"Jim Deacon!" There was a note of exhilaration in Junior Doane's voice. He hastily climbed out of the car and joined the coach at Deacon's side. "I'm not going to defend my father now. No one knows him as I do; no one knows as I do the great big stuff that is in him. He and I have always been close, and——"
"Then you know how he'd feel about any one who took your place in the boat. He can't hurt me. But he can break my father's heart——"
"Deacon, is that the opinion you have of my father!"
"Tell me the truth, Doane; is there the chance under the conditions that with a choice between two men in the bank he might fail to see Father? Isn't it human nature for a man as dominant and strong as he is, who has always had or got most of the things he wants, to feel that way?"
"Perhaps. But not if you can win out against Shelburne. Can't you see your chance, Deacon? Go in and beat Shelburne; Father'll be so glad he'll fall off the observation-train. You know how he hates Shelburne. Any soreness he has about my missing out at stroke will be directed at me—and it won't be soreness, merely regret. Don't you get it?"
"And if we lose——"
"If we lose, there's the chance that we're all in the soup."
"I'm not, if I keep out of this thing——"
"If we lose with me at stroke, do you suppose it will help you or any one related to you with my father when he learns that Baliol would probably have won with you stroking?
"My Lord, Jim Deacon," Doane went on as the other did not reply, "do you suppose this is any fun for me, arguing with you to swing an oar this afternoon when I would give my heart's blood to swing it in your place?"