"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.
"Doane! Doane! You're rushing your slide. Finish out your stroke, for heaven's sake."