“Say, Ezra, why do you always swim overhand?”
“It’s the best and swiftest,” answered the gypsy boy.
“It may be the swiftest,” returned Clarence; “but it’s no good for a long swim. I prefer going sailor fashion.”
“It’s the best for a long swim, if you’ve got the strength to keep it up,” retorted Ezra.
“All the same,” said Clarence, “I’ve got to see the boy who can beat me out in a long distance swim, if he sticks to the overhand.”
“You mean to say you can beat me?” said Ezra.
“Of course, I can,” returned Clarence superbly. “I can beat you or any of your family.”
“You see that island in the middle of the river?” asked Ezra, pointing as he spoke to a long, low island nearly a mile in length. Clarence looked at it intently. It was thickly wooded and ended to the south in a clump of willows deeply submerged in the water. The two boys were bathing in a spot facing almost directly the middle of the long island.
“It seems to me I do,” answered Clarence; “and it must be at least half a mile from us.”
“I’ll race you to the island,” said Ezra.