o laugh, and wished that I had trousers on, for my
limbs were trembling so noticeably that I felt everybody must be
studying them. Johnson swore. Cully said: "Bang goes the Cup!" But
White rose and started furiously to recover the lost ground,
thrashing the water with his limbs. Bravely done! How the building
cheered, as his long arms swung distances behind them! But he
failed. Atwood, swimming with coolness, kept and increased the
advantage; and, accompanied by a din from his housemates and an
all-embracing smile from Upton, touched the rope beneath the
diving-mat full two yards in front. Over his head dived Southwell
Primus, while Johnson, in an agony, yelled to White to hurry his
shapeless stumps. Moles, with a last tremendous stretch, touched the
rope, and Johnson plunged splendidly to his work. I took up my
position on the mat and helped White to flounder out.

"Ray," were his first words, "it's up to you now. I'm awfully sorry
I muddled it, but _you'll_ make it good. I know you will--you must.
I shall weep if we go down."

"I'll try," I said.

Meanwhile Johnson, as is often the case with the weakest man,
outstripped the most hazardous faith. To the joy of Bramhall he
matched Southwell Primus with a yard for his yard. But, even so, his
pace couldn't eat up the lost ground; and the Erasmus man touched
home still two yards in front of the Bramhallite. In flew Lancelot,
my opponent; and, with the coming of Johnson, it would be my turn.
The Bramhallites, in a burst of new hope, shouted sarcastically: "Go
it, Lancelot. Ray's coming. He's just coming." I got the spring in
my toes, watched carefully to see Johnson touch the rope beneath me,
and then, to the greatest shout of our supporters, dived into the
beloved element.

They told me (but probably it was in their enthusiasm) that it was
the best and longest racing-dive I had ever done; that, remaining
almost parallel to the surface, I just pierced the water as a knife
pierces cheese. All I know is that at the grasp of the cool water
every symptom of nerves left me: and, with my face beneath the
surface, and the water rushing past my ears, half shutting out a
frenzied uproar, I raced confidently for the beam. The position of
Lancelot I cared not to know. My one aim was to cover the sixty
yards in record time; and, so doing, to pass him. On I shot, feeling
that my arms were devouring the course; and, some five strokes
sooner than I expected, became conscious that I