“I’ll race either of you any distance you like,” replied Frank, nettled. “And I’ll give you a start.”
“You give Toby a start,” laughed Arnold, “and you’ll never catch him.”
“Bet you I can give you a quarter of the way to the lighthouse landing and beat you to it,” said Frank to Toby.
Toby, who had already disengaged the clutch, looked musingly toward the island which lay nearly a quarter-mile away to starboard. “Maybe you can,” he replied finally, “and then again maybe you can’t. I don’t believe I ever swam an eighth of a mile in three minutes, but I guess I can reach the landing ahead of you, Frank. And I don’t need any start, either.”
Frank was pulling off his clothes and folding them neatly on the seat. “You fellows who live along the water always think you can swim and sail boats and all that,” he sneered, “but I notice that the city fellows can generally beat you at it when they come along.”
“Oh, sometimes,” agreed Toby. “Throw that anchor over, Arn, will you?” Toby shut off the engine and began to disrobe. “Wish we had a couple of towels aboard. This breeze is going to be sort of cold when we get back.”
“I’m not in this race,” said Arnold, as he kicked off his shoes. “You two fellows would leave me away behind. I’ll meet you at the landing.”
“How shall we start?” asked Frank. “Dive from the rail or——”
“Yes, I guess so. Arn can give us the word if he isn’t going to race himself. All ready?”
“All ready,” answered Frank.