TOBY ACCEPTS A CHALLENGE
Of course Arnold was quite as pleased as Toby, and they spent the rest
of that forenoon in laying glorious plans for the school year and in
discussing the manners and customs of Yardley Hall. Arnold proudly
reiterated that it was the best school in the country, and Toby gravely
and unhesitatingly agreed. He already felt a certain proprietorship in
that institution and was every bit as ready as his chum to fight in
defense of its honor and fame! Fortunately for them, the ferry business
was slack today, otherwise they would never have been able to talk all
they wanted to on such an engrossing subject.
Passengers were “queer birds, anyway,” to quote Arnold. One day they
would appear in numbers, and the next day, as like as not, only two or
three would turn up. But, passengers or no passengers, the trip across
to Johnstown was a pleasant diversion, saving when the weather was bad,
and both boys enjoyed it. And so did Phebe as often as she went with
them, which was likely to be at least once a day. They never failed to
enjoy the leisurely journey back and forth, for there was always plenty
to talk about and always plenty to see. Launches and sailboats dotted
the bay in fair weather, and now and then a rusty-sided oilboat or
collier was passed, or a fussy, whistling tug rolled by with a tandem
of scows in tow. Several times Frank Lamson joined them, and, since he
invariably insisted on paying his way, could not very well be refused
a seat in the launch. Frank, however, was less objectionable to Toby
by now, whether he really strove to behave himself or because Toby was
growing used to him. In any case, Frank could be very good company when
he chose, just as he could be most intolerably offensive when in the
mood.
He was in the mood one fine, crisp afternoon when, having loitered down
to the landing, hands in pockets and a somewhat discontented look on
his face, he decided at the last instant to make the trip. Toby gravely
accepted the passage money and silently wished Frank anywhere but in
the launch. On the way across Arnold railed Frank on a defeat suffered
a few days before by the Spanish Head baseball team, which did not in
the least improve the latter’s disposition. However, the Johnstown
landing was made without unpleasantness and the lone passenger, a
little dark-visaged peddler who in some miraculous manner carried two
huge, bursting valises, was set ashore. No one appeared for the return
trip and the launch presently turned her nose homeward with Toby at the
engine and Arnold and Frank in the stern, the former steering. It was
Arnold who introduced the subject of bathing with a careless remark
to the effect that the water looked dandy and he wished he had his
bathing-suit along.
“You don’t need a bathing-suit out here,” said Toby, testing the
commutator with the point of a screw-driver and mentally deciding to
put a new spring on before the next trip. “Go ahead in if you like.
I’ll slow down and tow you.”
“You don’t need to slow down,” answered Arnold. “I can swim as fast as
you’re going now.” Which, as the launch was making a fair six miles,
was a slight exaggeration.
“What’s the fastest any one ever swam a mile, anyway?” inquired Toby.
“About twenty-four minutes, I think,” answered Arnold.
“Twenty-three and about sixteen seconds,” corrected Frank in a superior
tone. “That’s professional, I guess. Some Australian chap. It takes
those fellows to swim. We don’t know anything about it in this country.”
“Don’t we? What’s the matter with that Honolulu chap, Duke Somebody?
He’s a corker.”
“He’s a Hawaiian. I said in this country.”
“Well, he’s an American, just the same,” insisted Arnold. “And there
was a chap who swam from the Battery in New York to Sandy Hook just
the other day in just over seven hours. That’s about twenty miles. So
he made almost three miles an hour. Lots of the fancy records you hear
about are made in tanks. Swimming in open water, with waves and tides
and――and――――”
“Sharks,” offered Toby.
“And wind is another thing entirely.”
“I know that,” granted Frank. “I’ve swum two hundred and twenty yards
in a tank in three minutes myself. It isn’t hard.”
“Three minutes!” exclaimed Arnold. “Why, you couldn’t have! That would
mean twenty-four minutes for a mile, and――――”
“No, it wouldn’t,” denied Frank. “You can do a short distance without
getting tired. It’s like sprinting. According to your talk, any one who
could do the two-twenty in twenty-two and three-fifths could run the
mile in about three minutes! And the best time for the mile is four
minutes and something.”
“Well, just the same,” demurred Arnold, “three minutes is mighty fast
time for two hundred and twenty yards, even in still water. I guess
your watch must have been wrong.”
“It wasn’t my watch and it wasn’t wrong,” answered Frank, huffily.
“Besides, lots of fellows have done two-twenty in a good deal less than
three minutes.”
“All right. I don’t say they haven’t. All I know is that I never saw
you swim in any such style, Frank. You’ll have to show us, won’t he,
Toby?”
“Well, seeing’s believing,” said Toby. “How big are these tanks you
fellows talk about? Seems to me if they’re an eighth of a mile long
they must look like rivers. Where do you find them?”
“They aren’t an eighth of a mile long,” grunted Frank. “You swim the
length of the tank enough times to make the distance. You could do it
quicker if you didn’t have to turn all the time. If you don’t believe I
can do it in three minutes I’ll show you when we get back to school.”
“Well, I wouldn’t care so much about being able to make time in a
tank,” said Toby, judicially. “What a fellow wants to do is to be able
to swim like the dickens in real water, I guess. And swimming fast
isn’t half so necessary as being able to swim far. If you fell off a
steamer away out to sea――――”
“If you were silly enough to fall off a steamer you’d deserve to
drown,” growled Frank.
“And I guess I should,” laughed Toby, “unless I had a life-belt on.
Anyway, you might find yourself in the water without exactly falling
off the boat. You might be shipwrecked or blown up by a torpedo or the
ship might get on fire. In a case like that you want to be able to keep
afloat a good, long while. Being a fast swimmer wouldn’t count much.
How far have you ever swum, Arn?”
“Me? Oh, not far. Maybe a half-mile. And I guess I rested plenty of
times doing it. I’m a punk swimmer.”
“You can dive finely, though,” said Toby.
“Not so well as you can. Say, let’s go in this afternoon over at the
beach.”
“What’s the matter with going in now?” asked Frank. “You fellows afraid
of deep water?”
“I’m not,” answered Toby. “I can drown just as easily in six feet as
sixty. If you like we’ll drop anchor off the end of the island and have
a swim. I wouldn’t object a bit. How about you, Arn?”
“I don’t know. Isn’t the water awfully cold out here?”
“Not so very. About sixty, I guess. That isn’t bad. I suppose these
tanks you tell about are nice and warm, eh?”
“Too warm,” said Arnold. “I’ll go in if you fellows will. Maybe Frank
will give us an exhibition.”
“I’ll race either of you any distance you like,” replied Frank,
nettled. “And I’ll give you a start.”
“You give Toby a start,” laughed Arnold, “and you’ll never catch him.”
“Bet you I can give you a quarter of the way to the lighthouse landing
and beat you to it,” said Frank to Toby.
Toby, who had already disengaged the clutch, looked musingly toward
the island which lay nearly a quarter-mile away to starboard. “Maybe
you can,” he replied finally, “and then again maybe you can’t. I don’t
believe I ever swam an eighth of a mile in three minutes, but I guess I
can reach the landing ahead of you, Frank. And I don’t need any start,
either.”
Frank was pulling off his clothes and folding them neatly on the seat.
“You fellows who live along the water always think you can swim and
sail boats and all that,” he sneered, “but I notice that the city
fellows can generally beat you at it when they come along.”
“Oh, sometimes,” agreed Toby. “Throw that anchor over, Arn, will you?”
Toby shut off the engine and began to disrobe. “Wish we had a couple
of towels aboard. This breeze is going to be sort of cold when we get
back.”
“I’m not in this race,” said Arnold, as he kicked off his shoes. “You
two fellows would leave me away behind. I’ll meet you at the landing.”
“How shall we start?” asked Frank. “Dive from the rail or――――”
“Yes, I guess so. Arn can give us the word if he isn’t going to race
himself. All ready?”
“All ready,” answered Frank.
The two boys stood on the seat, side by side, and poised themselves for
the plunge. Arnold, only half undressed, gave the signal and over they
went.
Toby reappeared a good two yards ahead of Frank and then began a
battle royal. Frank was a far prettier swimmer, as Arnold, watching
from the launch, readily saw, but there was something extremely
businesslike in the way in which Toby dug his head in and shot his arms
forward in swift, powerful strokes. While both boys used the crawl,
Frank’s performance was far more finished, and his strokes longer
and slower. He breathed after every stroke, while Toby used the more
obsolete method of holding his breath and keeping his head down until
endurance was exhausted and then throwing his head up for another long
inhalation. For a time the contestants held the same relative positions
as at the start when Toby’s shallower dive had gained him the advantage
of a full length, but as the half-way distance was reached, Arnold,
discarding the last of his attire without taking his eyes from the
race, saw that Frank had practically pulled himself even. From that
time on the boys were too far away for him to judge their progress, but
he waited in the launch until, after many minutes, they reached the end
of the lighthouse landing. To him it seemed that Toby flung an arm over
the edge of the float at least a second before Frank, but he was too
far away to be certain. He saw the contestants clamber out and fling
themselves down in the sunlight and then he, too, sprang over the side
into the green depths.
Toby had predicted that the temperature of the water would be about
sixty, but Arnold, coming to the surface with a gasp, was certain that
fifty was far nearer the fact. The water was most decidedly cold, and
he swam hard for a few minutes to get warm. Then, looking back at the
launch to find that he had made far less progress than he had supposed,
he turned over on his back and went leisurely on toward the distant
landing.
On the float meanwhile Toby and Frank were pantingly arguing over the
result of their contest. Toby declared warmly that he had finished
a full length ahead of his opponent, while Frank with equal warmth
proclaimed the race a tie. “You may have got hold of the float before
I did,” he said, “but I was right there. You finished your stroke
ahead of me, that’s all. I couldn’t grab the float until my stroke was
finished, could I?”
“When I touched the float you were a length behind me,” replied the
other positively. “I had my arm over the edge there before you got
where you could touch it.”
“You did not! You flung your hand out at the finish and I didn’t. It
was a dead-heat, that’s what it was, and if the water hadn’t been so
cold I’d have beaten you easily.”
“The water wasn’t any colder where you were than it was where I was,
was it?” asked Toby indignantly.
“I don’t say it was, but you’re more used to sea bathing than I am. In
the tanks――――”
“Oh, bother your tanks!” said Toby in disgust. “You said you could beat
me to this landing, and you didn’t, and that’s all there is to it.”
“You said the water would be sixty, and it isn’t more than forty-six
or -eight, I’ll bet! If I’d known it was so cold――――”
“Well, great Scott, I can’t fix the water for you, can I? It was just
as fair for you as it was for me, and there’s no use in making a fuss
about it.”
“_I’m_ not making any fuss; it’s you. I say it was a tie――――”
“And I say it wasn’t. I won by more than a yard.”
“Your saying so doesn’t make it so,” sneered Frank. “I wish there had
been some one here to prove it.”
“Sure! So do I. But there wasn’t.”
“If you’ll come in nearer shore I’ll race you again and show you,” said
Frank. “Cold water always slows me up.”
“You ought to do your swimming in a bath-tub,” replied Toby ungraciously.
“What’s the good of knowing how to swim if you have to have the water
fixed just right for you beforehand?”
“That’s all right, Mr. Smart Aleck, but any one will tell you that
forty-four――――”
“You said forty-six a minute ago!”
“Or forty-six, is too cold for fast swimming. You ask any one.”
“How about the fellow that Arn told about who swam to Sandy Hook? I
suppose some one went ahead of him in a boat and dragged a hot water
bag, eh? Like fun! Look here, Frank, I’ll race you back to the launch
and settle it. What do you say to that?”
“I say no. I’m tuckered out, and the water’s too cold――――”
A cry of appeal interrupted him. Toby scrambled to his feet and gazed
toward the launch.
“What is it?” asked Frank.
“Some one yelled. I thought it might be Arn.”
Toby gazed frowningly across the sunlit water, his eyes for the moment
defeated by the dancing rays. Frank climbed to his feet and joined him
at the edge of the float.
“I don’t see him on the launch,” he muttered uneasily. “And I don’t
see――――”
“I do! There he is!” Toby shot a swift arm outward, pointing, just as
a second cry came across the water. “He’s in trouble! Come on now!
Here’s you chance to show what you can do! If you don’t like to take my
wash, _swim_!”
The last words were spoken in mid-air, for Toby’s gleaming body was
plunging outward and downward in a long shallow dive. The fraction of a
second later, Frank, too, clove the green water.