"If only there were a rope hanging down, I'd be up there in no
time,"
he mused. I wonder if I couldn't climb up and hang to the
braces.
I might reach it in that way. I'm going to try it."
Deciding upon this, the Circus Boy, after no little effort,
succeeded in climbing up to one of the side braces in the car.
>From the plates long, narrow beams extended across the car, thus
supporting the roof. Choosing two that led along near the trap,
Phil, after a few moments' rest, gripped one firmly in each hand
from the underside and began swinging himself along almost as if
he were traveling on a series of traveling rings, but with
infinitely more effort and discomfort.
His hands were aching frightfully, and he knew that he could hold
on but a few seconds longer.
"I've got to make it," he gasped, breathing hard.
At last he had reached the goal. Phil released one hand and
quickly extended it to the trap door frame.
There was not a single projection there to support him,
nor to which he might cling. His hand slipped away, suddenly
throwing his weight upon the hand grasping the roof timber.
The strain was too much. Phil Forrest lost his grip and fell
heavily to the floor.
But this time he did not rise.
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