His first emotion was one
of triumph. Doane, the son of Cephas Doane, his father's employer,
had definitely noticed him at last. Then the dominant emotion
came--one of sympathy.
"Well, the second crew moved better too."
"Oh, I worked like a dog." Doane laughed. "Of course you know I'm
going to get my place back, if I can."
"Of course." Deacon plucked a blade of grass and placed it in his
mouth. There was rather a constrained silence for a moment.
"I didn't know you came from my city, Deacon. I--Jane Bostwick told
me about you last night."
"I see. I used to know her." Inwardly Deacon cursed his natural
inability to converse easily, partly fearing that Doane would
mistake his reticence for embarrassment in his presence, or on the
other hand set him down as churlish and ill bred.
For his part Doane seemed a bit ill at ease.
"I didn't know, of course, anything Jane told me. If I had, of course,
I'd have looked you up more at the college."
"We're both busy there in our different ways."
Doane stood awkwardly for a moment and then walked away, not knowing
that however he may have felt about the conversation, he had at
least increased his stature in the mind of Jim Deacon.
Next day on the river Junior Doane's desperation at the outset
brought upon his head the criticism of the coach.
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