A course had been measured one hundred and seventy-five yards in length. The start was from a large rock that stood out of the water some fifteen yards off shore and the finish was at the dock.

The contestants made their way to the starting point by way of the shore; at least they walked until they came to a spot directly opposite the big rock and then waded out as far as possible, swimming the last few yards. Before many moments had elapsed the eight boys were lined up in a row waiting for the signal. Mr. Maxwell stood on the dock, a pistol in his hand.

“We’re counting on you, Grant,” John had said as they walked along the shore. “You’ve simply got to win.”

“Suppose I do,” said Grant. “That’ll mean three points for us and unless we take one of the other places, too, that’ll give the red team three points. If that happens the meet will end in a tie.”

“Maybe George can get a place. He’s not a bad swimmer, you know.”

“I know he isn’t, but you’re just as good yourself.”

“The trouble is we’ve never seen these other fellows swim and we have no idea whether they’re any good or not.”

“Well, if we do our best we shan’t have any reason to kick, I guess,” laughed Grant.

He was far and away the best swimmer of the four Go Ahead boys, and so often had he proved his superiority over them that it was now taken for granted. He was the only one who had mastered the crawl stroke. He knew it so well that it was almost second nature to him now, but to his three companions it still remained a mystery. That it is not an easy thing to acquire will be vouched for by any one who has attempted it. Fred was a wretched swimmer and knew perfectly well that he stood no chance in the race; he entered merely because he did not wish to miss anything. John and George were about on a par, both of them good average performers, but nothing more.

“All ready?” shouted Mr. Maxwell through his megaphone.

“Everybody ready?” asked Thomas.

Every one said he was and Thomas waved his hand to the judge. All eyes were fixed upon the figure standing on the dock, his right arm upraised with the pistol in his hand.

They had not long to wait. A flash and then the sharp report of the revolver, and almost together eight gleaming white bodies hit the water. Fred was the one exception; his position had been next to George and when the signal for the start was given he had been a trifle slow in diving.

A mad scramble ensued the moment all the contestants were in the water together and there was much splashing and confusion. Fred was behind the others and consequently bore the brunt of the whole mixup. He had not taken two strokes when George, who was ahead of him, struck him violently in the stomach with his foot.

It was a powerful blow and well nigh knocked all the wind right out of Fred’s body. “Ugh!” he groaned and sank from sight.

George turned in alarm to see who it was that had been on the receiving end of his effort and was just in time to see Fred reappear puffing and gasping. This sight seemed to tickle George immensely and he began to laugh. Fred choked and gargled and wheezed and try as he would, George could not control his laughter.

Meanwhile the other six contestants were far ahead and one glance convinced George that he and Fred were hopelessly out of the race.

“What’s the matter with you?” exclaimed Fred angrily.

“I didn’t mean to kick you,” said George, and once more he burst into loud and uncontrollable laughter.

“I’m not talking about that,” cried Fred even more aroused by the spectacle of his friend’s mirth. “Why did you drop out of the race?”

“I got laughing so when I saw your face that I forgot all about the race and everything else. I never saw such a funny sight in all my life.”

“Huh,” snorted Fred. “You’re a nice one. We’ll probably lose the meet on account of you.”

“I couldn’t help it,” cried George, and once more he began to laugh. “I just started laughing and I couldn’t stop.”

“Come ashore before you drown, you idiot!” exclaimed Fred, and side by side they made their way to land.

The other contestants were now strung out in a long line. Grant was easily in the lead and it seemed a foregone conclusion that he would win the race. Like some great fish he plowed through the water. His feet worked fast and evenly while his hands reached out with a great sweep and drove him speedily along. His face was under water most of the time; every few strokes he rolled over on one side, sucked in a great mouthful of air and then continued as before.

The real race was for second place and there were three in it. Hugh, Thomas, and John went along almost abreast. John could see that Grant would win the race easily enough, but he realized that in order to win the meet it was necessary for him to finish at least third. He was a good swimmer but was not a racer. Many times he had covered long distances in the water but had paid scant attention to developing his speed.

He used a powerful overhand stroke and when he was moving slowly he was practically tireless. He now was worried, however. He did not dare look around to see where George was for fear he might lose a few precious inches. He did not expect to see Fred, for he knew that his small comrade was a very poor swimmer. He had considered himself and George about on a par and he wondered how it could have happened that he had outdistanced him so far. Had he known the truth undoubtedly he would have been just as angry as Fred had been and his speed certainly would not have been benefited as a result.

Ahead of him he saw Grant and ahead of Grant he spied the dock and Mr. Maxwell standing on it waiting. It seemed very far away. Beside him swam Hugh and Thomas, one on his right and the other on his left. They were breathing hard and splashing heavily, but still they did not seem to be slowing up.

John put forth every effort. He too was becoming short of wind and his arms and legs began to feel the strain. It had been a hard day and this last contest was a severe test for all the boys.

“I must beat one of them! I must! I must!” John kept saying to himself over and over again. Then the next time he saw his rivals Thomas was several feet ahead of him and gaining.

John groaned. Hugh still kept abreast of him and try as hard as he could John seemed powerless to shake him off. He gritted his teeth and strove desperately to make his arms go still faster. Nature could not be forced however; his arms seemed made of lead and every time he raised them he wondered if it would not be the last.

Far ahead he saw Grant only a few feet from the dock. Thomas, too, was many yards in advance of him now. “I simply can’t keep it up any longer,” thought John, and the next instant, “Don’t quit,” he told himself, and he forced his tired muscles to carry him along a few strokes more. He set his jaw determinedly and decided he’d keep it up till he reached the dock no matter what happened later.

Suddenly an idea struck him. “Perhaps Hugh is just as tired as I am,” he thought. “In that case all I have to do is to keep on swimming at a moderate pace and I’ll beat him.”

Hugh was certainly splashing more than he had been and evidently was in trouble. “I’ll get him yet,” thought John and for a moment he felt stronger. “I’ve forgotten the others though,” he suddenly realized and the fear that some one would creep past him before the finish assailed him all at once. He decided to roll over on his back and look.

He did so and behind him he saw only two swimmers. They were not near enough to be dangerous however and John did not even recognize them. That two of the contestants were missing he did not notice at all.

Often when swimming long distances he had turned over up on his back in order to rest and now he was surprised to find how even a few strokes in that position relieved his aching muscles. The finish was close at hand now, however, and he dared not continue in that fashion any longer. He rolled over and resumed his overhand stroke.

Grant was already on the dock standing beside Mr. Maxwell. Thomas had just reached the goal and was pulling himself up out of the water. To his surprise John noticed that in spite of the fact that he had been swimming on his back Hugh had not gained anything on him. His brief rest had refreshed him considerably and with added confidence he struck out for the finish. Without really noticing it he was aware that Hugh was floundering more than ever. He did not turn to look, however, but concentrated every effort on his swimming, and still struggled on towards the goal.

He lost sight of Hugh; he saw nothing but the dock ahead of him. His lungs cried for mercy and his muscles ached, but vigorously he still kept going. After what seemed centuries he reached the dock, not knowing whether he had beaten Hugh out or not. In fact he did not care much now. He had gained the dock at last and he was happy.

He raised his eyes to look about him and what he saw was very strange indeed. Mr. Maxwell, standing fully clothed on the dock, suddenly dove right over his head into the water.