Doc gave a light shrug of the shoulders at the mention of his being educated.
"More than some, less than others."
Fact of the matter was his mother had been a staunch advocate of him pursuing academics. His father obliged because he had high hopes of building up a well-oiled plantation that would allow his boy to be a true Son of the South. Alas, war put a stop to those dreams.
But at least Doc had his mother's well-insisted schooling to fall back on.
Doc poured himself another glass.
"Field medic, eh? That's brutal work. My uncle John was a physician during the War of Northern Aggression. Never was quite the same after stitching up those men who came in from the battlefield. Dirty, bloody, hardening work. Makes a man forget his conscience a bit when you see what brothers and former best friends can do to each other. I was too young to serve, but I remember them dragging into town, short more than a few arms and legs."
He tilted his hat back a little on his head and leaned against the bar.
"Can't say that I've been swimming for fun in a long time. Seems a might unpractical. Then again, I spent a hundred and thirty years at the bottom of a well. I may be a little biased towards small pools of water."