In fact, there was scarcely any accomplishment possible in rapid swimming which he did not give us the benefit of.
But it was evident some of his friends did not approve of his style.

I heard one of them, running near me, growl, "I wish he would give over his capers and swim like a rational animal." "Rational or not, he's keeping his lead," said another, and so he was.
Plodding Jim, with his everlasting chest-stroke, was half a dozen yards or so behind, and did not look like picking up either.

Nevertheless, we cheered him like mad, and kept up our hopes that he would "stay out" the better of the two.
When both turned at the top of the reach, Chesney gave up his fanciful swimming, and, to our alarm, settled down to a side-stroke, which for a time looked powerful and effective.

But he had been too confident all along, and now, when he reckoned on shaking off his opponent and getting a clear lead, he found out he was destined to do just the reverse.

What long faces the "sixers" pulled as their man began to puff and slacken pace! A half-mile race is no joke, believe me; and so Chesney began to find out.