Suddenly they came upon the athletic field. Here, reared high in the air, was a slender greased pole, on the top of which fluttered a five-dollar bill. Several youngsters, dressed in bathing suits, awaited the hour when they should be allowed to try and win the money. One after another they took their turn, and when an extra spurt up the pole was made by some lucky boy the crowd evinced its delight by loud cheers. Time and again the breeze fluttered the coveted money, and yet no boy had won the prize.
"I'd like to try it," said Flukey.
"If we couldn't get it with bathing suits, you couldn't climb that pole with them long pants," retorted one of the contestants who stood near. "Look! that kid's goin' to get it, after all!" There was disappointment in the tones; but the words had no sooner died away than the climber slipped to the ground.
Flea pinched Flukey's arm. "Be yer knee so twisted that ye can't try, Flukey?"
"Nope, my rheumatiz ain't hurtin' me now."
"Then shinny up it, Fluke--ye can climb it! Get along there!"
She took the dog from his arms, and the boy went forward when the call came for another aspirant.
"I'm goin' to get that there bill!" said Flukey, shutting his teeth firmly.
He advanced and spoke in an undertone to a man, who, with a grin, shouted out the name, "Mr. F. Cronk."
The dignity of the prefix made Flukey spit upon his hands before he started to climb the pole. Flea came closer and stood almost breathless. Her parted lips showed small, even, white teeth, her eyes glistened, and flashes of red blood crimsoned her face. One suspender slipping from her shoulder, the vicious dog in her arms, the beautiful upturned face, was as interesting a spectacle as the onlookers had ever seen. It was with breathless interest that she watched her brother laboriously ascend the pole.
Flukey was indeed making a masterful climb. But at last he halted; and then, a moment later, he climbed desperately. The girl on the ground saw him falter, and knew that he was becoming faint-hearted. To encourage him, she lifted a voice broken by emotion and shouted: "Go it, Fluke, go it!... Aw! damn it, he slid!... Go it, ole feller! Git there, git there! Ye're almost there, Fluke--git it! It's a dinner--it's a bone for Snatchet, and we'll eat!... Damn it! he slid again!... Aw! hell!"
Flukey gained the space he had lost in his last slide. Halfway up, he began again, the men cheering and the women waving handkerchiefs. But the boy had heard only the words from the little figure under the pole. The five dollars did mean a good dinner, and a bone for lean Snatchet. Up, up, and still up, until his fingers grasped the pole very near the top.