Macdonald Hall #2: Go Jump in the Pool

The big fizzle

"Come on, Boots! Swim!" shouted Bruno Walton. His usually overpowering voice was drowned out by the competing roars of the Macdonald Hall rooting section and their York Academy rivals on the other side of the pool.

In lane number 3, Boots O'Neal, Macdonald Hall's star swimmer, churned his arms in a steady powerful crawl. His pace was good, but not good enough. Dimly he could see at least two figures ahead of him.

As he bobbed up and down at the end of the race, the loudspeaker blared: First place, York Academy. Second, York Academy. Third, York Academy. Fourth, fifth, and sixth, Macdonald Hall. The winners of the meet, victorious in all events, York Academy!

Wild cheering erupted from the host benches, accompanied by good-natured, though half-hearted, applause from the boys of Macdonald Hall.

As Boots heaved himself out of the pool, Bruno threw him a towel. "Nice try."

Boots nodded breathlessly. "Those turkeys can swim!" he panted.

"Why not?" Bruno shrugged indifferently. "They have their own pool. Our team gets an hour a week at the Y."

Boots shook his head dejectedly. "It really gets to you," he said. "Only two weeks at school and already they're one up on us. I sure wish we had a pool."

Silence fell as the boys from both schools watched Mr. Hartley, Headmaster of York Academy, and Mr. Sturgeon, Headmaster of Macdonald Hall, present a large gleaming trophy to the smirking captain of the winning team. Boots and the rest of his team lined up for the traditional handshake, but led by their captain, the winners disdainfully turned their backs and walked out. Their jubilant supporters followed.

"Boy!" exclaimed Sidney Rampulsky, withdrawing his outstretched hand to flip the wet hair back from his forehead. "I never saw anything like that before!"

"Gracious winners, aren't they?" someone commented.

"Jerks!"

"Such class!"

"They've been swimming too long! They must have water on the brain!"

"Turkeys!" snarled Bruno. "Someone's going to have to teach them some manners!"

"I don't mind losing," said Pete Anderson mildly, "but that was pretty rotten. I'd like to fix them for that."

There were murmurs of agreement throughout the Macdonald Hall crowd.

"Fortunately," announced Bruno with a diabolical grin, "I happen to have the very thing. Wilbur, you're strong. Go get the crate I hid under the back seat on our bus. The one marked Fizz-All Upset Stomach Remedy."

Boots stared at him in horror. "Fizz-All! I thought you were kidding! Did you really bring that stuff?"

"Of course," replied Bruno. "I believe in being prepared for any emergency. We'll mix them a cocktail they'll never forget!"

As the bus pulled out of the parking lot a half-hour later, twenty pounds of Fizz-All crystals were turning the York Academy pool into a white, boiling torrent. There was great jubilation on the bus, and much song and laughter.

Mr. Sturgeon turned to his athletic director, Alex Flynn. "I'm very proud of our boys," he said. "They suffered an honourable defeat and were treated rudely, but they're not letting it upset them."

As the bus turned off Highway 48 onto the tree-lined driveway of Macdonald Hall, students swarmed out to meet it. Across the road, a delegation of girls from the famous Miss Scrimmage's Finishing School for Young Ladies waved and shrieked to welcome the boys' swim team home. The travellers rattled off the bus in great good humour.