“I know that,” granted Frank. “I’ve swum two hundred and twenty yards in a tank in three minutes myself. It isn’t hard.”
“Three minutes!” exclaimed Arnold. “Why, you couldn’t have! That would mean twenty-four minutes for a mile, and——”
“No, it wouldn’t,” denied Frank. “You can do a short distance without getting tired. It’s like sprinting. According to your talk, any one who could do the two-twenty in twenty-two and three-fifths could run the mile in about three minutes! And the best time for the mile is four minutes and something.”
“Well, just the same,” demurred Arnold, “three minutes is mighty fast time for two hundred and twenty yards, even in still water. I guess your watch must have been wrong.”
“It wasn’t my watch and it wasn’t wrong,” answered Frank, huffily. “Besides, lots of fellows have done two-twenty in a good deal less than three minutes.”
“All right. I don’t say they haven’t. All I know is that I never saw you swim in any such style, Frank. You’ll have to show us, won’t he, Toby?”
“Well, seeing’s believing,” said Toby. “How big are these tanks you fellows talk about? Seems to me if they’re an eighth of a mile long they must look like rivers. Where do you find them?”
“They aren’t an eighth of a mile long,” grunted Frank. “You swim the length of the tank enough times to make the distance. You could do it quicker if you didn’t have to turn all the time. If you don’t believe I can do it in three minutes I’ll show you when we get back to school.”
“Well, I wouldn’t care so much about being able to make time in a tank,” said Toby, judicially. “What a fellow wants to do is to be able to swim like the dickens in real water, I guess. And swimming fast isn’t half so necessary as being able to swim far. If you fell off a steamer away out to sea——”
“If you were silly enough to fall off a steamer you’d deserve to drown,” growled Frank.