The owner of a two room boathouse which adjoined a long wharf had yielded to Spencer’s request for a loan of this property.  In the boathouse the two school teams disrobed and donned their bathing suits.

Dave Darrin had been called upon to captain the swimming squad from the Central Grammar.  With him were Tom, Greg, Dan, Harry, Henderson and Ross.  It was as good and representative a team as Central Grammar could furnish.

Bill Rodgers captained the squad from North Grammar.  Bill had had his fellows three times in the water, and was proud of them.

Just ten minutes before the time for calling the contestants Dave Darrin led his squad from the boathouse.  Out along the pier they ran and dived in.

“The water’s just fine for swimming to-day,” ecstatically remarked Tom Reade, as he came up, blew the water from his mouth and took a few strokes.  “In fact, the water’s too fine.”

“Too fine?” queried Dave.  “How so?”

“Why, it makes a fellow feel so fine,” retorted Tom, “that I’m afraid it will make us all winners, and then there won’t be any glory for either school.”

The North Grammar boys now splashed in.  Len Spencer, who had just seen to the placing of the further stake boat, now returned in the launch.

Both the squad race and the individual contest were to be for a quarter of a mile straightaway, with the start from a moored raft down the river.

“Every one pile aboard!” called Len, the launch that he was on gliding in at the pier.  Wet swimmers dropped into the launch until it was filled.  Then another small gasoline craft took aboard the left-overs.  The crowd preferred to remain at this end of the course to see the finish.

“It won’t take North Grammar long to wind your crowd up in the water,” declared Hi Martin, as he and Dick stood at the end of the pier watching the departure.  Both were already in their bathing costumes.

“Maybe not,” Dick assented.  “Yet you mustn’t forget one fact, Hi.”

“What is that?”

“You mustn’t forget that our fellows have already got their winning gait on this season.”

“Humph!  We’ll see.”

“It won’t take us long, either,” Dick continued.  “There, the fellows are piling on the raft.”

From the distance the spectators could see the two swimming teams lining up on the raft.  They could also make out that Len Spencer was addressing the boys from the raft.

Bang!  It was the warning shot.  Spectators along the Gridley shore crowded close to the bank to get a better view.

Bang!  At the second shot fourteen boys dived into the water almost in the same second.  Fourteen heads came up, one after another, and the young swimmers settled down to their work.  A launch followed along on each side of the course, to pick up any who needed help.

“It was thoughtful of some one to provide launches for the Central swimmers,” leered Martin.