"Well, McGill, the Canadian university, is sending a team down here in February. They have two or three crackajacks up there and they are making a little southern trip. I've just wired them the date and I'd like to make as good a showing as possible."
"We ought to be pretty good excepting in the two-twenty," said Frank.
"And if you'll work for that distance we ought to be pretty good there, too. I'll take care of the hundred as well as I know how, and I'll let Hobbs swim the fifty."
"And who swims the two-twenty for McGill?"
"Hopkins, the Olympic champion."
Frank gave a long whistle. "And so you want me to be the goat? All right, Mr. Captain, I'll do my best and lead the goat right up to the altar to be sacrificed by the Olympic champion. But to do it gracefully, I ought to have some coaching in that distance."
"And you're going to get it. I've sent for Burton to come up and give us a little advice. He was one of our best men at the distance as well as at the hundred."
"Yes, I know him. Taught me to swim."
"Really! Well, that's fine. He has the knack of teaching, and can tell you the tricks of the furlong if anyone can."
The McGill meet was only two weeks off, and Frank began his training in earnest. Twice a day he swam the furlong, first at a moderate gait and then quickening the stroke until he was traveling at good speed throughout the distance.