WADE ATSHELER.

THE SHADOW AND THE FLASH

When I look back, I realize what a peculiar friendship it was. First,
there was Lloyd Inwood, tall, slender, and finely knit, nervous and
dark. And then Paul Tichlorne, tall, slender, and finely knit, nervous
and blond. Each was the replica of the other in everything except color.
Lloyd's eyes were black; Paul's were blue. Under stress of excitement,
the blood coursed olive in the face of Lloyd, crimson in the face of
Paul. But outside this matter of coloring they were as like as two peas.
Both were high-strung, prone to excessive tension and endurance, and
they lived at concert pitch.

But there was a trio involved in this remarkable friendship, and the
third was short, and fat, and chunky, and lazy, and, loath to say, it
was I. Paul and Lloyd seemed born to rivalry with each other, and I to
be peacemaker between them. We grew up together, the three of us, and
full often have I received the angry blows each intended for the other.
They were always competing, striving to outdo each other, and when
entered upon some such struggle there was no limit either to their
endeavors or passions.

This intense spirit of rivalry obtained in their studies and their
games. If Paul memorized one canto of "Marmion," Lloyd memorized two
cantos, Paul came back with three, and Lloyd again with four, till each
knew the whole poem by heart. I remember an incident that occurred
at the swimming hole--an incident tragically significant of the
life-struggle between them. The boys had a game of diving to the bottom
of a ten-foot pool and holding on by submerged roots to see who could
stay under the longest. Paul and Lloyd allowed themselves to be bantered
into making the descent together. When I saw their faces, set and
determined, disappear in the water as they sank swiftly down, I felt
a foreboding of something dreadful. The moments sped, the ripples died
away, the face of the pool grew placid and untroubled, and neither black
nor golden head broke surface in quest of air. We above grew anxious.
The longest record of the longest-winded boy had been exceeded, and
still there was no sign. Air bubbles trickled slowly upward, showing
that the breath had been expelled from their lungs, and after that the
bubbles ceased to trickle upward. Each second became interminable, and,
unable longer to endure the suspense, I plunged into the water.

I found them down at the bottom, clutching tight to t