“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.  I want to talk to you.”  Linking his arm through Deacon’s, he set out through the yard toward the quaint old road with its little cluster of farm cottages and rolling stone-walled meadow-land bathed in the light of the setting sun.

“Jim, old boy, you’re a queer sort of a chap, and—­and—­the fact is, the situation will be a bit ticklish.  You know what it means for a fellow to be thrown out of his seat just before a race upon which he has been counting heart and soul.”

“I don’t know.  I can imagine.”

“You see, it’s Doane.  You know about his father——­”

“I know all about his father,” was the reply.

“Eh?” Rollins stared at him, then smiled.  “I suppose every rowing man at Baliol does.  But you don’t know as much as I do.  On the quiet, he’s the man who gave us the new boathouse last year.  He’s our best spender.  He was an old varsity oar himself.”

“Sure, I know.”

“That’s the reason the situation is delicate.  Frankly, Jim, Doc Nicholls and the rest of us would have liked to see Junior Doane come through.  I think you get what I mean.  He’s a senior; he’s my best friend.”

“He stroked the boat last year.”

“Yes, and Shelburne beat us.  Naturally he wants to get back at that crowd.”

“But he can’t—­not if he strokes the boat, Rollins.  If you don’t know it, I’m telling you.  If I thought different, I’d say so.”  Deacon abruptly paused after so long a speech.

“You don’t have to tell me.  I know it.  We’re not throwing a race to Shelburne simply to please old Cephas Doane, naturally.  I know what you’ve got, Jim.  So does Dr. Nicholls.  You’ll be in the varsity to-morrow.  But here’s the point of what I’ve been trying to say; Junior Doane hasn’t been very decent to you—­”

“Oh, he’s been all right.”

“Yes, I know.  But he’s a funny fellow; not a bit of a snob—­I don’t mean that, but—­but—­”