The race was not so one-sided. Brown won it by some yards, but he had to work hard. His competitor did not give up when she found herself falling behind, but was game to the end.
“Well,” she gasped, “you beat me, didn't you? I never could get that side stroke, and it's ever so much faster.”
“It's simple enough. Just a knack. I'll teach you if you like.”
“Will you? That's splendid.”
“You are the strongest swimmer, Miss Graham, for a girl, that I ever saw. You must have practiced a great deal.”
“Yes, Horace—my brother—taught me. He is a splendid swimmer, one of the very best.”
“Horace Graham? Why, you don't mean Horace Graham of the Harvard Athletic?”
“Yes, I do. He is my brother. But how . . . Do you know him?”
The surprise in her tone was evident. Brown bit his lip. He remembered that Cape Cod lightkeepers' helpers were not, as a usual thing, supposed to be widely acquainted in college athletic circles.
“I have met him,” he stammered.