It's got to be
a super-effort. You're up against a great Shelburne crew, the
greatest I ever saw--that means twelve years back. I wouldn't talk
to every man this way, but I think you're a stroke who can stand
responsibility. I think you're a man who can work the better when he
knows the size of his job. It's a big one, boy--the biggest I've
ever tackled."
"Yes, sir."
The coach studied him a minute.
"How do you feel about beating Shelburne? What I mean," he went on as
the oarsman regarded him, puzzled, "is, would it break your heart to
lose? Is the thought of being beaten so serious that you can't--that
you won't consider it?"
"No sir, I won't consider it. I don't go into anything without
wanting to come out ahead. I've worked three years to get into the
varsity. I realize the position you've given me will help me, make
me stand out after graduation, mean almost as much as my
diploma--provided we can win."
"What about Baliol? Do you think of the college, too, and what a
victory will mean to her? What defeat will mean?"
"Oh," Deacon shrugged; "of course," he went on a bit carelessly,
"we want to see Baliol on top as often----" He stopped, then broke
into a chuckle as the stroke of the gentlemen's eight suddenly
produced from the folds of his sweater a bottle from which he drank
with dramatic unction while his fellow-oarsmen clamoured to share
the libation and the coxswain abused them all roundly.
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