A total of three meets had been scheduled for the season. An engraved silver loving cup would be awarded to the Den which won two of the contests.
“I’m afraid Ross Langdon will win the Saturday meet too,” Dan remarked glumly one afternoon as he practiced with the other Cubs at the “Y” pool. “That guy swims as if he’s jet propelled!”
Although Den 1 boasted several fine swimmers, 11-year-old Ross was by far the greatest threat to the rival Cubs. Muscularly built, the boy had the energy of a youngster of fifteen. His crawl stroke lacked form, but by sheer strength he managed to win every race he entered.
“You swim as well as Ross does,” Brad told Dan loyally. “Your form is better.”
“Maybe,” Dan admitted, “but I lack his endurance. I hold out fairly well in the 25-yard free style, but in the 50, I began to lose my wind. And you know we’ve got to capture both events to nose out Den 1 in the final tally.”
“Sure, I know,” Brad acknowledged, easing his body snake-fashion down the pool wall into the chlorinated water. “Just get in and pitch, old boy. Remember, the Den is counting on you!”
“That’s what makes me worried, Brad. I want to do my best. I practice and practice, but where does it get me?”
Sam Hatfield emerged from the dressing room in time to hear Dan’s final remark.
“You just keep plugging and top speed will come, Dan,” he said cheerfully. “Stop worrying about Ross Langdon. One of these days his lack of form will catch up with him. Now dive into that pool and swim eight lengths.”
“Eight?” Dan groaned.