As Deacon stood watching the freshmen at play, Dick Rollins, the
crew captain, came up.
"They sent down the time-trial results from the Shelburne quarters,
Deacon."
Never in his life had one of the great men of the university spoken
that many words, or half as many, to Jim Deacon, who stared at the
speaker.
"The time--oh, yes; I see."
"They did twenty minutes, thirty seconds."
Deacon whistled.
"Well," he said at length, "you didn't get the boat moving much
to-day." He wanted to say more, but could think of nothing. Words
came rather hard with him.
"You nearly lugged the second shell ahead of us to-day, hang you."
"No use letting a patient die because he doesn't know he's sick."
Rollins grimaced.
"Yes, we were sick. Doc Nicholls knows a sick crew when he sees one.
He--he thinks you're the needed tonic, Deacon."
"Eh?"
"He told me you were to sit in at stroke in Junior Doane's place
to-morrow. I'd been pulling for the change the past few days. Now he
sees it."
"You were pulling----But you're Doane's roommate."
"Yes, it's tough. But Baliol first, you know."
Deacon stared at the man. He wanted to say something but couldn't.
The captain smiled.
"Look here, Deacon; let's walk over toward the railroad a bit.
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