"W-wait a minute," he said, and he took down one hand,—and then he put it back and took down the other.
Bess and I stood and stared. "What's the matter?" I said. "Why don't you come down?"
Dad didn't say anything; but he shifted his weight a little, and then he drew one foot off of the step backward and lowered it about an inch,—and then suddenly sort of shook it, the way a cat does when it puts its foot into cold water, and put it back quick.
Bess and I looked at each other. "Why don't you come down?" I asked, again.
Dad didn't swear; but he waited several words long, and then he said, between his teeth,—". . . . I can't."
"Well, why—" I began,—and then I saw the situation. When he went up onto the top, he had steadied himself with the umbrella,—but now it was gone, and there was nothing but the tips of his fingers on the ceiling to hold him. Of course, that was all right as long as he was on the top step; but just as soon as he went to put one foot down, it drew his hands away, and left him trying to balance on one foot on a five-inches-
