CHAPTER XVI
ACROSS A CHASM
"What's it for?" asked Joe of the leading camera man, when our hero had donned the rubber-soled shoes. "Is it a drama?"
"No, it's just a collection of freak stunts to make thrilling reels. We had this fellow jump off the Brooklyn bridge, and he did it without turning a hair. But you saw what happened when it came to the Flatiron climb. Not that I blame him. I wouldn't do it for a million dollars, and there's only two hundred in it for you. Is that enough?"
"Plenty," answered Joe. "I'm looking for advertisement out of it."
"Oh, you'll get that, all right. Your name will be featured on the pictures. But what's your game?"
Joe told him.
"Oh, you're that fellow!" exclaimed the moving picture man. "I've heard about you. Yes indeed! On the high wire! Well, no wonder you're not afraid to undertake this, though it's some little climb, believe me, friend Strong."
"I realize it," Joe said. "But the only danger is in slipping, and I'm not going to do that. The climb in itself isn't hard, as the stones are easy to grip and there are no long reaches."
"Yes, I suppose that's so. But it takes nerve, or rather, lack of nerves, and a cool head."
"Well, I seem lucky enough to be built that way," replied Joe, with a smile.
The crowd had increased until it almost blocked Fifth Avenue, and the traffic policemen were at their wits' ends. But a permit had been secured for the climb to be made, on condition that a life-net be spread below, and Joe noticed this had been done. He looked at the net to make sure it was properly stretched. Though not as good as his, it would answer the purpose. Without it the police would have forbidden the attempt.
"Well, I wish you luck," said the youth who had backed out of the feat. "You sure have me beaten."
"Oh, don't feel badly about it," said Joe kindly. "I may lose my nerve myself, some day, though I don't want to."
"No, it isn't any fun," agreed the other soberly.
The camera men had been making ready, and three of them had their machines focused on Joe, taking pictures of him even as he was preparing for the climb.
"We're going to take the pictures in triplicate," said the leader, "so there won't be any risk of a mistake. I don't believe you'd stand for a re-take."
"What's that?" asked Joe, who was not any too well versed in moving picture nomenclature.
"It means taking the picture over again, which also means that the actor has to do the same thing twice. None of them like it, especially when there's any danger attached to the act, as there is here. I guess you wouldn't like to do it twice."
"Oh, I don't know," said Joe calmly.
"So when there's not much chance for a re-take we use three or even more cameras," the man went on. "Then, if the film breaks, or something goes wrong with one machine, we still have the others to rely on. Well, are you ready?"
"Yes," nodded Joe.
Then he began his climb—a climb that was to thrill thousands gathered in the street below him, and hundreds of thousands who afterwards saw it in the moving pictures.
The stones of the Flatiron Building are laid in such a way as to leave grooves running horizontally. These are, in reality, stone niches, in which Joe could insert his fingers and toes. The rubber soles of the shoes would give a good grip, and Joe had thought to put on a pair of gloves to save his fingers from abrasion by the rough stone.
At first it was easy enough to ascend, though a murmur broke from the crowd as the daring youth began the ascent. But almost any one could have climbed up the first few feet. It was going higher that made the difficulty.
Up and up went Joe Strong. Higher and higher he mounted. As he glanced upward he could see heads peering from the many office windows, for word of what was going on had permeated the building.
"It isn't going to be as easy as I thought," Joe said, for the strain was already beginning to tell on him. "I've a long way to go to the top," he mused, after a quick upward glance.
But Joe had no thought of giving up. It was not so much for the money, but, as he had said, for the advertisement he would get out of it. Let it be heralded in the papers, as it was sure to be, that Joe Strong, the daring rider of a motor-cycle across a high wire, had climbed to the top of the Flatiron Building, and his fame as a performer of daring feats would spread. More persons would come to see him ride, and he could ask higher prices from the managers of the fairs and expositions.
So on and on the lad went. Below him the cameras were clicking away, grinding out the film which would afterward show, at the rate of sixteen pictures to a second, just what Joe had done.
Past story after story he went, sometimes so close to the open windows, thronged with curious persons, that he could have shaken hands with them, had he dared let go his grip long enough. But Joe took no chances.
He stopped for a rest at the tenth story, and then went on. It was now that his vigorous and well-trained muscles stood him in good stead. And his nerves were never in better trim.
"I guess I'll make it," mused Joe. "I feel pretty good."
Once, when at the thirteenth story, his foot slipped on what seemed to be a piece of fat. Joe recovered himself with an effort, and he heard a faint sound, almost like a groan, from the throng below.
"Thirteen seems to be unlucky," thought Joe grimly, as he went on. "At least it might have been. I wonder how that fat got on the ledge."
Then as he saw birds flying about him he knew some feathered songster must have dropped part of his lunch there in the stone niche.
"A bird caused me to fall once," Joe mused, "and I don't want it to happen again, even if there is a life-net below me."
It was with a feeling of relief, muscularly, not mentally, that Joe ended his climb, and crawled into an open office window near him. A man, looking out, grasped his hand.
"Shake!" he cried. "That was a wonderful climb, and I'm the first to shake hands with you after it."
"Yes, you're the first," admitted Joe, with a smile.
He turned to wave his hand to the crowd below, which at once began to cheer, men waving their hats and women their handkerchiefs. Joe saw the cameras pointed at him, and one of the machine men was making films of the demonstration of the crowd for future use.
Joe rested a few minutes and came down in the elevator. He was almost overwhelmed with the rush of the crowd to greet him, and he saw scores of hands stretched out for him to shake. He did shake as many as he could, and then he saw his friend of the camera making his way toward him.
"Come on, Mr. Strong!" the man called. "I've got my auto out here, and we'll take you wherever you want to go."
"I've got to go back to Jersey City soon," Joe said. "I'm to ride there this afternoon."
"Great Scott! After this climb?"
"Why not?" asked Joe coolly. "It's got to be done to keep the contract. Besides, I'm all right."
They fought their way through the admiring crowd to the machine, and Joe was induced to go to the moving picture concern, so they could get some close-up views of Joe in the studio, to use with the outdoor film.
Joe received his money, and was assured that his name would be featured on the film for advertising purposes. That was what he wanted.
The news of his climb up the tall building spread, and a record-breaking crowd attended the Jersey City fair to see the daring youth take his thrilling ride. He rode, too, most satisfactorily.
That night Joe received a visit at his hotel from Mr. Potter, the head camera man. Joe was rather surprised at the call.
"I've come to see if you have any open dates," stated Mr. Potter.
"Open dates?" repeated Joe. "Do you want me to climb some more buildings?"
"Well, not exactly, but I have a sort of building stunt for you, if you'll undertake it."
"Let's hear it," suggested Joe. "I have some open time after I close in Jersey City. Is this for the movies?"
"Yes. I am commissioned to ask if you will ride your motor-cycle on the wire across a chasm."
"Across a chasm?" cried Joe. "How big a chasm, and where is it?"
"Right in New York City. If you're interested, I'll explain."
"Go ahead!" urged Joe. "I'm interested, all right."
"I thought you'd be," said Mr. Potter, with a smile.