e, lined
up on benches along the water's edge. She could pick out Janet's
parents because they were younger than the others. They didn't seem to
be quarreling. They didn't seem even to be speaking to each other.

"O.K.," Pip-Emma said. She walked beside Janet like a trainer. She
gave last instructions. Everyone knew Janet was her Gang. So Janet,
who had never won anything, had to win. It was Prissy's opinion that
if Janet did win, the Penguins, as a class, were licked. She said
sharply to Clara,

"If you feel as bad as you look, you'd better throw up the sponge."

It was an unfortunate suggestion. Clara gulped. But she was game. The
prestige of the Penguins, the VanSittarts--one might say the whole
Social Register--was in her hands. She mumbled, "I'm a' right," and
slid with a smothered moan into the water.

Mr. and Mrs. Cooper waved dutifully to Janet. In her white cap and
bathing suit she looked like a pet white mouse in charge of a dark and
aggressive field mouse. Both parents had the same thought, with one
small but important variation: "If he (she) had made a decent home for
the poor child, she might have amounted to something."

"How's the little old complex?" Pip-Emma asked.

"I--I don't know, Pip. I think it's all right."

"Don't think about it. You ain't got it, see? So you're going to win.
'Cause you swim better than any of 'em. You just got to know it, and
you'll be fine."

"Honest, Pip-Emma?"

"Honest."

From the water Janet looked up with adoration in her eyes. "I'll try."

"Sure. I got my shirt on you, kid."

Janet paddled to the starting line. It was true that she swam better
than the others. She'd learned all the strokes from the best teachers.
But it hadn't seemed to help. Everyone knew that anyone could beat
Janet Cooper. Now Pip-Emma believed that she was going to win. She'd
put her shirt on her. Janet watched the flag. She kept her heart
steady, saying to herself, "Pip-Emma's shirt--Pip-Emma's shirt--"

Mr. Cooper looked away as the flag dropped. He couldn't have said why,
except that he hated to see the poor little runt left at the post.
Gosh, hadn't they fed her every vitamin on God's green earth? He had a
dim notion that the dark field mouse had flashed past in front of him
yelling like an Indian and that he had a sharp pain in his arm. Mrs.
Cooper had pinched him savagely.

"Look!" she said.

Mr. Cooper looked. It was worth looking at. The white cap was level
with the leader--