ring told us that the great Erasmus four had emerged from
their cabins. They were as fine a little company of Saxon boys as
ever school could show; comely, tall, and fair-skinned. On the left
side of the diving-boards they took up their pre-arranged positions:
Atwood, first; Southwell Primus, behind him; Lancelot, third (and
therefore my opponent); and then Southwell Secundus. And all four
had tied on their heads the black and white polo-caps of the school.
Upton looked with satisfaction upon his house's representatives;
while Dr. Chapman, standing near, exclaimed: "Fine young shoots of
yours, Uppy. I tell you, this is England's best generation. Dammit,
there are three things old England _has_ learnt to make: ships, and
poetry, and boys."

Now, amid less resounding but still enthusiastic applause, the
Bramhall four assumed positions on the right. White stood on the
diving-mat; behind him, Johnson, frowning; next myself; and lastly
Cully. We were of very varying heights, from White, whose huge
proportions exaggerated the difference, to little thick-set Cully,
who was the shortest of all. And only these two wore the polo-cap.
So both fours stood before the multitude, inviting comparison:
Erasmus, a team; Bramhall, a scratch lot.

Behind me Cully observed the contrast, and, striving with courage to
belie his agitation, murmured: "Look at Erasmus. Did you ever see
such a measly lot? If we can't beat that crew, Ray, my boy, we must
be duffers," to emphasise which remark he tickled me under both
armpits, so that, nearly jumping out of my skin, I fell forward on
to Johnson, who fell forward on to White, who, having nobody to fall
forward on to, fell prematurely into the water. This extra item was
loudly "encored," and White scrambled back to his place and bowed
his acknowledgments.

Salome, as starter, thereupon addressed the competitors.

"Ee, bless me, my men, I shall say 'Are you ready? Go!'"

His words were like a bell for silence. Upton and Fillet eyed the
swimmers narrowly.

"_Are you ready? Go!_"

And then a calamity supervened. While Atwood dived with the grace of
a swallow, White, well--White missed his dive; he leapt into the
air, his great arms and legs appeared to hang limply down, and his
body struck the water with a splash that set the whole surface in a
turmoil. "Moles has gone a belly-flopper," shouted the crowd, as it
wept with laughter. "Good old Moles, 'a huge, shapeless mass!'" I
was too nervous t