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.