Left End Edwards

by Ralph Henry Barbour

Fortunately, he was a good swimmer. Turning quickly under water, he raced toward the far end of the tank. Dimly he heard shouts and laughter above, but he didn't come to the surface until twenty long strokes had taken him far away from where Sawyer, at a loss, was casting about the middle of the tank for him. His reappearance was heralded by shouts of applause from the younger fellows, many of whom, scenting real trouble, had scrambled out of the water. Sawyer, warned of Steve's whereabouts, looked down the tank, saw him and started pell-mell after him. Again Steve went under, swam cautiously toward the side until he could see the white tiles within reach and then edged back the way he had come. He tried to reach the shallow end of the tank before taking breath, but the effort was too great, and when he stuck his head out for an instant he found that those at the edge of the tank had been following his under-water progress and were shouting and laughing down at him from above. More than that, however, their interest had appraised Sawyer of his whereabouts, and even as Steve, blinking the water from his eyes and replenishing his lungs, looked about him, his pursuer almost reached him.

Scorning concealment now, Steve made straight for the shallow end of the pool. Swimming like his was a revelation to many of those who saw it and a hearty burst of applause followed him all the way to the ladder, which he gained several yards in advance of Sawyer. Steve darted up the rungs and ran to the side of the tank, the fellows scattering out of his path. Sawyer pulled himself out of the water and followed, puffing with anger and exertion.

"Oh, let him go, Eric," advised Fowler. "You can't catch him."

"Yes, forget it," advised others.

But Sawyer had no idea of forgetting it. "I'll break his silly head for him," he growled as he followed Steve around the edge. Then began a chase that was both exciting and amusing. Egged on by the laughing spectators the two boys raced around the pool, Steve managing to keep always one lap ahead, slowing down when Sawyer showed signs of faltering and sprinting when the older boy, gathering fresh energy, went on again. It was a stern chase with a vengeance and might have lasted all night or until one or the other dropped in his tracks had not one of Sawyer's comrades taken a hand in the game.

Steve, breathing hard but good for many more circuits of the track, came trotting along one side of the pool where the youth in question stood with Fowler. There was a clear space of three feet between him and the edge, but just as Steve drew abreast the older chap stepped forward in his path, and Steve, trying to dodge around him, slipped on the tiling and fell sidewise into the water. Sawyer, with a grunt of triumph, plunged in from the opposite edge and was on Steve in a twinkling.

"Now, you fresh kid," exclaimed Sawyer angrily, seizing Steve's neck in a big hand as soon as his head came up, "you're going to get what's coming to you!"

Steve, battling for breath, gasping and gurgling, tried to wrench away, but the clasp on his neck was too strong for his efforts and down he went, squirming and struggling, until his head was under water. He managed to reach around and get a grip of Sawyer's bathing trunks, but that was small advantage. The big fellow had him at his mercy. Steve's head was throbbing when at last he was allowed to lift it out of the water again, gasping for breath. But the grip on his neck didn't relax. He was conscious that the laughter had died away, conscious of Sawyer's grinning face beside him, and then down he was plunged again without warning, just managing to draw a little breath into his aching lungs before the water closed over him. It seemed that his tormentor held him down longer this time, and when, at last, he found the lights in his eyes again and could breathe once more, he was ready to give up the struggle. He had long since released his hold on Sawyer's trunks, and now his hands were clasped desperately about the other boy's wrists. And yet when Sawyer's growling voice said in his ear, "Had enough, kid? Beg my pardon?" Steve managed to shake his head.

"Want more, eh?" asked Sawyer. "All right, kid!" The clasp on his neck tightened again and he felt himself being once more thrust downward. And then, suddenly, he was free, and when, fighting his way back to the surface, he looked dazedly, there was Tom clinging to Sawyer's neck, thrashing and squirming.

"You let him be, you big bully!" Tom was saying. "You let him be!"