“Eight,” the Cub leader repeated firmly. “It’s the only way you’ll ever build up your endurance. When the going gets hard—just keep going.”
Inspired by this advice, Dan dived into the water, and with smooth strokes slashed his way the first length of the pool.
After a turn at the wall, his breath became a little short and he slowed down a little. By the end of the third length, his stroke lost some of its hard drive. At five lengths, his steady six-beat leg thrash became a tired wiggle. Finally at the end of the eighth length, Dan was holding out by sheer will power.
“Keep it up!” Mr. Hatfield called encouragingly. “You’re doing fine.”
At that moment Ross Langdon sauntered into the pool. Large for his age and a natural athlete, the boy’s appearances at the “Y” were few and far between, for he disliked to practice. On this afternoon, however, he had donned satin trunks, showered, and evidently intended to swim.
Observing Dan’s now jerky stroke, he uttered a loud horse-laugh. Then to show off, he plunged into the pool, and swam the length with a speed which tossed foam ahead of his thrashing arms.
Thoroughly discouraged by the display, Dan wheeled over to the side to watch.
“What’s the use?” he muttered to Brad who slithered alongside in the water. “I couldn’t quite finish eight lengths and here Ross blazes in and tears up the pool!”
“That’s all right, Dan,” Brad encouraged him. “You won’t see him doing more than a few lengths before he caves in. You just keep plugging the way Mr. Hatfield said.”
“But the meet is Saturday. And look at that guy travel! His form may not be so hot, but how he can chop the water!”