as she looked the boy slipped, fell headlong, and slid swiftly
downward. In a moment he was over the edge, clutching wildly at the
plank, which was a foot or more beyond his reach. Headforemost he
dove into space, but the clutching hand found something at last--the
projecting hook of an old eaves-trough that had long since been
removed--and to this he clung fast in spite of the jerk of his
arrested body, which threatened to tear away his grip.
But his plight was desperate, nevertheless. He was dangling in space,
the hard pavement thirty feet below him, with no possible way of
pulling himself up to the roof again. And the hook was so small that
there was no place for his other hand. The only way he could cling
to it at all was to grasp his wrist with the free hand as a partial
relief from the strain upon his arm.
"Hold fast!" called Patsy. "I'm coming."
She sprang up the steps, through the boy's room and into the hallway.
There she quickly perceived the ladder, and mounted it to the roof.
Taking in the situation at a glance she ran with steady steps down
the sloping roof to where the plank lay, and stepped out upon it far
enough to see the boy dangling beside her.
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