"Crack!" went the pistol, and as if shot from a cannon the six hit the water together. Peters with a longer spring immediately shot out in front of the bunch, his arms flying like flails and his long legs beating the water rhythmically.
"Hurrah, see Peters go! He'll win easily," cried the friends of the New Yorker.
"Wait a minute; the race is just beginning," said another. "Wait till Armstrong strikes his gait. There, see him go up!"
Frank was indeed gaining. In none of his races was he ever able to get under way fast at first, but he could always quicken up when he had been going for a few seconds. This was what happened now. Slowly but surely he drew up on Peters and Bates, the friend of Peters, who had won the heat from Frank. At the half distance, he had shaken off three competitors and was closing on the fourth. Slowly he gained, when suddenly Bates, just ahead of him, swerved from his course. Frank looked up just in time to prevent running into him, but he was obliged to change his direction a trifle in order to pass. The swerve lost him ground, for Peters at this moment seemed to put on a fresh burst of speed.
Over the last twenty yards the race was a terrific one, the partisans of both sides yelling like mad for their favorites. On the boys came like whirlwinds. The water churned up into spray as they smashed through it. Thirty feet from the float Frank took his last look and his last gulp of air for that race, then, burying his head, he put every pound of strength he had left into driving himself forward. He was now so close to Peters that he could feel the eddy of water from his hand as it swept backward. Ten feet from the float, he fairly threw himself out of the water. He was alongside the leader now, and next thing he knew he crashed full tilt into the float. He raised his head to hear the shout:
"Peters wins! Peters wins!"
It was true Frank had touched only a fraction of a second too late. It was Peter's race. Frank dropped off the float and swam back slowly, all but exhausted.
Jimmy was at the starting float, and as he lent the tired racer a hand to mount to the planks, his face was white with rage.
"Wasn't good enough, was I?" gasped Frank.