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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..f85c2ef --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #64002 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/64002) diff --git a/old/64002-0.txt b/old/64002-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index e91f75e..0000000 --- a/old/64002-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,17052 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Great Accident, by Ben Ames Williams - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this ebook. - -Title: The Great Accident - -Author: Ben Ames Williams - -Release Date: December 10, 2020 [EBook #64002] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -Produced by: Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at - http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images - available at The Internet Archive) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GREAT ACCIDENT *** - - - - - THE GREAT ACCIDENT - - - - - THE GREAT ACCIDENT - - - BY - BEN AMES WILLIAMS - - Author of “The Sea Bride,” “All the Brothers - Were Valiant,” etc. - - - New York - THE MACMILLAN COMPANY - 1920 - - _All rights reserved_ - - COPYRIGHT, 1919, - BY THE CURTIS PUBLISHING COMPANY - - COPYRIGHT, 1920, - BY THE MACMILLAN COMPANY - - Set up and electrotyped. Published March, 1920. - - - TO - MOTHER - - - - -CONTENTS - - -BOOK I - -THE GREAT ACCIDENT - - -CHAPTER PAGE - - I HARDISTON 3 - - II AMOS CARETALL 7 - - III WINT CHASE 16 - - IV JACK ROUTT 22 - - V COUNCIL OF WAR 27 - - VI WINTHROP CHASE, SENIOR 36 - - VII V. R. KITE 45 - -VIII THE RALLY 50 - - IX HETTY MORFEE 56 - - X THE ELECTION 60 - - XI THE NOTIFICATION 69 - - -BOOK II - - - I MULDOON 81 - - II JOAN 90 - - III THE STRATEGY OF AMOS 100 - - IV INTERLUDE 112 - - V ALLIANCE 119 - - VI THE WHISTLE BLOWS 127 - - -BOOK III - -INTO HARNESS - - - I ON HIS OWN FEET 135 - - II JOAN TO WINT 146 - - III ROUTT TO KITE 154 - - IV WINT TO JOAN 164 - - V WINT GOES HOME 170 - - VI A WORD AS TO HETTY 176 - - VII ORDERS FOR RADABAUGH 186 - - -BOOK IV - -LINE OF BATTLE - - - I MARSHAL JIM RADABAUGH 197 - - II THE BREWING STORM 207 - - III A HARD DAY FOR KITE 213 - - IV CHASE CHANGES SIDES 222 - - V THE TRIUMVIRATE 229 - - VI EVERY MAN HAS HIS PRICE 233 - - VII ANOTHER WORD AS TO HETTY 243 - -VIII AGNES TAKES A HAND 247 - - IX A WORD FROM JOAN 256 - - X THE STREET CARNIVAL 262 - - XI FIRST BLOOD 267 - - XII POOR HETTY 275 - -XIII THE MERCY OF THE COURT 281 - - -BOOK V - -DEFEAT - - - I SUNNY SKIES 291 - - II A FRIENDLY RIVALRY 298 - - III POLITICS 308 - - IV A CLOUD ON THE MOON 315 - - V A LOST ALLY 325 - - VI KITE TAKES A HAND 334 - - VII A FEW WORDS TO THE WISE 343 - -VIII POOR HETTY AGAIN 353 - - -BOOK VI - -VICTORY - - - I THE WEAVER HOUSE AGAIN 367 - - II A BRIGHTER CHAPTER 375 - - III HETTY HAS HER DAY 384 - - IV WINT’S RALLY 393 - - V SEEING JOAN HOME 404 - - - - -BOOK I - -THE GREAT ACCIDENT - - - - -CHAPTER I - -HARDISTON - - -There are two kinds of people: small-town folks, and others. The others -are inclined to think of the people of the small towns as men and women -of narrow horizons and narrow interests and a vast ignorance of such -important things as cocktails. But, as a matter of fact, the people who -dwell in the little mid-western cities and towns are your real -cosmopolites. They know their own country, east, west, north and south, -at firsthand. The reason for this is simple. When a city dweller goes to -the country, he is careful to remain a city dweller; but when a -small-town man goes to the city, he becomes a city man for as long as he -is within the city’s gates. Your Bostonian knows Boston, has a -smattering of New York, and a talking acquaintance with London. Your New -Yorker knows New York--perhaps; and he desires to know nothing else. But -the men and women of Hardiston, for example, know New York, and they -know Boston--and they prefer Hardiston with a steadfast and unshakable -preference. - -This little town of Hardiston--it is really no town at all, since the -last census showed it with a population above the five thousand mark, -and so entitled it to be called a city--stands on a plateau above Salt -Creek, and it is overlooked by a circle of hills, and at three corners -of the town the gaunt, black iron furnaces stand sentry at the gates. -The hills, of clay and iron ore and conglomerate rock, are pink with -apple blossoms in the spring; and in the fall the hardwood growth which -clothes them where the orchards have not yet spread presents a dazzle of -reds and yellows that blind the eye with their splendor. It is a rich -and fertile country, with well-watered bottom lands; and Hardiston town -and Hardiston county have a past, a present and a future. - -The past goes back to the Indians and beyond. Salt Creek won its name by -no mere chance. There have always been traces of salt in its water; and -in the ancient days, the Indians used to come to a riffle below where -Hardiston now stands and boil the water for this salt. There was a big -encampment here; and the tribes came from all over Ohio, and from -Kentucky, and farther, too, to boil salt and take it home with them. -They brought Daniel Boone here once; and you may still see, to the north -of Hardiston, a crumbling precipice of sand conglomerate over which -Boone is said to have jumped in making his escape. Also, at the foot of -that sandy bluff, you may dig in an ash bed twenty feet deep, and find -the skeletons of Indian braves, buried there beneath the campfires, with -perhaps an arrow head of flint between their ribs. - -When the whites came in, they took up the making of salt where the -Indians left off. The state recognized the industry, and chartered it. -But at last cheaper salt came in, and the salt boilers found themselves -with their occupation gone. So, seeking about them for work for their -hands to do, they discovered black coal in the hills, and rusty brown -ore; and they digged the coal and the ore and made iron. It was good -iron; none better in the world; and it commanded the highest prices in -any market. - -The county was all undershot with coal; the hills were crowned with -iron. Twenty years ago, every valley in the county had its gaunt tipple -and its pile of crumbling slack; and every road was dotted with the -creaking, rusty wagons that hauled the ores to the furnaces in -Hardiston. To-day, much of the coal is gone; and the ore has vanished. -But the furnaces fetch ore from Superior, and smelt it into heavy pigs -of iron; and their roar is eternal about the comfortable little town. - -A stranger, coming to Hardiston, is inclined to think the place is dead; -but the town has a deceptive vitality. It is true the brick yard is -gone, and the occasional imported industry usually dies after a brief -and uneventful life. It is true the big hotel that was, ten years ago, -the finest in a dozen counties, goes now from bankruptcy to bankruptcy -without a struggle. And Morgan & Robinson’s dry-goods store has shrunk -from three floors to one; and the interurban traction that used to run -half-hourly between Hardiston and the B. & O. main line has given place -to a dirty, jerky train that makes two trips a day. The car tracks along -Broadway and Main have been ripped up, and the fine brick paving on -these streets bids fair to endure forever, for lack of traffic that -would give it wholesome wear and tear. - -But the town is not dead; it is only sleeping. You may see signs of the -awakening in the apple blossoms on the hills. These Hardiston hills -produce apples of a surprising excellence, and some day the Hardiston -apple will be as famous as the Hardiston iron was in the past. But for -the present the town sleeps, a gorged slumber. For Hardiston is rich. -There are three banks, and each has more than a million in deposits. -Hardiston folk have made money; they have built themselves homes, they -have bought themselves automobiles, they have sent their boys and girls -to college, and now--save for an occasional trip into the outer world, -there is little more for them to do. But the money is there; it feeds -the prosperity of three or four moving-picture houses, half a dozen soda -fountains, and two sporadic theaters; it fattens the purses of a street -carnival or so every year, and it delights the heart of every circus -that comes to Hardiston County. - -It is a friendly town, a gay little town. People make their own good -times, and many of them. And the stranger is always made welcome within -their gates. Every one is quite honestly fond of Hardiston and proud of -it. When you go there, the Chamber of Commerce does not buttonhole you -and demand a factory. That is not Hardiston’s way; and besides, there is -no Chamber of Commerce. No, when you go there, Hardiston does not ask -you to do something for Hardiston; Hardiston tries to do something for -you. For instance, it invites you out to the house for supper. And you -go, and are glad you went. - -Perhaps it is because of this taste for friendliness that Hardiston -loves politics so ardently. Politics, after all, corrupt it as you will, -is the art of making and keeping friends. Hardiston County, and the -Congressional district of which it is the heart, form one of the prime -political battle grounds of the state. Summer and winter, year in, year -out, politics in Hardiston goes on. The county officials in the Court -House, when their work is out of the way, tilt back their chairs about -the most capacious cuspidor and talk politics; the men of the town -gather at the Smoke House, or on the hotel corner, and talk politics; -the farmers, driving to town, stop every man they meet upon the road and -canvass the political situation. Even the women, at their bridge clubs -and their sewing circles and their reading clubs--Hardiston is full of -clubs--talk politics over their cards or their sewing, or after the -paper on Browning has been read. - -Hardiston politics is very like politics everywhere; it has not much to -do with platforms and principles, and it has a great deal to do with -men. In a political way, Congressman Amos Caretall was the biggest man -in Hardiston County. And so the home-coming of Congressman Caretall, on -the eve of the mayoralty election, was a matter that furnished talk for -all the town. - - - - -CHAPTER II - -AMOS CARETALL - - -Peter Gergue is a public figure in Hardiston. Every one knows him, -and--what is more to the point--he knows every one. Not only in -Hardiston town, but in Hardiston County is Gergue known. He is an -attorney, a notary, a justice of the peace. But his business under these -heads is very small. It has always been small; and he has never made any -great effort to increase it. - -He is a man of medium height, thin and rusty to the eye, with a drooping -black mustache and black hair that is too long, always too long, even -when he has just emerged from the barber’s chair. This long, black hair -is Gergue’s sole affectation. It is his custom, when the barber has -finished his ministrations, to rumple the hair on the back of his head -and rub it with his fingers until it is matted and tangled in a fashion -to defy the comb. He is conscious of doing this, and has been known to -explain the action. And his explanation is always the same. - -“When I was a boy,” he says, “I used to comb the top of my head and -slick it down, but I never got at the back much. So I got used to having -it tangled; and now I don’t feel right if it’s smooth.” - -So he keeps it religiously tangled; and at moments of deep thought, his -fingers stray into this maze as though searching for his medulla -oblongata in the hope of finding some idea there. - -Gergue’s office is above that of the Building and Loan Company, on Main -Street, opposite the Court House. There are spider webs in the corners -and on the windows; there is dust on everything. The floor of soft wood -has been worn till every knot stands up like a wart, and every nail -protrudes its shining head. Against one wall, there is a wardrobe of -walnut, higher than a man. Within this piece some law books are piled, -and a few rusty garments hang. In the summer, moths nest here; in the -winter they hibernate in their nests. The garments have not been -disturbed for years, and now their fabric looks more like mosquito -netting than honest broadcloth and serge. - -Gergue has an old kitchen table, covered with oilcloth, near the windows -that overlook the street. There is an iron inkwell on this table, a pen, -and a miscellaneous litter of papers, while at one side of the table, on -the window sill, stands his notary’s seal and a disused letter press. -The oilcloth top of the table has worn through in many places, and the -soft wood beneath is polished to a not unlovely luster by constant -usage. - -Toward train time of the day Congressman Caretall was to come home, -Gergue was in this office of his. James T. Hollow was with him, sitting -stiffly in a chair that was too narrow for his pudgy bulk. James T. -Hollow was a candidate for Mayor. Amos Caretall was supporting him. And -Gergue, as Caretall’s first lieutenant, had asked Hollow to go with him -to the train to meet the Congressman. Hollow had obeyed the summons, and -now waited Gergue’s pleasure. He was smiling with a determined, though -tremulous, amiability. - -“I’ve always aimed to do what was right,” he explained hurriedly. They -had been discussing the chance of his election. - -Gergue nodded his head. “That’s what you always do,” he agreed. “Trouble -is, Chase has aimed to do what wa’n’t right, and looks like he’d get -away with it.” - -The other flushed painfully, and his mouth opened as though he would -like to speak, but it was some time before he managed to ask: “Is -that--the reason Congressman Caretall is coming home?” - -The Court House clock, across the street, struck four. The train was due -at four-twenty-two. Gergue rose slowly. “Well, now, let’s go down and -ask him,” he invited. - -Hollow assented weakly. “Yes, I guess that’s the right thing to do.” - -Gergue looked at him with faint impatience. “Why do you guess it’s the -right thing to do?” he inquired. - -The other hesitated, lifted his hands, spread them helplessly. -“Well--isn’t it?” he asked. - -“Oh, dear!” said Gergue sweetly. “Well--come on.” - -Hollow was a man with very short legs. This gave him an unfortunate, -pattering appearance when he walked with a taller man; and as he and -Gergue turned down Main Street toward the station, this fact was -commented upon. Some of the comments were direct, some subtle. For -example, one of a group of four men at the hotel corner, when the two -approached, looked all about him and whistled shrilly. - -“Hey, doggie! Hey, doggie! Heel!” he called. - -James T. Hollow was not without perception. He blushed painfully. But -Gergue took no notice of the jest, for as they approached the group, one -of the men detached himself and came to meet them. - -This was Winthrop Chase--Winthrop Chase, Senior--the candidate opposing -Hollow for the mayoralty. Hardiston felt that it was gracious of Chase -to offer himself for the office, for he was a man of affairs, chief -owner of the biggest furnace, a coal operator of importance in other -fields, and not unknown in state political circles. He was an erect man, -so erect that he leaned backward, and with a peculiarly healthy look -about him. He had a strong jaw and a small, governed mouth. His manner -was courtly and gracious. Some considered it condescending. - -“Good morning, Gergue,” he said now. “Good morning, Mr. Hollow.” - -“Howdo,” Gergue returned. Hollow was more loquacious. “How do you do, -Mr. Chase.” - -“The Congressman comes back to-day?” Chase asked. - -“Yep,” said Gergue. - -“We ought to have a reception for him at the station. He has made a name -for himself at this session.” - -“Always had a name,” Gergue commented, and spat carelessly, so close to -Winthrop Chase, Senior’s polished shoes that the great man moved -uneasily to one side. - -“I suppose he is coming to take a hand in the mayoralty campaign,” said -Chase urbanely. He could afford to be urbane. - -“He didn’t say,” Gergue declared. - -“I’m sorry we’re on opposite sides of the fence in this squabble. Tell -him he and I must work together hereafter.” - -“You tell him.” - -Chase laughed. “I believe he will see it--without being told,” he said -loudly, and the three men at his back smiled. “He will, no doubt, find -some change in Hardiston affairs.” - -“He will if there is any.” - -“Perhaps even in the district. Though of course he does not have to seek -reëlection this fall.” - -“No.” - -“Still--” - -Gergue interrupted maliciously: “By th’ way, how’s Wint?” - -The question had a curious effect upon Chase. It surprised him, it -seemed to embarrass him, and it certainly angered him. He opened his -mouth to speak. “He--” - -But before he could go on, Gergue interposed: “I hear Columbus would’ve -gone dry in spite of itself, if they hadn’t sent him home from State -when they did.” And he departed with the honors of war, leaving Chase to -sputter angrily into the sympathetic ears of his companions. When he and -Hollow were half a block away, Gergue permitted himself to smile. Then -he frowned and looked at Hollow. “Why don’t you talk up to him, Jim?” he -asked disgustedly. - -“I--always try to do what is right, Peter. I’d like to, I really would.” - -“Would you, now?” Gergue echoed mockingly. - -“Yes, I really would,” insisted James T. Hollow. - -“Well, all right then,” said Gergue affably. “Le’s go along.” - -They went along, down shaded lower Main Street, and took at length the -left-hand turn that led toward the station. Gergue walked in silence, -and Hollow, after a few futile efforts at conversation, gave it up and -pattered at the taller man’s side without speaking. Gergue seemed to be -thinking, thinking hard. - -A branch line connects Hardiston with the main line of the B. & O. to -Washington. Two trains a day traverse this branch in each direction. One -of these trains is called the Mail; the other the Accommodation; but the -source of these titles is not apparent, for both trains carry mail, and -both are most accommodating. Perhaps the Accommodation is more so than -the Mail, for at times it has a freight car attached between tender and -baggage car, and this is an indignity which the Mail never suffers. - -The station at Hardiston is a three-room structure of imitation hollow -tiles. That is to say, it is built of wood sheathed with tin which is -stamped in the likeness of tiles. These tin walls have an uncanny -faculty for keeping the rooms inside the station at fever heat, summer -and winter. - -One of these rooms is the Men’s Waiting Room; another is for feminine -patrons of the road; and between the two is the ticket office and -dispatcher’s room, with telegraph instruments clattering on a table in -the bay window at the front. - -The station agent is a busy man, with three or four hard-worked -assistants; for all the supplies for one of the big furnaces come in -over this branch, and the furnace’s product goes out by the same route. -The furnace itself towers above the very station, great ore piles -spraddling over acres of ground waiting for the traveling crane that -scoops them and carries the ore to the fires. - -On the other side of the station, across the street, there are two -buildings with ornate fronts--and locked doors. They proclaim themselves -as buildings with a past--a bibulous past. County local option was their -ruin, county local option locked their doors and stripped their shelves -and spread dust upon their bars. They are ugly things, eyesores, -specters of shame. Whatever may be said for the wares they dispense, -there is nothing more hideous than a saloon. - -Gergue and Hollow crossed the street at a diagonal, past these locked -saloons, to the station platform. They found on the platform a familiar -throng. Hardiston was the county seat, and served as market place for -the southern half of the county. Many people came and went daily on the -dirty, rattling, uncomfortable trains; and this, the afternoon train, -always picked up a score or so of passengers southward bound. - -In addition to these travelers, there were folk at the station to meet -every incoming passenger; for Hardiston still meets people at the train. -Guests, home-comers, even the commercial travelers find a welcome -waiting. Every one in the neighborhood stops at the station at train -time to pick up matters for gossip. - -Gergue made it his custom to meet a train whenever no more important -matter occupied his time; for by so doing he saw many men of the county -whom he would not otherwise have seen, and renewed acquaintances that -would otherwise have languished. He was, as it were, a professional -meeter of trains, like the editors of the three weekly papers, and the -bus men from the hotels. He left Hollow at one end of the platform, -while he traversed its length, exchanging a word with every one, -observing, inquiring, cultivating. - -On this business, he was fifty yards away from Hollow when the Caretall -touring car whirled down the street and stopped beside the platform. -Hollow took off his hat in greeting, and the four young people in the -car acknowledged the salutation carelessly. - -Agnes Caretall was driving, with Jack Routt beside her in the front -seat, and Wint Chase and Joan Arnold in the tonneau. They remained in -the car, the two in front turning half around in their seats to talk -with those behind. Agnes Caretall did most of the talking. She was a gay -little thing, with fair hair and laughing eyes and flying tongue. Joan -Arnold was darker, brown hair, eyes almost black. She was quiet, with a -poise in sharp contrast to Agnes’ vivacity. Routt and Wint Chase were -just average young men, pleasant enough in appearance. Routt was dark; -Wint had a fair skin, his father’s strong jaw, eyes that inclined at -times to sulky anger, and a head of crisp hair that was brown, with -golden flashes when the sun touched it. There was a healthy color in his -cheeks, but his eyes were reddened, and there were faint pouches beneath -them. While they waited for the train, he rolled a cigarette, fizzling -his first attempt because his hands were faintly tremulous. Routt -laughed at him for this. - -“You’re shaky, Wint,” he jested. “Better take a tailor-made one.” - -And he offered the other his cigarette case; but Wint shook his head -stubbornly, tried again, and this time succeeded in rolling a passable -cigarette, which he lighted eagerly. - -Peter Gergue, coming back along the platform, saw the four in the car -and came toward them. He caught Joan Arnold’s eyes and took off his hat, -and she smiled a greeting; and he came and stood beside the car, -exchanging sallies awkwardly with Agnes Caretall and with Routt. - -When the attention of these two was concentrated, for a moment, upon -each other, he asked Joan: “Is anything wrong, Miss Arnold? You look -worried. You hadn’t ought to look worried, ever.” - -She laughed. “Why, no, of course not. I--must have been thinking. I -didn’t know.” - -“Thinking about what?” - -“I don’t remember.” - -Wint had climbed out of the car and was talking to some one on the -platform a dozen feet away. Gergue looked toward him, then back to Joan. -But he said no more. - -“Isn’t the train late?” Agnes asked, forsaking Routt abruptly. - -Gergue nodded. “Ten minutes. Dan says they got a hot box, or something, -up above the Crossroads.” - -Agnes pouted. “They’re always late.” - -“They’re whistling now,” Gergue assured her, and a moment later every -one heard the distant blast. “At the crossing beyond the cemetery,” -Gergue supplemented. “Be here right away.” And he turned back to the -crowd. - -A moment later, they heard the whistle again, this time where the B. & -O. and D. T. & I. crossed; and after a further interval, the train came -in sight, rounding the last curve into the station. Agnes jumped out of -the car, touching Routt’s extended hand when he sought to assist her; -and then the engine roared and racketed past, vomiting sparks and -cinders over them all. - -The rear end of the last car was opposite the automobile when the train -stopped; and Agnes and Gergue pushed that way; for Amos Caretall always -got off at the rear end of a train. “If you do that you can’t get run -over--unless she backs,” he was accustomed to explain. The two reached -the steps just as the Congressman emerged from the car, and Agnes flew -up to meet him so that her arms were around his neck when he stepped -down to the platform. He was a stocky man of middle height with sandy -hair, shrewd, squinting eyes, and a habit of holding his head on one -side as though he suffered from that malady called stiff neck. - -He hugged Agnes close, affectionately, for an instant, then held her -away from him with both hands and surveyed her. “You sure look good, -Agnes,” he told her, and hugged her again. - -She slipped her hand through his arm. “We came down to get you,” she -explained. “Come along--quick. These cinders are awful.” - -He laughed. “In a minute. Hello, Peter. Hello, Jim.” He shook hands with -Gergue and with Hollow. “Looking for somebody, Peter?” - -“Just come down to see you come in.” - -“Well--” The Congressman grinned amiably. “I’m in.” - -“We wish to welcome you home, Congressman,” said James T. Hollow. - -“Thanks, Jim.” - -The three men were silent for a moment. The situation had its -interesting side. When Gergue and Hollow had been alone together, Gergue -was the dominant figure of the two. Gergue seemed then like a superman, -calm, assured, at ease; and Hollow, beside Gergue, had been almost -pathetically docile. - -Now, however, in the presence of the Congressman, Gergue seemed to -shrink to Hollow’s stature. He and Hollow were both mere creatures, -Hollow if anything the stronger of the two. And Amos Caretall towered -head and shoulders above them both. - -It was the Congressman who broke the silence. “All right,” he said. -“Drop in any time--both of you.” And with his grip in one hand and Agnes -on the other arm, he crossed the platform to the car. - -Routt and Joan and Wint were there. He greeted them with comfortable -affection, and surveyed them with keen and appraising eyes. “Climb in,” -he invited. “Glad to see everybody.” - -Agnes and Routt took the front seat again, and Joan sat between Wint and -the Congressman behind. Just before the car started, Amos Caretall -leaned across to ask Wint: - -“Well, young man--how’s your father?” - -Wint’s eyes burned sulkily. “About as usual,” he said. - -The engine roared, they turned up the street; and the Congressman turned -to wave his hand to Gergue and Hollow on the platform. - - - - -CHAPTER III - -WINT CHASE - - -Amos Caretall’s home was not a pretentious affair. He lived in a house -that had not been built as other houses are; it had, like Topsy, “just -growed.” It began as a one-story, four-room brick structure, and spread -in wings and “ells” and upper stories until now it numbered ten rooms -and was a thing fearful and wonderful to behold. In these ten rooms, -Agnes and her father and old Maria Hale, the darky who cooked for them -and looked after them, rattled around in a somewhat lonely fashion. For -Mrs. Caretall was ten years dead, and the two Caretall boys had gone -away to college and afterward had builded homes of their own in other -regions. - -Amos Caretall was not rich; but he was well off. He had made his money -in coal, and when the visible supply of coal began to peter out, he had -looked into politics, gone to the state legislature for two terms, and -then to Congress. In Congress he had done well. The Hardiston district -forgot, where he was concerned, the old rule that a Congressman shall -have but two terms. They sent him back again and again. He was now in -his fifth term, and his power at home and abroad was growing. - -His most valuable quality was imagination. He was not an able man; he -knew little about political economy, national finance, sociology, the -science of government. He knew little and cared less. For by virtue of a -keen imagination, he was able to construct in his own mind hypothetical -situations, and then hire experts to meet them for him. Peter Gergue was -one of these experts. Gergue’s field was human nature and Hardiston -County. He knew every one in the county, and he had an uncanny faculty -for predicting how a man would react to given circumstances. This -faculty extended to men in the mass, and enabled him to predict the -political effect of a given course of action with surprising accuracy. -Amos Caretall had learned to take Gergue’s advice blindly. His -home-coming at this time, for example, was in response to Gergue’s -message of a week previous. That message had been brief. - -“If Chase is elected Mayor, he’ll beat you for the House next year,” -Gergue had written. - -Caretall wired: “I’m coming home.” And he came. - -But there was no trace of concern in his amiable countenance as they -rode to his home now. He joked Joan Arnold into gayety, laughed Wint -Chase out of his sulkiness, and pinched his daughter’s cheek until she -threatened to ditch the car if he kept it up. Thus, when they stopped -before the house, every one was in good humor. - -They stopped, and Wint Chase was the first to alight. A muffled bark -greeted him from the house, and he laughed and ran up the walk and -opened the door. A wiry, tan-colored dog rushed out and engulfed him; -Muldoon, an Irish terrier of parts, who had been left behind because he -would neither ride in an automobile nor calmly suffer his master to do -so. Muldoon was one creature whom Wint unreservedly loved; and Muldoon -returned the affection. Master and dog, the first transports over, came -down the walk again as the others climbed from the car. - -Amos Caretall was urging them all to come in. Jack Routt said he would; -but Joan shook her head. “I can’t,” she laughed. “I promised mother to -bring home some bread.” - -“I’ll take it out in the car,” Agnes pleaded. “Please....” - -Joan stuck to her guns. Agnes pouted. Wint did not commit himself; he -seemed to take it for granted that he would go with Joan. She turned to -him. “You stay, Wint!” - -The old sulky light flamed in his eyes again. “No--I’m going with you.” - -They left the others, amid a little flurry of farewells from Agnes, and -turned uptown. Muldoon circled them madly, running at top speed in a -desperate effort to work off the spirits generated during his -confinement. Joan laughed at the dog, whistled him to her, stooped to -tug at his ears affectionately. “You’re full of it, aren’t you, -Muldoon?” - -He whined aloud in his desperate desire to answer her, then darted away -again. She straightened and they went on, the girl still smiling. Wint -looked at her once, and then again, and then he, too, smiled--at her and -at the dog. - -“He’s a clown,” he said. - -She nodded. “He’s a fine dog, Wint.” - -“He’s a dog of sense. He thinks well of you.” He laughed. “I’ll give him -to you some day.” - -She looked up at him seriously, understanding in her eyes. “I hope so, -Wint,” she said. - -There was something besides understanding in her eyes, something faintly -accusing; and he flushed and said hotly: “Don’t look at me like that. -Please. I’m--I mean to--make it come true.” - -“I hope so, Wint,” she said again. - -They spoke no more for a time. Presently she stopped at the bakery and -they went in together. The sweet odor of hot bread and sugar and spice -clouded about them as he opened the door. A round little woman greeted -them. - -“Is your cream bread all gone, Mrs. Mueller?” Joan asked. - -“No. Not yet. How many loaves?” - -“Two, please.” - -The little woman brought two loaves, still soft from the great ovens and -still warm, and wrapped them gently, careful not to bruise them. She -handed the package to Joan. Wint tried to take it, but Joan shook her -head, laughing at him. “Last time you mashed them flat,” she said; “I’ll -carry them.” - -“I’ll be careful,” he promised, and took the package from her with calm -mastery, a mastery to which she yielded with a faint tremor of -happiness. They continued more swiftly on their way. - -Presently she asked: “How does the work go?” - -He shook his head. “Badly. I’ve no--knack for it. And father and I -weren’t meant to pull in double harness.” - -“You must learn to, Wint. Give him a chance.” - -He nodded. “But we--grate on each other. He fires up at the least -mistake.” - -“You’ve been hard on his patience.” - -He stiffened faintly. “Possibly.” - -She laid her hand on his arm. “Now don’t sulk, Wint. Please.” - -“I’m not sulking.” - -“You’re too quick on the trigger. You get angry at the least thing.” She -laughed softly, in a way that robbed her words of sting. “Wint, you’re -as proud as a peacock, and as stubborn as a mule. As soon as any one -criticizes you for doing a thing--you go right off and do it again. -That’s no way to do, Wint.” - -He made no comment, and when she looked at him, she saw that his face -was set and hard, and she laid a hand on his arm. “Wint--don’t you think -I’m a--good friend of yours?” - -“If you’re not more than that, Joan--I’m through.” His eyes searched -hers; she met his bravely. - -“I am--more than that, Wint. So you must let me tell you things frankly. -Wint, you must learn to see that when people criticize you, or advise -you, it’s more often than not because they really wish you well. Most -people wish other people well, Wint.” - -“That has not been my experience.” - -She shook his arm, laughing. “Wint! Don’t be silly! You talk like a -disappointed man--when you ought to talk like a fine, strong, hopeful -one.” - -He laid his hand on hers, where it rested in the crook of his arm. -“You’re a big-heart, Joan. You like every one, and trust them and every -one is good to you. You--can’t get my viewpoint.” - -“I can too, Wint. For you haven’t any viewpoint. You’re just the -plaything of a little devil of perversity that makes you do things you -know you--oughtn’t to do--just to prove that you can.” - -They came, abruptly, to her gate. She paused to say good-by. His eyes -were angry; but he said quietly: “May I come to-night?” - -She shook her head. “Not every night, Wint. To-morrow?” - -“Please?” - -“I--no, Wint.” - -He straightened stiffly. “Very well. Good night.” He lifted his hat and -stalked away. - -Joan looked after him for a moment, her eyes disturbed, unhappy; then -she smiled a tender little smile, as a mother smiles at a wayward boy, -and turned into the house. - -At the corner, Wint looked back. She was gone. He went on toward his own -home, Muldoon at his heels, in a hot surge of rebellion. Halfway home, -he asked himself what it was that made him rebellious, angry; and when -he could find no reasonable answer to this question, he became more -angry than ever. He was angry at himself; but he convinced himself that -he was angry at others.... - -Winthrop Chase, Senior, had built a home for himself a dozen years -before, in the first rush of great wealth from the furnace. It was a -monumental house, of red, pressed brick, with a slate roof and a fence -of iron pickets around the yard. It had been, when he built it, the -finest house in town. Now, however, its supremacy was challenged by a -dozen others, and the elder Chase had half decided to tear it down and -build another that would defy competition. Mrs. Chase opposed this, -gently and half-heartedly. She thought they were very comfortable. - -But it was a losing fight, and she knew it. Her husband was accustomed -to have his way. He would have it in the end. - -Wint pushed open the iron gate--it dragged on its hinges so that it had -worn a deep groove in the stone paving that led to the porch--and closed -it behind him, and went up to the door. He opened it and went in; and in -the dim light of the hall he encountered a girl. For an instant, he -failed to recognize her; then: - -“Why, hello--Hetty,” he said. - -“Hello, Wint.” - -“What are you doing here?” He dropped his hat on the hall bench. - -“I’ve come to work for your mother.” She hesitated. “Supper’s ready. -They’re sitting down.” - -“Oh!” He looked at Hetty again. They had been schoolmates. Her seat had -been just in front of his one year. He remembered, with sudden -vividness, the day he stuck chewing gum in her hair. Her hair was red; a -pleasant, dark red; and it was very luxuriant. “Oh--all right,” he said, -and went into the dining room. His father and mother were at the table. -“I see you’ve got a girl, mother,” he said. - -“Yes--I’ve got Hetty Morfee.” Mrs. Chase sighed. “I’ve had the most -awful time, Wint. I do hope she stays. Girls are terrible hard to get, -in this town. They--” - -Mrs. Chase was loquacious. Her speeches were never finished. She was -always interrupted in mid-career. Otherwise, she would have talked on -endlessly. - -“That steak looks as though she could cook,” said Wint. “Give me some.” - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -JACK ROUTT - - -One of Mrs. Chase’s difficulties with hired girls was that Winthrop -Chase, Senior, liked style with his meals. - -Mr. Chase was no provincial. He had traveled; he had lived at good -hotels; he knew New York, Columbus, Cleveland, Cincinnati. He had been a -guest at fine homes. He knew what was what. - -“It adds tone to a repast,” he would tell his wife, over and over. “It -adds tone to a repast. A neatly dressed maidservant, in apron and cap, -handing your dishes around. I tell you, Margaret, it gives -that--that--that style....” - -“I know it, Winthrop,” Mrs. Chase always agreed. “I’d like to have it -so, as much as you would. Land knows I’ve tried. I’ve trained, and I’ve -trained; but you can’t expect a girl to do everything for two dollars a -week, or even three. Why, Mrs. Hullis had--” - -“Well, pay more, then. Pay more. Five, or ten dollars. I make money -enough. I surely make money enough, Margaret, to have comfort and--and -style in my own home.” - -“You can’t get a girl in Hardiston that’s worth more than three -dollars,” Mrs. Chase insisted. “They come and they go, and they’re -always getting married, and--” - -Mr. Chase always carved the meats at his own table. He took pride in his -carving. When Wint appeared now, he looked up with a hostile eye, at the -same time lifting the carving knife and fork. “You’re late, young man.” - -“Am I?” said Wint stiffly. - -“The dinner hour in this house is five-thirty. If you wish to have your -meals here, you would do well to observe that fact and regulate your -movements in accordance.” - -“Oh, give the boy his supper,” Mrs. Chase urged. “You get me all mixed -up, calling supper dinner and dinner lunch that way, Winthrop. Wint, -don’t you mind what your father says. He--” - -“Margaret,” said Mr. Chase sternly, “I wish you would--” - -“I went to the station to meet Caretall,” said Wint slowly. “Sorry to be -late. But--” - -“Caretall?” his father echoed sharply. “You--” - -“Now, Wint--don’t aggravate your father,” Mrs. Chase urged. “You will -drive me to--” - -“Hetty, pass my son’s plate,” directed the elder Chase, discovering the -girl in the doorway. “Your place is in the kitchen while the meals are -being served, not in the hall.” - -“All right,” said Hetty cheerfully, and she took Wint’s plate and went -around the table to his father’s side. Thus relieved of the elder -Chase’s scrutiny, she winked lightly at Wint and smiled. He made no -response. A moment later, she set his plate before him, and departed -toward the kitchen. - -Mrs. Chase began at once to talk. Her eating did not seem to interfere -with the gently querulous stream of her conversation. She spoke of many -things. Housekeeping cares, the perplexities and annoyances of the day, -the acquisition of Hetty, her hope that Hetty would prove a good girl, a -good cook, a good housemaid. “She’s not going to go home at night, -either,” she explained. “When girls go home at night, they’re never here -in time to get breakfast. When I have a girl, I want her in the house, -so’s I can see she gets up. She--” - -The elder Chase interrupted obliviously. He had been studying his son. -“Wint, have you been drinking to-day?” he demanded. - -Wint looked up quickly, a retort on his lips. But he checked it, and -instead said quietly: - -“No.” - -“Oh, Wint,” Mrs. Chase exclaimed, “you ain’t going to do any more of -that, are you, son? You--” - -“I’m keeping my eye on you, young man,” interrupted her husband. “You -left the office early to-day. Who gave you permission?” - -“The work was done.” - -“The work is never done.” - -“You left before I did.” - -The elder Chase’s eyes flashed. “My movements have nothing to do with -it. Your place is at the office till four-thirty every day. Don’t -imagine, because you’re my son, you’ll receive any favoritism.” - -“It seems to work the other way,” said Wint. - -“It does work the other way. You’re on trial, guilty till proved -innocent, worthless till proved otherwise. Some fathers.... A boy -expelled from college for drunkenness.... You’re lucky that I am so -lenient with you, young man.” - -“Am I?” - -“Now, Wint,” his mother interjected. “Don’t you aggravate your father. -Goodness knows it’s hard enough to get along with him--” - -“Margaret!” - -“Well, I mean, you oughtn’t to--” - -Wint rose abruptly. “Nagging never did any good,” he said. “I mean -to--do my part.” He flamed suddenly. “But--for Heaven’s sake--don’t talk -me to death.” - -He went out, up to his room. He was trembling with humiliated -resentment. In his room he stood for a moment before the mirror, looking -at his image in the glass, frowning sullenly. “Talk! Talk! Talk!” he -exclaimed hotly. “Always talk!” He went into the bathroom, splashed cold -water into his face, went out again and down the stairs. He took his -hat. His mother called, from the dining room: - -“Wint--there’s ice cream! Don’t you--” - -“No--thanks,” he said. “I’m going uptown.” - -He closed the door upon their protests, and went down to the street and -turned toward the town. - -His way led past Joan’s house. He paused at her gate for a moment, -hesitant, frowning, miserable, lonely. Then he went on. - -Almost every one goes uptown in Hardiston at night. The seven-fifteen -train, bringing mail, is one excuse. The moving pictures are an -allurement. The streets are better filled in early evening than at any -other time of the day. Wint began presently to meet acquaintances. At -the hotel, he encountered Jack Routt. Routt greeted him eagerly. - -“Wint! Hello there! Care for a game of billiards?” - -“I’d just as soon.” - -“Come along, then.” - -They went through the hotel office, down three steps, and into the pool -room. There were three tables, two for pool and one for billiards. A -game of Kelly pool was in progress at one table, but the billiard table -was free. They chalked their cues. - -“Half a dollar?” Routt challenged. - -Wint nodded. “All right.” - -Routt won the draw and shot first. The game went jerkily forward. -Neither was an expert player. A run of ten was an event. Wint played -silently, his thoughts elsewhere. Routt was cheerful, loquacious, -friendly. Wint envied him faintly. Every one liked Jack, respected -him.... - -Routt won the game with a run of four, and laid his cue on the table. -“I’ll be back in a minute, Wint,” he said. “You don’t mind waiting?” - -“I’ll go with you,” Wint countered. - -Routt shook his head. “Now, Wint--no, I won’t let you. You know--play it -safe, man. You can’t afford to monkey with this.” - -“Don’t be a fool, Jack.” - -“Oh, Wint, I mean it. Leave it alone. That’s the only safe way--for -you.” - -Wint’s eyes flamed suddenly. “Aren’t you coming?” he asked, and started -for the door. - -Routt followed, still protesting. “Wint--don’t be a darned fool.” - -“Don’t be a preacher, Jack.” - -“Please, Wint--leave it alone. Come on back. I won’t go either.” - -Wint said nothing, but he went steadily ahead; and Routt yielded. They -left the hotel, went half a block, entered an alley, climbed a stair.... - -County option had closed the saloons; but Hardiston was still far from -being a dry town. When they returned to the pool room half an hour -later, Wint’s cheeks were unnaturally flushed, and he laughed more -easily than before. - - - - -CHAPTER V - -COUNCIL OF WAR - - -Amos Caretall and his daughter had supper--dinner was at midday in the -Caretall household--alone together. Old Maria Hale cooked the supper, -and Agnes brought it to the table. It was a good supper. Fried chicken, -for example; and mashed potatoes as creamy as--cream. And afterwards, -apple tapioca pudding of a peculiar excellence. All garnished with -little, round biscuits, each no more than a crisp mouthful. The -Congressman smacked his lips over it with frank appreciation. “Maria,” -he told the old colored woman, “you could make your fortune in -Washington.” - -Maria cackled delightedly. She was a shriveled little old crone, bent, -wrinkled, and suspected of being as bald as an egg. No one ever saw her -without a kerchief bound tightly around her head. She had looked a -hundred years old for twenty years, and declared she was more than that. -“I mus’ be a hundred an’ twenty, at the mos’,” she used to say, when -questioned. Now she cackled with delight at the Congressman’s praise of -her cookery. - -“I don’t know ’bout Wash’n’t’n,” she declared. “But I ain’ makin’ no -great pile in Hardiston, Miste’ Caretall.” - -He laughed, head tilted back, mouth full of biscuit. “You old fraud, you -could buy and sell Chase himself, twice over. You haven’t spent a cent -for a hundred years, Maria.” - -She giggled like a girl, and went out to the kitchen, wagging her head -from side to side and mumbling to herself. Agnes looked after her, and -when the door was closed said, with a toss of her head: “She’s getting -awfully cranky, Dad.” - -Amos chuckled. “Always was, Agnes. Just the same when I was your age. -But she can make mighty un-cranky biscuits.” - -“She gets cross as a bear if I don’t help her with the dishes.” - -Amos looked at his daughter with a dry smile. “Then if I was you, Agnes, -I’d help her.” - -She started to reply, but thought better of it. A little restraint fell -upon them, and this continued until Amos leaned back with a sigh of -contentment and pulled a pipe from his coat pocket. It was a horny old -pipe, black, odorous, rank as a skunk cabbage. Agnes hated it; but Amos -stuck to it, year in, year out. When it caked so full that a pencil -would not go down into its cavity, Amos always whittled out the cake, -burned the pipe with alcohol, and started over again. The brier had been -in regular and constant use for half a dozen years--and it was still, as -Agnes used to say, “going strong.” - -Amos cuddled this pipe lovingly in the palm of his hand. He polished the -black bowl in his palm, and then by rubbing it across his cheek and -against the side of his nose. Agnes fidgeted, and Amos watched her with -a twinkle in his eye until she rose suddenly and cried: - -“Dad--that’s horrid!” - -He chuckled. “What was it you said about dishes?” he asked. - -She went sulkily toward the kitchen. - -Amos watched her with a certain amount of speculation in his eyes. Amos -was always speculating, speculating about people, and about things. He -stared at the door that closed behind her for a long minute before the -clock on the mantel struck seven and broke the charm. Then he got up -stiffly, favoring his big body, and went into the sitting room. Only -half a dozen houses in Hardiston had living rooms in those days. Rooms -with no other appointed use were, respectively, sitting rooms and -parlors. The library and the living room were arriving together. - -Amos went into the sitting room and pulled a creaky rockingchair up -before the coal fire. His feet were in carpet slippers, and he kicked -off the slippers and thrust his feet toward the blaze. He wore knitted -wool socks, gray, with white heels and toes. Maria Hale had knitted -Amos’ socks for ten years. He wriggled his toes comfortably, then -searched from one pocket a black plug of tobacco, from another a -crooked-blade pruning knife. He sliced three or four slices from the -plug with grave care, restored plug and knife to his pockets, rolled the -slices to a crumbling pile in his palm, and filled his pipe. When it was -lighted--he “primed” it by cramming into the top of the pipe some -half-burned tobacco from a previous smoking--he leaned back luxuriously -in the chair, closed his eyes, puffed hard and thought gently. - -He was still in this position when the telephone rang; and he rose, -grumblingly, to answer it. Winthrop Chase, Senior, was at the other end -of the wire; and when he discovered this, Amos winked gravely at the -fire and his voice descended half an octave. - -“Good evening, Congressman,” said Chase. - -“Evening, Mr. Chase,” said Amos. - -“Gergue told me you were coming home.” - -“I guess he was right.” - -“He thought you would want to see me.” - -Amos’ eyes widened. “Did he say so?” - -Chase laughed. “Well--you understand--Gergue has his methods.” - -Amos nodded soberly. “Yes, yes. Well--you can come to-night if you -want.” - -“Er--what--” - -“I said you could come to-night. I’ll be home all evenin’.” - -Winthrop Chase, Senior, hesitated. He hesitated for so long that Amos -asked blandly: “Er--anything else?” - -“No, no-o,” Chase decided then. “No--I’ll come.” - -“That’s good,” said Amos; and hung up, and came back to his chair with a -pleasant smile upon his countenance. - -Almost immediately, some one knocked on the door. From the sitting room, -the door was open into the hall, so that Amos heard the knock easily. -There was a bell, and most people rang the bell; but Peter Gergue always -knocked, so Amos called out confidently: - -“Come in, Pete.” - -Listening, he heard the front door open. Then it closed, and Gergue came -slowly along the hall and into the room. Amos looked up and nodded. - -“Evening, Peter. Glad t’see you. Take a chair. Any chair.” - -Peter put his hat on the table and dragged a morris chair before the -fire. He sat down, still without speaking, and extended his feet toward -the fire in imitation of Amos. Amos’ hands were clasped across his -middle, and Gergue clasped his hands there too. Thus they remained for a -little time silent. - -But such a position put Gergue under too great a handicap. He had to get -his fingers into his hair; and so presently he unclasped his hands and -began to rummage through the tangle at the nape of his neck for his -medulla, as though hunting for something. Apparently, he found it; for -after a moment he said slowly: - -“Well, Amos, we’re licked.” - -Amos turned his head and studied Gergue. “Do tell!” he exclaimed at -last. - -Gergue nodded. “Hollow ain’t got any more chance of being Mayor -than--than young Wint Chase has.” - -This seemed to startle Amos. He opened his mouth to speak, hesitated, -closed it again, then asked: “Young Wint! What makes you say that?” - -“We-ell--no more chance than I got, then,” Gergue amended. - -The Congressman seemed satisfied with the amendment. He wagged his head -as though deploring the situation, then asked: “Why? What’s Jim done?” - -Gergue looked at Amos reproachfully. “We-ell, you know Jim.” - -“Always does the right thing, don’t he?” - -“They ain’t no votes in that.” - -The two considered this truism for a time in thoughtful silence. In this -interval, Gergue produced and filled and lighted a pipe in a manner -painfully like that of Amos. Every detail--pipe, plug, knife, -priming--was the same. Amos watched him with interest, and when Gergue -had finished with the rites, Amos asked: - -“How big a margin has Chase got?” - -Gergue opened his hands as though baring every secret. - -“Well,” he said, “Jim’ll get two votes. Yours and mine. He won’t vote -for himself. Says it ain’t right. So I don’t know where we can count on -anything else.” He hesitated, then: “You know, this Chase has got a holt -on Hardiston.” - -“How?” - -“Every way. Four-five hundred men working for him, one way or another. -The drys are all with him. The money is all with him. And the Democrats -are all with him.” - -Amos pondered. “I hadn’t no notion Chase was such a popular man,” he -said. - -Gergue shook his head. “He ain’t. They’d all like to see him licked, -just to see his swelling go down some. But--a man can’t vote for -Hollow.” - -Amos puffed hard. “You know, Peter, I’ve a mind to vote for Chase -myself.” - -Gergue was startled; but after a minute he grinned. “Whatever you say -goes for me, Amos.” - -“Chase is a good man, a big man, a public-spirited man. You know, Peter, -if he was elected Mayor, things being as they is, he’d stand right in -line for Congress next fall. I don’t know as I’d even run against him, -Pete.” - -Gergue leaned forward and clapped his knee and chuckled. Something -pleased him. Amos watched him with an expression of comical -bewilderment, until Gergue caught his eye and sobered abruptly. Then -Amos asked, most casually: - -“How’s young Wint, Peter?” - -Gergue looked sharply at the Congressman. “The boy? We-ell--he’s over -twenty-one.” - -“Er--is he?” - -Amos squinted at the ceiling. “Seems to me he is. He was three years -ahead of Agnes in school and high school, and she is twenty now. He must -be twenty-two or three.” - -Peter considered this, but made no comment. After a moment Amos asked -again: “So--how is he, Peter?” - -Gergue rummaged through his back hair. “We-ell--they kicked him out of -State for over-study of booze.” - -Amos nodded. “I know. But--how is he?” - -“Still at it.” - -“Still at--the booze?” - -“He drinks when he has a mind to; and he’s got a large and active mind.” - -“What does his father think of it?” - -“Various sentiments.” - -“Wint is looking badly.” - -Gergue nodded. “I come along the street this morning,” he said. “He was -standing in front of the Post Office. His back was to me; and when I -says, ‘Hello’ to him, he jumped a foot. Nerves on edge.” - -“That’s natural.” - -Peter shook his head. “Not natural; booze.” - -“Oh,” said Amos; and: “But he’ll straighten up. He’ll come out all -right.” - -Peter shook his head. “I’ve seen ’em go that way. By and by his face -will begin to look old, just over night. And then his clothes will get -shabby, and b’fore anybody knows different, he’ll be hanging around the -hotel corner of nights with a cigarette in his mouth.” He hesitated. -“He’s set in his way, Amos. Nothing but an accident’ll change him.” - -Amos looked across at Peter curiously. “Accident?” - -“Yeah.” - -Gergue volunteered no explanation; but after a little time Amos said -slowly: “Well, Peter--some accidents ain’t so accidental as others. -Pete, you just make a study of Wint Chase for me.” - -Gergue looked curious, and he threaded his hair for his medulla -oblongata, but he asked no questions. Before a direct instruction or -command from Amos, Peter was always silently obedient. He looked at -Amos, and then he turned back at the fire; and for a long time the two -men sat thus, staring into the coals above the smoking bowls of their -pipes. - -It is one of the merits of cut-plug for smoking that a well-filled pipe -gives a long smoke. Amos Caretall’s pipe lasted three quarters of an -hour before the last embers were drowned in the moisture at the bottom -of the bowl. He knocked out the loose ashes into his palm, leaving the -half-burned cake in the bottom of the pipe to serve as priming for a -later smoke, and then stuffed the pipe affectionately away into his -pocket. - -Peter was still puffing at his, and Amos watched him for a little, and -then he chuckled softly to himself. Gergue looked across at him in faint -surprise. Amos chuckled harder, began to laugh, laughed aloud--and -instantly was as sober as a judge. - -“Peter,” he said slowly, “what you reckon Winthrop Chase, Senior, would -up and do if he was licked for Mayor?” - -Gergue considered for a moment, then seriously judged: “He’d up and lay -him an egg.” - -Amos nodded. “And eggs will be worth fifty cents a dozen, right here in -Hardiston, inside a month. It might pay to have him lay one, Pete.” - -“You’ll need a political Lay-or-Bust for that, Amos.” - -“I’ve got one, Peter.” - -Gergue stared slowly at Amos, his eyes ponderously inquisitive. At -length he asked: “What brand?” - -Amos leaned toward him quickly. “Almost any good man could beat Chase, -couldn’t he, Pete?” - -“He might have--starting at the first go off. He couldn’t now.” - -“Chase ain’t rightly popular.” - -“No--he puts on too many airs.” - -“Hardiston’d like to see a joke on him--now wouldn’t it?” - -“Sure. A man always can laugh at a joke on the other fellow. Special if -it’s on old Chase.” - -“Pete--I kind of like Congress.” - -Gergue nodded. “Don’t blame you a speck.” - -“I want to keep a-going back there.” - -“Fair enough.” - -“But you say, yourself, that Chase don’t agree with me on that.” - -“He says so too.” - -Amos tapped Gergue’s knee. “Pete, wouldn’t a good, smashing joke on -Chase put him out of the running for a spell?” - -Gergue considered. “I’ll say this, Amos,” he announced at length. “A -joke on a man is all right, if it don’t go too far. If you go too far, -you’ll make ’em sorry for Chase, and then there’ll be no stopping ’em. -Politics sure does love a martyr. But--short o’ that--a joke’s good -medicine.” - -Caretall sat up quickly. “That’s fine,” he said soberly. “That’s fine,” -he repeated. And he fell silent, and after a little said, half aloud and -for the third time, “Peter, that’s fine.” - -Peter’s pipe smoked out, and he, too, emptied the ashes and preserved -the last charred bits of tobacco as Amos had done. Then he rose, reached -slowly for his hat. “I’ll go along, Amos,” he announced. - -The Congressman lumbered up out of his chair, his broad countenance -beaming. “Fair enough, Peter. But, Pete--I want to ask you something.” - -Gergue shifted his hat to his left hand; his right went to the back of -his neck. “What is it?” - -“Take a man like young Wint, Peter. Suppose he was give a -job--sudden--that was right up to him. Responsibility, power, something -to do that had to be done. Nobody to boss him but himself. Him and his -heart. What would that do to a man like Wint, Pete?” - -Gergue scratched his head--hard. He thought--hard. Amos said softly: -“Don’t hurry, Pete. Think it over.” Gergue nodded; and presently he -said: - -“Man just like Wint--that’s what you mean?” - -“Say--Wint himself.” - -“It’d depend on the man.” - -“Say it’s Wint.” - -“Depend on whether he had any backbone--any stuff in him.” - -“Has Wint got it?” - -Gergue shook his head. “Ain’t sure.” - -“Say he has.” - -“Then--this job you mentioned would straighten him out--likely.” - -“Say he hadn’t.” - -“‘Twouldn’t hurt him none.” - -Amos nodded. “That’s what I thought, Pete.” He laid his hand on the -other’s shoulder and propelled him gently toward the door. There he -paused, added: “You do what I asked, will you, Pete? Make a study of -Wint.” - -“All right.” - -“And--Pete.” - -Gergue turned. - -“Tell V. R. Kite I wish he’d come and see me.” - -Peter’s eyes lighted slowly--and after a moment, he grinned. “All right, -Amos,” he said quietly, and went down the walk to the gate. - - - - -CHAPTER VI - -WINTHROP CHASE, SENIOR - - -Winthrop Chase, Senior, took himself seriously. - -When he walked the streets of Hardiston, bowing most affably, smiling -most genially, he was inwardly conscious of the gaze of all who passed -that way. He felt their eyes upon him; and this gave him a sense of -responsibility, a sense of duty. His duty, as he saw it, was to set an -example to the town; an example of erectness and respectability and high -ideals. And it must be said for Chase that he did his utmost along these -lines. - -He was not an educated man. He had been born in Hardiston, and had -attended the Hardiston schools; but in those days the Hardiston schools -were not remarkable. Chase could read, he could write, and he could -arrange and classify more figures in his head than most men could manage -on paper. But beyond that, he did not go. There was a native honesty in -the man; and this led him to recognize his own shortcomings. For -example, when he was called upon to address his fellow citizens, he -always summoned a collaborator and arranged his speech in advance. He -made no secret of this. In the same way, the printed word was a -continual surprise and delight to him; every book he opened was a -succession of amazing revelations. And this characteristic gave him a -profound admiration for such folk as the editors of the Hardiston -papers. As business men, he had for them only a benignant contempt; as -politicians, they were pawns and nothing more; but for their ability to -say what they wished with pen and paper, Chase accorded them all honors. - -The elder Chase’s sense of responsibility to the town had made him an -unsympathetic father to Wint. He expected Wint, too, to live up to the -position in which he found himself. It was not hypocrisy that made him -gloss over private errors and denounce more public aberrations; it was -a feeling that Wint owed a good example to the town. Thus he had never -objected to Wint’s drinking at home--the Chases always had liquor in the -house--but when Wint was expelled from the state university for -drinking, his father was furious; and when Wint once or twice was -brought home from town in an uncertain state of mind and body, his -father raged. - -The elder Chase made many errors, most of them wellintentioned, and he -accomplished much good, most of it by accident. He was a curious -compound of harmless faults and dangerous virtues. And no one regretted -his mistakes more than Chase himself. - -Five minutes after telephoning Amos Caretall, Winthrop Chase saw that -was a strategic mistake, and began regretting it. Until Amos’s -home-coming the mayoralty campaign had been going smoothly and -satisfactorily. Hollow was not a dangerous opponent, and Chase seemed -reasonably sure of election by default. - -Nevertheless, the coming of Amos had disturbed him. Amos was rightly -feared by his political enemies. He had the habit of success; and no -matter how secure Chase might feel, the thought of Amos made him -secretly tremble. - -He was not a man to avoid conflict; therefore he had sought to confront -the enemy forthwith, and had telephoned Amos with that end in view. He -wished to bolster his own courage by seeing Amos cower; and Amos had -disappointed him. Instead of cowering, Amos had told him carelessly that -if he, Chase, wished to do so, he might call on Amos that night. And -Chase had promised to come. - -Now he was torn with regrets. He was sorry he had telephoned; and he was -sorry he had promised to come. At first he thought he would stay at -home, let Amos wait in vain; and he tried to bolster this decision with -arguments. But they were unconvincing. Sure as he was of the election, -Amos made him nervous; and eventually, with a desperate feeling that he -must know the worst, and quickly, he set out for the Caretall home. - -Agnes came to admit him when he rang the bell. He liked the girl. She -was pretty and gay, and she was always flutteringly deferential in his -presence. She opened the door, and saw him, and cried delightedly: - -“Why, Mr. Chase! Come in!” - -He obeyed, drawing off his gloves. He was one of the four men in -Hardiston who wore kid gloves. “Good evening, Agnes,” he said, in his -tone of condescending graciousness. “Is your father at home?” - -“Oh, yes--he’s in by the fire.” - -Amos called from the sitting room: “Toasting my toes, Winthrop. Come -in.” - -“Let me take your coat,” Agnes was begging; and he allowed her to help -him off with the garment, and then handed her his hat and gloves and -watched her bestow them on the rack. She was graceful in everything she -did, and she looked up at him in a humble little fashion, as though to -solicit his approval. He gave it. - -“Thank you, Agnes,” he said gravely. - -“Now!” she said, and turned toward the sitting-room door. In the doorway -she paused. “Dad, here’s Mr. Chase.” - -“Come in, Chase,” Amos called again. “Take a chair. Any chair. Turning -cold, ain’t it?” - -Amos did not get up; but Chase went toward him and held out his hand so -that the Congressman was forced to rise. He was in the act of filling -his pipe again, knife in one hand, slices of tobacco in the other; and -he had trouble clearing one hand for the greeting, but he managed. “Now -sit down, Chase,” he urged again, when the handshake was over. “Glad you -came in. Is it turning cold or ain’t it?” - -“Yes,” said Chase seriously. “Yes, there’s a touch of cold in the air.” - -“Sky looked that way to me this afternoon. Early, too.” - -“I think it will pass, though,” Chase declared. “We’ll have some Indian -summer yet.” - -“Had some snow, haven’t you?” - -“Two or three inches, early this month. But it melted in an hour when -the sun touched it.” - -Amos nodded slowly. He was lighting his pipe. Agnes had come in with -the visitor, but after a moment took herself upstairs and the two men -were left alone. This made Chase uncomfortable. Even Agnes would have -been a support in this encounter. He looked sidewise at Amos, but Amos -was studying the fire; and after a minute the Congressman got up and -poked out the ashes and put on half a bucket of fresh coal. Then he -jabbed the coals again, and so resumed his seat. - -“Ain’t been over to Washington lately, Chase,” he said presently. - -Chase aroused himself. “No. No. Been very busy, Amos. Affairs here, you -know....” - -“I know, I know. Now, me--Washington is my business. But you have to -stick to your coal and your iron.” He paused. “I sh’d think you’d get -tired of it, Chase.” - -“How are things in the Capitol?” Chase asked importantly. Amos looked at -him sidewise. - -“Why--I ain’t noticed anything wrong.” - -“Who will the Republicans nominate?” - -Amos chuckled. “Gawd, Chase, I wish I knew.” - -“They’ll need a strong man, Amos. The country’s swinging again.” - -The Congressman looked at Chase, and he grinned. “Chase,” he said, -“you’re a funny Democrat.” - -“Why? I--” - -“I guess you’re one of these waiting Democrats--eh?” - -Chase looked confused. “I.... What’s that?” - -“Figuring there’s bound to be a swing some day--and when it comes, -you’ll be there and waiting,” Amos nodded. “You’re right, too. Bound to -be a swing some day.” - -“I’m a Democrat from conviction, Amos. The Democratic party....” - -“Fiddlesticks! Tariff has made you--iron and steel. Fiddlesticks!” - -Chase fidgeted; Amos fell silent, and for a time neither man spoke. Once -Amos reached into a table drawer and produced a cigar and offered it to -the other. Chase lighted it. When it was half smoked, Amos asked -carelessly: - -“Well, Chase, what was it you wanted to see me about?” - -Chase put himself on the defensive. “I--why you asked me to come. I -supposed....” - -Amos grinned. “Have it so, Chase. Have it so.” He puffed hard at his -pipe, looked at the other. “Well--does it look like the swing was coming -in Hardiston?” - -Chase stiffened self-consciously. “The town has demanded that I run for -Mayor--and--I consented.” - -“That was a public-spirited thing to do, Chase. With all your business -to hinder you--take your time....” - -“I was glad to do it. A man owes it.... If there is a demand for him, he -must respond.” - -“Sure! Sure thing! And you’ve responded noble, Chase.” - -“I’ve made a straightforward campaign.” - -“First-class campaign. You figure you’ve got a chance?” - -Chase’s confidence returned. “I’m going to win, Amos. Nothing can stop -me. I’ll be the next Mayor of Hardiston--sure.” - -Amos looked thoughtful. “I ain’t in touch--myself.” He puffed at his -pipe. “Gergue says you’ll win--barring an accident.” - -“There will be no accident.” - -“Eh?” - -“I intend to see to it that there is no accident.” - -Amos nodded. “Well,” he commented, “that’s your privilege.” - -Chase leaned forward. “Congressman,” he said seriously, “it’s a bad plan -to stay away from home so long. You get out of touch with affairs here. -You ought to--you need some ally here to watch over your interests.” - -Amos looked up quickly. “Now, I never thought of that,” he declared. - -Chase clapped his hand on his knee. “It’s right. You can’t tell what the -people are thinking unless you live among them--as I do, sir.” - -Amos considered this statement, and then he remarked: “Take this wet and -dry business, for instance. Now, me--I’m so far away I don’t rightly -know what the folks here are thinking. But you--” He hesitated. “How -does it strike you, Chase?” - -“It’s the big issue here.” - -“How? County’s dry.” - -“But the town isn’t. The law is not enforced here.” - -“Why not?” - -Chase laughed shortly. “The present Mayor--” - -Amos interrupted. “I’m a wet man, Chase. You know that. I guess you are, -too, ain’t you?” - -Chase shook his head sternly. “No, indeed. Prohibition is the greatest -good for the greatest number. I want to see it sweep the -country--state-wide--nation-wide.” - -Amos looked startled. “I’m surprised.” - -“There’s no question about it, Congressman. Prohibition is coming. And -I’m for it.” - -“You have--you ain’t a dry man, are you?” - -“I believe in moderation.” - -“Now that’s funny, too,” Amos commented, his head on one side in the -familiar posture that suggested he was suffering from stiff neck. - -“Funny? Why?” - -“You and me. Me--I’m a wet man; I believe in license. But I’m a -teetotaller. You’re a dry man--but you like moderation. I’m for a wet -state and a dry cellar--and you’re for a dry state and a wet cellar. -Ain’t that always the way?” - -Chase flushed stiffly. “Many great men have held public views differing -from their private practice.” - -“Who, f’r instance?” - -“Why--many of them.” - -Amos nodded. “Well, you’ve studied the thing. Maybe you’re right.” - -“I am right.” - -The Congressman looked at the other with a cold, quizzical light in his -eyes. “How ’bout Wint? He hold your views?” - -Chase turned red as fire. “He has nothing to do with this.” - -“I heard he was a wet man, personally. But I wondered if he was dry like -you in theory.” - -The other said stiffly: “My son has disgraced me. I have been very -angry with him. But it may have been as much my fault as his. I have -tried to be patient. He understands, now, that if he continues--if he -does not mend his ways--I--” He stopped uncertainly. - -“Reck’n you’d disown him.” - -An unexpected and very human weakness showed in the countenance of the -elder Chase. His features worked; he said huskily, “Well--the boy--he’s -my only child, Amos.” - -Amos had never liked Winthrop Chase till that moment. He was surprised -at the burst of sympathy that moved him. He nodded. “You’re right, -Chase. And--Wint’s a good boy, I figure.” - -His tone encouraged the other. Chase leaned toward the Congressman. -“Amos,” he said, “there’s a new day coming in Ohio politics.” - -Amos looked puzzled. “To-morrow’s always likely to be a new day.” - -“Things are changing, Amos.” - -“How?” - -“Men are dissatisfied with the present--administration of affairs.” - -“Men are always dissatisfied.” - -“They’re looking around for a new--hired man--Amos.” - -Amos chuckled; then he said slowly: “Well--there’s lots of folks looking -for the job.” - -Chase hesitated, considering his next word; and in the end he cast -diplomacy to the winds and came out flatly: “Amos--it’s a good time to -look around for friends. To make new alliances.” - -Amos looked at the other thoughtfully. “Meaning--just what?” - -Chase said simply: “You and I ought to get together, Amos.” - -“We’re--here together.” - -“I mean--a permanent alliance--offensive and defensive. For mutual -good.” - -Amos’ pipe had smoked itself to the end. He emptied it with his -accustomed care before answering. Then he said slowly: “Specify, Chase. -Specify.” - -Chase proceeded to specify. “I’m going to be the next Mayor of -Hardiston, Amos.” - -“Barring that accident.” - -Chase brushed that suggestion aside. “My victory--in a strong Republican -town--will make me an important figure in the district.” - -“Meaning--my district.” - -“Meaning the Congressional district.” - -Amos looked at the other. “You figuring to run against me next year.” - -Chase shook his head. “I don’t want to. There’s no sense in our cutting -each other’s throats.” - -“That’s against the law, anyhow.” - -Chase leaned forward more earnestly. “Amos--here’s my proposition. We -ought to get together. I’m willing. I’ve got Hardiston. Sentiment in the -district is swinging. I can make a good fight against you next year--I -think I can win. But I don’t want to fight you. So--Let’s get together. -Party politics are out of date. We’re the two biggest men in the county, -Amos. You step aside and let me go to Congress--I can beat any one else -easily. And I’ll back you for--the Senate, Amos.” - -For a moment Amos remained very quietly in his chair; then he coughed, -such a loud, harsh cough that Chase jumped. And then he said slowly: -“Chase--you startled me.” - -Chase said condescendingly, grandly: “No reason for that, Amos.” - -“But my land, man--the Senate! Me in the Senate!” - -“Why not? Worse men than you are there.” - -“Chase--you’re the man for the Senate--not me.” - -Chase bridled like a girl. “No, no, Amos. You’ve the experience, the -wide view--” - -Amos seemed to recall something. “That’s so, Chase. And you--you ain’t -Mayor yet. Something might happen.” - -“It won’t.” - -Amos rose. “Chase,” he said, “I’ve got to know you better to-night than -in twenty years.” - -Chase grasped the Congressman’s hand firmly. This was a habit of his, -this firm clasp. “It’s high time, then, Amos.” - -“Yes, yes,” Amos considered. “Tell you what, Chase,” he said at last, -“I’ll think it over.” - -“It’s the thing to do, Amos.” - -“I’ll think it over, Chase,” the Congressman repeated. He was ushering -the other toward the door, helping him into his coat, opening the door. -“Wait till after election, Chase,” he said then deferentially. “If -you’re elected Mayor of Hardiston--I don’t see but what we’ll have to -team up together.” - -Chase grasped the Congressman’s hand again. “That’s a bargain, Amos.” - -“A bargain,” Amos echoed. Then: “Good night, Chase.” - -The door closed; and Amos, after a minute, began to chuckle slowly under -his breath. - - - - -CHAPTER VII - -V. R. KITE - - -Victor Rutherford Kite was a man about half the size of his name. -Specifically, he was five feet and two inches tall with his shoes on and -his pompadour ruffed up. A saving sense of the fitness of things had led -him to abandon the long roll of names bestowed upon him by his parents -in favor of the shorter and more fitting initials. As V. R. Kite, he had -lived in Hardiston for twenty odd years; and most Hardiston people had -forgotten what his given names actually were. - -He was about sixty years old; and he looked it. His eyes were small, and -they were washy blue. The eyelids fell about them in thousands of tiny -folds and wrinkles, so that the eyes themselves were almost hidden. His -eyebrows and his hair and his hints of side whiskers were gray. These -side whiskers were really not whiskers at all; they were merely a faint -downward growth of the hair before his ears; and they lay on his dry -cheeks like the stroke of a brush. His skin was parched dry; it was so -dry that it had a powdery look. He walked with a dignified little swing -of his short legs, and held his head poised upon his thin neck in a -self-contained way that indefinably suggested a turkey. - -This man was a member of the session of his church; he was the -proprietor and manager of a store that would have been a five-and-ten -cent emporium in a larger town than Hardiston; and he was the -acknowledged leader of the “wet” forces in Hardiston. He himself had -come to the town in the beginning to run a saloon; but after a few -years, he submerged his own personality in this venture and opened the -little store, leaving a lieutenant to manage the saloon which he still -owned. Thereafter, he acquired other establishments of a like nature, -until he attained the dignity of a vested interest. When county option -came, he suffered in proportion. - -But though town and county voted “dry,” there were any number of -Hardiston folk who still liked a drink now and then; and the city--for -the town of Hardiston was legally a city--took judicial cognizance of -the will of its citizens to this extent: the prohibition law was not -strictly enforced. The official interpretation of it was: “It’s against -the law to sell liquor if you get caught.” - -V. R. Kite thought this was reasonable enough, and took care not to get -caught. - -On the evening of Amos Caretall’s home-coming, Kite was not in his -store, so Peter Gergue had some difficulty in locating him. As a last -resort, he tried the little man’s home, and was frankly surprised to -find Kite there. He delivered Amos’s message, and Kite, who was at times -a fiery little man, and a sulker between whiles, agreed in a surly -fashion that he would go and see Amos that night. Gergue was satisfied. - -Kite’s house was near that of Amos; but he did not set forth at once. -When he did, it was just in time to encounter Winthrop Chase, Senior, at -Amos’s gate. Kite bridled and slid past Chase as warily as a cat. The -two men did not speak. If they had spoken, they would have fought; for -each of them felt that he had borne the last bearable insult from the -other. They passed, and Kite hurried up to Amos’s door while Winthrop -Chase, looking back, watched with a calmly complacent smile. He felt -that he and Amos had come to an understanding; and he rejoiced at the -thought that this understanding meant the downfall of Kite as a -political power in Hardiston. - -Kite knocked at the door while Amos was still chuckling in the hall; and -Amos let him in. Kite, once the door was open, slid inside, shoved the -door shut behind him, and exclaimed in a low, furious voice: “That Chase -met me outside. He was here. Don’t deny it, Amos! Did you aim for me to -meet him here?” - -Amos chuckled and patted Kite’s shoulder. “Now, now, Kite,” he said -soothingly. “You didn’t run onto him here. You didn’t have to talk to -him. So what you mad about?” - -“I hate the sight of the man. He makes me sick.” - -“Come in and set down,” said Amos, still chuckling. - -They went into the sitting-room, Kite still grumbling at the nearness of -his escape. When they were once settled, Amos broke in on this monologue -without hesitation: “Chase says he’s going to be the next Mayor--whe’er -or no,” he remarked. - -Kite’s dry little countenance twisted with pain. Amos saw, and asked -sympathetically: “That gripe ye, does it?” - -“I’ll never live in the town with him Mayor,” Kite exploded. “I won’t -live here. I’ll sell out and move away. I’ll shoot myself! Or him! -I’ll....” - -He petered out, and Amos grinned. “I gather you and Chase don’t jibe. -What’s he ever done to you?” - -“Grinned at me. He’s always grinning at me like a--like a--like....” - -Amos smoothed the grin from his own countenance with a great hand, and -tilted his head on one side. “You and him disagree some on the liquor -issue, I take it.” - -“We disagree on every issue. He’s....” - -“Hardiston’s a little bit wet, ain’t it?” - -“Of course! And no one objects! But this Chase wants to get in and make -it dry. He’s a....” - -“This county option law’s popular, though.” - -“Popular--with fools and hypocrites like Chase.” - -“Chase’ll make a good Mayor,” Amos suggested. “He’s a fine, -public-spirited man. Always sacrificing himself for the -town--sacrificing his own interests--an’ all that. So he says, anyhow. -Said so to me, to-night.” - -Kite waved his clenched fists above his head. He fought for words. Amos -seemed not to notice this. - -“He’s a good man, a churchly man,” he mused. - -Kite exploded. “Damn hypocrite!” - -Amos looked across at the other in surprise. “Hypocrite? How’s that?” - -Kite became fluent. “Take the liquor question. He preaches dry--talks -dry--and drinks like a fish. And his son is a common toper.” - -Amos shook his head. “We-ell, a man’s private life ain’t nothing to do -with his political principles. Lots of cases like that. If a man thinks -right, and performs his office, I reckon that’s all you can ask. Out of -office hours--he’s allowed to do what he wants.” - -“He’ll ruin Hardiston,” Kite declared. “Ruin it.” He whirled toward the -other. “Your fault, too, Amos. If you’d put up a man against him, -instead of a fish like Jim Hollow....” - -“I figured Jim would do. He always tried to do the right thing,” Amos -protested; and Kite dismissed the protest with a grunt. - -“The town don’t want Chase,” he declared vehemently, “but they can’t -take Hollow.” - -“We-ell,” said Amos thoughtfully, “what’s going to be done about it?” - -Kite threw up his hands. “Nothing. Too late. But I....” - -The Congressman interrupted drawlingly: “Now if it was young Wint that -was going to be Mayor--you wouldn’t have to worry.” - -Kite laughed shortly. “I guess not. But--he’s not.” - -“He wouldn’t be likely to make the town so awful dry.” - -“Not unless he drank it dry.” - -“We-ell, he couldn’t do that.” - -Kite grinned. “I’d chance it.” - -They were silent for a moment; then Amos said slowly: “Funny--what a -difference one letter makes. ‘Jr.’ instead of ‘Sr.’ Eh?” - -Kite nodded slowly; and Amos was silent again, and so for a time the two -men sat, thinking. Kite stared at the fire, his face working. Amos -watched the fire, but most of all he watched Kite. He studied the little -man, his head tilted on one side, his eyes narrowed. And Kite remained -oblivious of this scrutiny. In the end, Amos spoke: - -“Kite--how many votes you figure will be cast at this election?” - -Kite looked up, considered. “A thousand or twelve hundred, I suppose.” - -Amos bestirred his great bulk and drew from a pocket a handful of -letters. He chose one, replaced the others. From another pocket he -routed a stubby pencil, moistened the lead, and set down Kite’s figures -on the envelope. “I think that’s too many,” he commented. - -“Maybe,” Kite agreed. “What does it matter?” - -“How many wet votes can you swing against Chase as it stands?” - -Kite frowned. “I can’t do much with Hollow to work with. Maybe four -hundred.” - -“Suppose you had a good man to work with?” - -“He ought to get close to five hundred out of twelve.” - -“Everybody so much in love with Chase as that?” - -Kite shook his head. “They don’t like him. Nobody does. He thinks he -owns the town.” - -“Does he own it?” - -“A good part. Three or four hundred votes, anyhow.” - -Amos tapped his envelope with his pencil, figuring thoughtfully. “I was -thinking some of playing a little joke on Chase,” he said at last. -“Think they’d enjoy a joke on him?” - -Kite looked across at the Congressman with hope in his eye for the first -time that evening. “Any joke on Chase will find lots to laugh at it,” he -declared. - -Amos nodded. “That’s what Gergue said.” - -“He’s right.” Kite’s face fell. “But shucks! What chance is there?” - -“There’s a chance,” said Amos. - -“What is it?” - -“Listen, Kite,” said the Congressman soberly. “Listen and I’ll tell -you.” - -He began to speak; he talked for a long time, and as he explained, -Kite’s countenance passed from doubt to hope and then to exultant -confidence. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - -THE RALLY - - -The home-coming of Congressman Caretall created a momentary stir in -Hardiston; but that was all. Every one knew he had come home to take a -hand in the mayoralty election; but every one also knew that the elder -Chase was going to be elected Mayor in spite of all Caretall could do, -and so the first stir of interest soon lagged. There was no sport to be -had in an election that was a foregone conclusion. - -Caretall did not seem to be worrying about the situation. He walked -uptown every morning, waited at the Post Office while the morning mail -was distributed, talked with the men that gathered there, went to the -barber shop for his shave, to the Smoke House for his plug of black -tobacco, to the hotel, or to the _Journal_ office, or some other -rallying spot for men otherwise unattached. - -Now and then he was seen to drop in at Peter Gergue’s office; but the -best proof that he was doing nothing to change the election lay in the -fact that Gergue was idle. That lank gentleman seldom emerged from his -office, and when he did so, the fact that his mind was free of care was -attested by the circumstance that he left his back hair severely alone. -Gergue was a Caretall barometer; and all the signs pointed to “fair, -followed by a probable depression!” - -A lull settled over Hardiston. Chase carried on his campaign regularly -but without heat. He talked with individuals on street corners and with -groups wherever he found them; he spoke most graciously to all who met -him on the street; and as the last week before election dawned, he -announced two meetings, to which all voters were invited. They would be -held in the Rink; otherwise the Crescent Opera House--and at these -meetings, numerous speakers would expound the justice of the Chase -cause. Chase himself, of course, would be the principal speaker. - -The first of these meetings was held on Tuesday night, a week before the -election; the second was set for the following Saturday. On Tuesday -afternoon, Amos Caretall and Chase came face to face in the Post Office; -and half a dozen people saw them greet each other pleasantly and without -heat. Chase spoke as though he could afford to be generous, Amos like a -man willing to accept generosity. - -“I hope you’ll come to my meeting to-night, Amos,” Chase invited with -grave condescension; and he laughed and added: “You might learn -something that would be of value--about municipal affairs--” - -“I was figuring on coming,” said Amos, surprisingly enough. It was -surprising even to Chase; but he hid this feeling. - -“Fine, fine!” he declared. “Amos, I’m glad to hear it. Partisanship has -no place in city affairs.” - -“That’s right,” Amos agreed. - -Chase laughed. “If you don’t look out, I’ll call on you to speak -to-night,” he threatened. - -Amos grinned at that. “I reckon I wouldn’t be scared,” he declared. -“I’ve spoke before.” - -They parted with no further word save laughing jests; but when Chase -turned toward his office, his eyes were thoughtful, and Amos watched his -departing figure with a faint smile. While Chase was still in sight, -Gergue came along; and he spoke to Amos in his habitual low drawl, and -received a word from Amos in reply. - -Gergue nodded. “The bee’ll keep a buzzing till he does it,” he promised; -and Amos chuckled. He chuckled all that day; but his countenance was -sober enough when he presented himself at the entrance to the Rink that -night. He was alone; and he walked boldly down the aisle, responding to -greetings on every hand, and took a conspicuous seat near the front. - -The curtain had been raised; and the stage was set with a stock scene -representing a farmyard, or something of the kind. There was an -impracticable well at the right, in the rear; and at the left, the -kitchen door of the farmhouse stood open beneath an arborway of -cardboard grapevines. In the center of the stage, a table had been set; -upon it a white pitcher of water and a glass; and in the semicircle -about the table, half a dozen chairs. The stage setting was not -strikingly appropriate, but no one save Amos gave it so much as a -chuckle. - -When he had studied the stage, Amos turned to look about at the -audience. The Rink was half filled; but half of the people in it were -either women or boys too young to vote. The women in Hardiston were all -immensely interested in politics; and as for the boys--well, a boy loves -a meeting. - -While Amos was still studying the audience, Ed Skinner, editor of the -weekly _Sun_, appeared on the stage, walked to the table, rapped on it -with a wooden mallet which had obviously been designed for the uses of -carpentry, and called the house to order. Amos settled in his seat and -the meeting began. - -There were four speakers. Skinner talked first; he was followed by Davy -Morgan, a foreman in Chase’s furnace; and he in turn gave way to Will -Murchie, from up the creek, who had been elected Attorney General the -year before, and so won the honor of breaking the air-tight Republican -grip on state offices. The testimony of these men was unanimously to the -effect that Winthrop Chase, Senior, had the makings of the best Mayor -any city in the state ever saw. - -After which, Chase himself appeared, to prove the case indisputably. - -Chase read his speech. He always read his speeches. Murchie had written -this one for him; and it was well done, flowery, measured, resounding. -It was real oratory, even as Chase rendered it. And Amos, in a front -seat, was the loudest of all the audience in his applause. He was so -loud that at times he interrupted the speaker; but Chase forgave him, -beaming on Amos over the footlights. - -Abruptly, Chase finished his speech. He finished it and folded it and -put it in his pocket; and every one applauded, either from appreciation -or relief. They applauded until they saw--by the fact that Chase still -held the stage without starting to withdraw--that he had something -further to say. Then they fell sulkily silent. - -“My friends,” said Chase then, beaming on them. “My friends--I thank -you. I thank you all; and particularly I wish to thank Congressman -Caretall, down in front here, who has been loud in his applause. - -“That’s a good sign. I’m glad he appreciates the fact that it is no use -to fight longer. He told me this morning that he was coming here -to-night; and in effect he dared me to invite him to speak to you -to-night. - -“My friends, I have nothing to hide. He cannot frighten me. Congressman -Caretall--you have the floor!” - -The listeners had been apathetic, bored; but they were so no longer. -More of them rose, some climbed on seats and craned their necks the -better to see the discomfiture of the Congressman. They yelled at him: -“Speech! Sp-e-e-ech!” They jeered at him, confident he would accept -their jeers in silence; and so they were the more delighted when he rose -lumberingly in his place. - -Every one yelled at everybody else to sit down and be quiet. Chase -invited Amos up on the stage. Amos shook his head. “I can talk from -here,” he roared, “if these gentlemen will be seated so I can look at -them.” He spread his hands like one invoking a blessing. “Sit down! Sit -down!” - -They sat, rustling in their seats, grinning, whispering, gazing; and -Amos waited benevolently, head on one side, until they were quiet. Then -he spoke. - -“My frien-n-d-s!” he drawled. “I am honored. It is an honor to any man -to be asked to address a Hardiston audience. And especially on such an -occasion--and in such a cause. - -“My friends, the name of Chase is an old one in Hardiston. A Chase was -one of the first to settle at the salt licks here; a Chase fought the -Indians during those first hot years; a Chase dug salt wells when the -riffles no longer proved profitable. And when the salt industry died, a -Chase was the first to dig coal in this county, and a Chase was the -first to establish an iron-smelting furnace here in Hardiston. - -“The Chases have deserved well of Hardiston. They have been honored in -the past; they will be honored in the future. But they should also be -honored in the present. - -“My friends, I came here to cast my vote in the city election. I came -home in some doubt as to how I should cast that vote. But I am in doubt -no longer, my friends. - -“I shall go to the polls next Tuesday, and I shall ask for a ballot, and -I shall go into a booth; and there, my friends, I shall cast my vote for -Mayor. - -“And the man I vote for, my friends, I tell you frankly; the man I vote -for will be--a Chase!” - -The storm broke; and Amos bowed to it and sat down. But that would not -do. Chase climbed down from the stage to shake him by the hand and thank -him; and others crowded around to do the same thing; and still others -came crowding to storm at him for a traitor. And to them all Amos -presented a smiling and agreeable countenance. - -But this small tumult ended, as such things will. The crowd dispersed; -the Rink emptied; and in the end, Chase and Amos walked up the street as -far as the hotel together, separating there to go to their respective -homes. - -Next morning, Hardiston buzzed with the news. Strangely enough, Amos did -not show himself in town. He hid at home, said his enemies--those who -had been his friends. He hid at home to escape the storm. That was what -they said; but it was observed, in the course of the day, that those who -went to Amos’s home to accuse him, came away apparently reconciled to -the Congressman’s course of action. They made no more complaint. - -One of these was Jack Routt. Routt was an attorney, picking up the -beginnings of a practice. He had ambitions. Other men had been -prosecuting attorney, and there was no reason why a man named Routt -should not hold that office. To this end, he had hitched his wagon to -Amos’s star; and he was one of the Congressman’s first lieutenants. - -Routt had not attended the meeting at the Rink. He and Wint Chase spent -the evening together. But when he heard what had happened, he uttered -one red-hot ejaculation, then clamped tight his lips and marched off to -find Amos and demand an explanation. - -He got it. It silenced him. It was observed that he came away from the -Caretall home with a puzzled frown twisting his brow above the smile on -his lips. But he spoke not, neither could word be enticed from him. -Instead, he seemed to put politics off his shoulders, and attached -himself, like a guardian angel, to Wint. - -That was Wednesday. Wednesday evening, Wint and Routt and Agnes Caretall -spent at Joan Arnold’s home, playing cards. Thursday, the four were -again together, but this time at the Caretall home. Friday evening, -Routt and Wint played pool at the hotel. Saturday evening they went -together to the Chase rally at the Rink. It was a jubilant gathering; -the speakers were exultant; and the elder Chase, again the speaker of -the evening, was calm and paternally promising. - -Sunday, the four went picnicking in Agnes Caretall’s car. And it was not -until Monday evening that Wint broke away from Routt’s chaperonage. He -spent that evening--it was the eve of election day--with Joan. - -They were very happy together. - - - - -CHAPTER IX - -HETTY MORFEE - - -In the meanwhile, a single incident. An incident concerning itself with -Hetty Morfee, Mrs. Chase’s newly acquired handmaiden. - -Hetty was a girl Wint’s own age. She had been born in Hardiston, had -lived in Hardiston all her life. She and Wint had gone to school -together; they had played together; they had been friends all their -lives. - -Such things happen in a small town. Wint was the son of Hardiston’s big -man; Hetty was the daughter of a man whom nobody remembered. He had come -to town, married Hetty’s mother, and gone away. Thereafter, Hetty had -been born. - -Hetty’s mother was the fifth daughter of a coal miner. She was an honest -woman, a woman of sense and sensibility; and Hetty received from her a -worthy heritage. But most of Hetty was not mother but father; and all -Hardiston knew about Hetty’s father was that he had come and had gone. -It was assumed, fairly enough, that he had a roving, rascally, and -irresponsible disposition. Hetty, it had been predicted, would not turn -out well. - -This prediction had not wholly justified itself. Hetty, in the first -place, was unnaturally acute of mind. In school, she had mastered the -lessons given her with careless ease. The effect was to give her an -unwholesome amount of leisure. She occupied this leisure in bedeviling -her teachers and inciting to riot the hardier spirits in the -school--among whom number Wint. - -She was, in those days, a wiry little thing, as hard as nails, as active -as a boy, and fully as daring. She had whipped one or two boys in fair, -stand-up fight, for Hetty had a temper that went with her hair. Her -hair, as has been said, was a pleasant and interesting red. - -As a child, she had been freckled. When she approached womanhood, these -freckles disappeared and left her with a skin creamy and delicious. Her -eyes were large, and warm, and merry. They were probably brown; it was -hard to be sure. All in all, she was--give her a chance--a beauty. - -Some men of science assert that all healthy children start life with an -equal heritage. They attribute to environment the developing differences -between men and between women. Hetty might have served them as an -illuminating example. In school, she had mastered her lessons quickly, -had led her classes as of right; while her schoolmates--including Wint, -who was not good at books--lagged woefully behind. - -This ascendancy persisted through the first half dozen years of -schooling; and then it began, gradually, to disappear. In high school, -it was not so marked; and at graduation, she and Wint--for example--were -fairly on a par. - -Then Wint went to college while Hetty went to work. She worked first in -a store and lost that place for swearing at her employer. Then she took -up housework, and so gravitated to the Chase household. There Wint -encountered her; and within a day or so he discovered that the years -since high school had borne him far ahead of Hetty. She now was -beginning to recede; her wave had reached its height and was subsiding. -He still bore on. - -These things may be observed more intimately in a small town; for there, -social differences do not so strictly herd the sheep apart from the -goats. Thus, while Hetty was his mother’s handmaid, neither Wint nor any -one else outspokenly considered her his inferior. She called him Wint, -he called her Hetty, and his mother likewise. - -Wint found her presence vaguely disturbing. That first night at supper, -she had winked at him behind his father’s back. The wink somewhat -chilled him. It savored of hardness--And there were other incidents. -Wint perceived that Hetty was no longer a schoolgirl; she was, vaguely, -sophisticated. Her old recklessness and daring remained; but they were -inspired now not by ebullient spirits but by indifference, by bravado. - -He remembered ugly rumors.... - -Wint and Hetty had been, to some extent, comrades in their school days. -Once or twice he had defended her against aggression; once he had fought -a boy who had told tales on her to the teacher. Hetty had never thanked -him; she had even scolded and abused him for this knight-errantry, -declaring her ability to take care of herself. Nevertheless, there was -gratitude in her. She brought him apples, hiding them secretly in his -desk. - -On the Friday evening before election, as has been said, Wint and Jack -Routt played pool together at the hotel. Afterwards, in spite of Routt’s -protests, they went together to the stairway in the alley; and when -eventually Wint reached home, he was unsteady on his feet. - -His father and mother were abed. The door was never locked, so that he -entered the hall without difficulty; but the only light was an electric -bulb in the rear of the hall, near the kitchen door, and when he went -back to extinguish this, he tripped over a rug and barely saved a fall. - -While he was still tottering, the kitchen door opened and Hetty looked -out at him. She had on her hat, so that he saw she, too, had just come -in. He smiled at her amiably, holding on to the wall for support; and -she laughed softly and came and caught his arm. - -“Oh, you Wint!” she chided. - -He tried to be dignified. “Wha’s matter?” he asked. “I’m all right.” - -She winked. “But if father could only see you now!” - -He became amiable again. “Thass all right,” he declared, “I’m going to -bed. He’s sleeping th’ sleep of th’ just. Thass dad. Sleep of the just!” - -“Sure,” she agreed. “But you know what he’d do to you.” - -A door opened, in the hall above. A step sounded. Hetty, quick as light, -led Wint under the stair where he was invisible from above, and signed -him to be quiet. The elder Chase called down the stairs: “Who’s that?” - -“Me, Mr. Chase,” said Hetty. “I tripped. I’m sorry if I woke you up.” - -She heard Chase say something under his breath; but when he answered, -his tone was affable. “All right. Time you were abed, Hetty.” - -“Uh-huh! I went to see my mother.” - -“That’s all right. Good night!” - -“Good night!” - -They heard him go back to his room, heard the door close behind him. -Hetty crossed to Wint. She was trembling a little, and she spoke very -gently. “Come up the back stairs, Wint. He won’t hear you. I’ll help -you....” - -Wint took her arm. “You’re a good girl, Hetty,” he told her. - -“You come along.” - -They went through the kitchen to the back stairs, and up, Hetty -steadying him and encouraging him in a whisper. Wint’s room was at the -back of the house, on the second floor; his father’s at the front. -Hetty’s was on the third floor. She helped him to the door of his room, -and in, and turned on the light. He sat down and grinned amiably at her. -She started to go, hesitated, came back and knelt before him. While he -watched, not fully understanding, she loosened his shoes. Then she rose. - -“Now you go to bed, Wint--and be quiet,” she warned him in a whisper. -“Good night!” - -He waved his hand. “Thass all right now. G’night!” - -She closed the door behind her and went swiftly along the hall to the -stair that led upward to her room. But there, with her foot on the lower -step, her hand on the rail, she paused. - -She paused, and looked back at Wint’s door, and pressed one hand against -her mouth, thinking. And slowly her eyes misted with a wistful light. -She turned a little, as though to go back.... - -Then, eyes still misty, she went up the stairs to her own room; and in -her own room, with no one to see, Hetty lay down on her face on the bed -and cried. - - - - -CHAPTER X - -THE ELECTION - - -The people of Hardiston are early risers, and their hours of labor are -long and strenuous. The coal miners--what few still find tasks to do in -the ravaged hills--are up and about before day in the fall and winter -months; the furnace workmen change shifts at unearthly hours; and the -glass factory and the pipe works both begin their day when most folks -are still abed. - -To accommodate these early risers, the polls at Hardiston open at six. -They stay open until four or five or six in the afternoon. The hour is -left somewhat to the discretion of the election officials. If a heavy -vote is cast early, so that an extra hour would mean only half a dozen -votes added to the totals, they close the polls and begin their counting -in time to get home to supper. - -But if there is prospect of a close contest, the polls remain open till -the last voter has been given his opportunity. - -On this election day, the polls opened at six; and the election -officials, particularly those representing the supporters of the elder -Chase, went about their duties with a careless confidence. In the second -precinct, the polling place was an unoccupied store on the second floor -of a two-story building at the corner of Pearl Street and Broadway. The -lower floor of this building was occupied by a dealer in monuments; and -throughout the day the chink and tap of his chisel and maul never ceased -their song. These sounds came up in a muffled fashion through the floor -of the room where the votes were being cast. - -The early voting here was light. Jim Thomas and Ed Howe were the -principal election officers; and they sat with their chairs tilted back -and their feet on the railing around a red-hot little iron stove while -the trickle of voters came and went. Jim Thomas chewed tobacco, and Ed -smoked. He smoked a pipe; and he whittled his tobacco from a black plug, -thus identifying himself with the Caretall factions. Aside from the -stove and their two chairs, the room contained only the voting -paraphernalia. Three booths against the wall, with cloth curtains to -divide them; two flat tables, each containing a list of the registered -voters; and the ballot box itself, on the floor near the door where each -voter deposited his ballot as he departed. - -At seven o’clock--the little stove, by this time, had raised the -temperature of the room to a stifling mark--Jim Thomas spat in a box of -sawdust and grinned at Ed Howe. “Slow, Ed,” he said. - -Ed puffed hard. He had a weakness of one eye, a weakness which allowed -the lid to droop so that he seemed to be perpetually winking. He turned -this winking eye to Jim. “Yeah,” he said. - -“I guess Caretall is due to get his.” - -“You reckon?” Ed inquired listlessly. - -“I reckon.” - -Ed grunted and smoked harder than ever. - -At half past seven, the elder Chase himself dropped in. “Good morning, -boys,” he called from the door. “Splendid day, now isn’t it?” - -“Fine,” said Jim Thomas. - -Chase produced cigars; he dispensed them graciously. Only Ed Howe -refused the proffered smoke. - -“Oh, come, Ed,” Chase insisted. “Don’t be afraid of hurting my -feelings.” - -“Never smoke ’em,” said Ed shortly. - -“Want to vote once or twice?” Jim Thomas asked, grinning. - -Chase chuckled. “I’ve cast my vote. Second ballot in my precinct, Jim.” - -“Better chuck in a few more,” Jim advised. “Hollow’s running strong.” He -said this seriously, but every one knew it was a joke. Even Ed Howe -grinned. - -Chase presently departed, still amiable and gracious. His visit had -stimulated the imagination of Jim Thomas; and after a little while he -rose and took his hat and went down to a group of men in the street -outside. Ed looked out of the window curiously. He saw Jim go among the -group, hat in hand, obviously taking up a collection. The man seemed to -take the matter as a joke. But Jim was grave. - -He came back up presently, hat in hand, and approached Ed. “Give up, -Ed,” he invited. “A penny, a nickel, any little thing.” - -Ed looked in the hat. He saw a button, a burnt match, a pebble, and a -slice of tobacco. He grunted and puffed at his pipe. “Set down, Jim,” he -invited. “Heat’s touched your head.” - -Jim explained, in a hurt tone: “No, Ed, not a bit. Only--some of the -boys thought we’d take up a collection and send downstairs for a -tombstone for Hollow.” - -Ed swung his head slowly and looked at Jim; and a slow grin broke across -his countenance. “I declare,” he commented, “you’re a real joker, Jim.” -Then he laughed a cackling laugh, wagged his head, and fell into silence -again. - -The second precinct was the most important in Hardiston. Its voters -numbered half as many again as its next rival. And so the candidates -gave it more than its share of attention that day. Chase came early and -often. Each time he disseminated cigars and amiability. This was his day -of glory; and he ate it with a relish, visibly smacking his lips. - -Caretall and Gergue came together about eight o’clock in the morning. -Amos had very little to say. He glanced at the voting lists, nodded to -Ed Howe, called a greeting to Jim Thomas and departed. Peter Gergue -remained for a time, scratching the back of his head and talking with -those who came to vote. - -Amos came back at noon, and as it happened, he met V. R. Kite at the -voting place. Kite voted in this precinct, and he had just deposited his -ballot when Amos arrived. The two men greeted each other amiably. Amos -said: “Morning, Mr. Kite.” - -“Good morning, Congressman.” - -“Just voting?” - -“Yes. Overslept.” - -Amos winked. “I trust you voted right, V. R.” - -Kite nodded briskly. “Right as rain, Congressman. You too?” - -“Sure.” - -Jim Thomas listened with frank interest. Now he found an opening for his -joke. “You’d better drop in a few votes here, Congressman. Chase is -running strong.” - -Amos looked at him with interest. “You don’t say, Jim?” - -“Yes, I do.” - -“Well--how do you know, Jim?” - -Thomas became faintly confused. “Oh, I can tell.” - -“You ain’t been looking at the ballots, have you, Jim?” - -Jim blustered. “Look-a-here--who you accusing?” - -“You ain’t? Then you must be one of these mediums that can read a folded -paper.” - -“Oh, sugar! You go....” - -Amos grinned. “Matter of fact, Jim, I wish I knowed you was right. I’m -frank to say, Jim, that I got a bet on a horse named Chase to win.” Jim -gasped, and Amos nodded soberly. “Yes, sir, Jim. You just hear me.” - -Jim took a plug of tobacco from his pocket and tore at it with his teeth -and stuffed it away again. The operation restored his composure. “Well, -Congressman, you’d ought not to bet--and you a lawmaker.” - -“It ain’t rightly a bet, Jim,” said Amos. “It’s a sure thing.” He turned -toward the door. “Good aft’noon, Jim.” - -The voting, beginning slow, had picked up during the noon hour. A steady -stream of men came in throughout that period and when this stream -subsided, four-fifths of the registered voters had cast their ballots. -Ed Howe suggested: “Might as well close up shop at four, hadn’t we, -Jim?” - -“Sure,” said Jim. “They ain’t no real contest to-day anyway.” - -“I reckon that’s right,” Ed agreed. - -This was a quarter before two o’clock in the afternoon. At two o’clock, -Caretall and Chase came face to face at the door of the voting room. -They came in arm in arm; and Chase asked graciously: “Well, boys, how -are things going?” - -Jim Thomas reported briskly, “Fine, Mr. Chase. Most of the votes in. Ed -and me’s figuring to close at four.” - -Chase nodded. “I guess that’s safe. Don’t you think so, Amos?” - -“Whatever you say, Chase,” Amos agreed. “Looks to me like the fight’s -all over.” - -It was observed at that time, however, that Congressman Caretall was -strangely buoyant for a beaten man. - -Chase and Caretall separated at the door, and Jim Thomas called to Ed -Howe: “I’m going uptown and get me some dinner. I ain’t ate yet.” - -“Go along,” Ed agreed. - -Jim went along, overtaking the elder Chase, and they walked together -along Pearl Street and up Main to the restaurant. Chase was quietly -contented and exceedingly courteous and gracious to those whom they -encountered; and for the first half of the journey, Jim basked in the -great man’s smile. - -It was at the corner of Main Street that the first fly dropped into -Jim’s ointment. As they turned the corner, they encountered three men. -One was V. R. Kite; another was old Thompson, crippled with rheumatism -but fat with wealth, and a lifelong enemy of Chase; and the third was -Thompson’s son, the shoe man. - -Chase said: “Good afternoon, gentlemen,” to these men. Kite responded: -“Afternoon!” Old Thompson grunted; and young Thompson said: “How do you -do, Mr. Chase?” with entirely too much sweet deference in his tones. -They passed the group, but when they had gone twenty yards, something -prompted Jim Thomas to look around, and he detected the elder Thompson -in the act of smiting his knee in a paroxysm of silent and malignant -mirth. - -Right then, Jim Thomas smelled a rat. He looked up at Chase, but Chase -was blind and deaf. Jim started to speak, then thought better of it; and -at the next corner, he left his chieftain and turned aside to the -restaurant. - -It seemed to him that Sam O’Brien, the fat proprietor of the place, -grinned at him when he entered. He ordered a veal sandwich, and when it -was ready for him, he doused it with mustard and ate it with sips of -cold water between each mouthful. It was delicious, but his stomach was -uneasy under it. - -Sam was frankly grinning at him; and so Jim asked at length, in some -desperation: “What’s the joke, Sam?” - -Sam shook his head. “How’s the election going, Jim?” - -“All Chase.” - -Sam threw back his head. He was a fat man, and the mirth billowed out of -him. He rocked, he slapped his knee. “All Chase!” he gasped. “All Chase! -Oh, Jim! Oh, Jimmy man! All Chase!” He wiped tears from his eyes. “Jim, -you’ll kill me!” - -Jim snorted. He was thoroughly disturbed. Sam was a man whose finger -touched the public pulse. Obviously, he knew something. Jim leaned -across the counter. “What’s the joke, Sam? Come on--let me laugh, too.” - -Sam waved his fat hands at his customer. “You go away, Jim. You go ’way. -You’ll kill me.” - -His chortles pursued Jim to the street. There Thomas paused, irresolute. -What was he going to do? Warn Chase? Warn Chase’s cohorts? But what -should he warn them about? He remembered suddenly that his place was -beside the ballot box, and he turned and fairly ran down the street to -the voting rooms. And it seemed to him that, as he sped, mirth pursued -him. - -But he found everything as he left it. Ed Howe still sat by the stove, -still smoked. He looked up as Jim entered, and shifted his pipe in his -mouth. - -“Why, Jim!” he exclaimed in pretended dismay. “You’re all het up! You’re -all of a stew! Jim--have you gone and seen a ghost?” - -Jim Thomas glared at him. He had gone away from this place confident and -calm; he returned in a turmoil of fear; and the worst of this fear was -that he did not know what it was he feared. He glared at Howe. - -“What you been up to whilst I was gone, Ed Howe?” he demanded. - -Ed looked at him in surprise. “We-ell--I’ve smoked two pipes.” - -Jim strode to the ballot box, shook it, stared into its slot as though -to read its secret. - -Ned Bentley came in. He wished to cast his vote, and proceeded to do so. -As he was about to go, he paused for a moment on the threshold. - -“Has anybody here seen Wint?” he asked. - -It was the stressing of his words that startled Jim. This stress, the -emphasis of the verb, suggested that they had been discussing Wint, or -that Wint must be in all their thoughts. And Jim had not thought of Wint -Chase for days. - -“Why should we have seen Wint?” he demanded, and looked at Ed Howe. Ed -was grinning. - -Of a sudden, light burst on Jim Thomas. It was not all the truth that he -guessed. But it was enough of it to make his head swim. Without a word, -he leaped for the street and ran across to the hotel--where there was a -telephone. - -Ed Howe watched him go--and grinned. “I declare--Jim acts right crazy,” -he drawled. - -Jim came back presently, a grim set about his jaw. He had no word for -any of them. But he went to the voting list and copied the names of -those citizens who had not yet voted, and went to the telephone again. -When he returned this time, it was five minutes to four o’clock. - -Ed lounged up from his chair. “Well--we’ve ’greed to close the polls -now. Go to counting....” He started for the door, as though to bolt it. - -Jim Thomas sprang in front of him. Jim was mad. “Git back there, Ed -Howe.” - -Ed looked puzzled. “Why--what--” - -“Yo’re tricky; but you ain’t won yet. Set down. Legal hour for closing -is six. We’ll have some law here.” - -“But we ’greed on four....” - -“Shut up!” - -Ed lounged back in his chair. “Well--in that case--I got time for -another smoke.” He filled his pipe and began it. - -There followed a hectic two hours. Hardiston had never seen anything -like it, anything even approaching it. - -Every automobile that could be mustered by the Chase forces was -mustered. Every livery stable in town hitched up its most ramshackle -team. Even the funeral hacks were pressed into service. Fenney’s motor -truck brought two loads of men from the glass factory. Even Bob Dyer’s -old tandem bicycle came into use. - -And when the elder Chase met Congressman Caretall in front of the Post -Office at half past five, he refused to speak to him. - -It was open war, with no quarter asked or given. The joke was out, and -the Congressman’s men were enjoying it in anticipation. They exulted -openly; they gathered at the polling places to watch the voters whom the -Chase workers dragged thither. They cheered these workers on, praised -them, encouraged them, made bets on their success. - -It was a hectic two hours, and it lived long in Hardiston annals. But it -had to end. - -When the town clock struck six, the polls closed. And at every precinct -in town, the strain relaxed and took, forthwith, the form of hunger. -Unanimously, the election officials sat down with the unopened ballot -boxes on a table, in plain view of the world, and sent out for supper. - -Around the ballot boxes, they ate their sandwiches. Jim Thomas ate in -grim silence, iron-jawed and moody. Ed Howe had recovered his spirits. -He was urbane, gracious. He even gave a fair imitation of the manner of -the elder Chase, at which all but Jim Thomas managed to smile. - -In the morning, Jim had been jubilant and Ed had been moody and still; -but now the rôles were reversed. It was remarked afterward that no one -had guessed Ed Howe had it in him; and his imitation of the elder Chase -distributing cigars was destined to make him famous. - -But this had to end, too. There came a time when the ballot boxes had to -be opened. The tally sheets were prepared, pencils were sharpened, the -boxes were unlocked; and at a quarter past eight o’clock, Jim Thomas -lifted the first ballot from the box and unfolded it. - -He looked at it; and a red flood poured over his face, and his jaw -stiffened. But it was his duty to call the vote, and he called it: - -“For Mayor--Chase!” - -He was still staring at the ballot, and it did not need Ed Howe’s mild -question to confirm his guess at Congressman Caretall’s coup. - -What Ed asked was simply: “Which Chase, Jim?” - - - - -CHAPTER XI - -THE NOTIFICATION - - -Where was Wint? Others beside Bentley were asking that question, as the -afternoon of election wore along. Where was Wint? - -No one had seen him. Every one was asking the question. No one was -answering. But the inquirers, casting back and forth along the trail, at -length hit upon one fact. Wint, for days past, had been consistently in -the company of Jack Routt. - -Where, then, was Routt? - -On the morning after Amos Caretall’s announcement at the Rink that he -would vote for a Chase for Mayor, Jack Routt had gone to the Congressman -with questions on his lips. He had come away with instructions, -instructions to keep much in Wint’s company and to keep the young man -out of harm’s way till election day. - -He had done this zealously. Until Monday evening, he and Wint were -almost constantly together. That evening, Wint went to Joan’s house, and -bluntly rebuffed Jack’s offer to accompany him. But when Wint came -out--and he came out in a sulky and defiant manner--Jack was waiting for -him at the gate. - -Jack did not appear to be waiting. He seemed to be merely passing, on -his way downtown; and Wint hailed him. - -“Hello--you!” - -“Hello, Wint! Just going home?” - -“Home? It’s early yet. Going uptown?” - -“Yes.” Routt hesitated, as though confused. “I--we--I’m going up to get -a prescription filled.” - -Wint laughed. “For snake bite?” - -“Oh, no. A real prescription.” - -“You don’t say!” - -Jack protested. “Sure. So--good night.” - -Wint thrust his arm through the other’s. “What do you want to get rid of -me for? I’ll walk up with you.” - -Jack balked. “Oh, now, Wint--you--your father will be down on you. You -ought to cut it out, Wint. There’s nothing in it for you. You never know -when to stop!” - -Wint stiffened sulkily, but his voice was gentle. “That’s tough! Too bad -about me! And it’s a shame what dad will do to me, now isn’t it?” He -took a step forward. “Coming, Jack?” - -So they departed together. - -At daylight, the elder Chase, arising early to go to the polls, met -Routt. Jack was homeward bound; and he was a weary young man. Wint was -not with him. They exchanged greetings, but no more. - -Routt did not again appear in public until something after noon, -election day. When he came downtown then, he was as spruce as ever, his -eyes clear, and his cheeks pink with health. He showed no signs of -the--fatigue that the elder Chase had remarked in him. - -Forthwith, men began to ask him: “Where is Wint?” - -The first man that put the question was Peter Gergue. This was a big day -for Peter. He had been busy, whispering and advising and suggesting and -laughing a little behind the back of the elder Chase. He had been too -busy getting out the votes and directing the voters to think much about -Wint until Jack appeared; but the sight of Jack reminded him of Wint; -and so he asked: - -“Where is Wint, anyway?” - -Jack looked to right and left. “I don’t know,” he said. - -Gergue drawled: “It’s your job to know.” - -“I know it is. But--he got away from me.” - -“Got away from you?” - -“Yes. Last night. I couldn’t stop him.” - -Gergue frowned and ran his fingers through his back hair. - -“It was your job to stop him.” - -Jack threw out his hands. “You never saw him when he’s going good.” - -Peter nodded and spat. “No,” he said slowly. “No--that’s right. Where -d’you say you left him?” - -Routt shook his head. “I wish I knew. He dodged me....” - -Gergue shook his head. “Go along. Don’t let ’em see you talking--too -much.” - -As the afternoon passed and especially after that final two hours of -scurry and effort began, the inquiries for Wint increased in volume. But -at six o’clock Wint was still listed as missing, and he was still -missing at eight, and he was still missing when the count of the ballots -was completed. - -But fifteen minutes later, Skinny Marsh, a man without visible means of -support, met V. R. Kite on the street and drew him into the dark mouth -of an alleyway. - -“Kite,” he said huskily, “I got something to tell you.” - -“What is it?” V. R. asked crisply. - -“You know where Wint is?” - -“No. Do you?” - -“Yes.” - -Kite was interested enough now. “Where?” - -Marsh told him; and ten seconds later, Kite was walking briskly up the -street, gathering his clans. - - * * * * * - -In the valley on the northeast side of Hardiston, there is a network of -railway tracks, the freight and coal yards of the D. T. & I. Acres of -ground are covered with slack, deposited through many years, and -sprinkled over with the cinders from a thousand puffing engines. - -This is low land. At one spot, a stagnant pool forms every year, and -furnishes some ragged skating for the children of the locality. The ice -factory is on a hill above this pool. At the other end of the yards, -there is a gaunt and ruined brick structure that was once a nail mill; -and this mill gives its name to the section. - -Across the tracks, there are half a dozen streets, lined for the most -part with well-kept little cottages of workingmen. But in one street -there is a larger structure that was once a hotel. - -This hotel is called the Weaver House. It fronts on the street, is -flanked on one side by a railway track, and is backed by the creek whose -muddy waters lap its sills at flood time. This was, in its days of -glory, a railroad hotel, catering to the train crews in the days before -the roads frowned on drink among the men. When the road threatened to -discharge any man seen in the place, its business languished. But -prohibition brought the Weaver House a measure of prosperity. There was -strategic merit in its situation. A rear room overhung the creek; and a -section of the floor of this room was so arranged that when a bolt was -pulled the floor would swing downward and drop whatever it bore into the -concealing waters. - -This was a simple and effective way of destroying evidence; and the -owner of the place made good use of it. - -The office of this hostelry was a square room at one corner in front. At -eleven o’clock on the night of election day, there were five creatures -in this room. - -Four were human; one was a dog. - -The office was lighted by a single oil lamp. The chimney of this lamp -had once been badly smoked, and subsequently cleaned by a masculine -hand. It was, to put it gently, dingy. Also, its wick needed trimming. -As a result of these defects, the light it gave was not blinding. - -This lamp stood on a square table in one corner of the room. A wall -bench ran along two sides of the table. At the corner, a checkerboard -was set on the table, and over this board two old men leaned. They were -engrossed in their game. Both were gray, both were unclean, both were -ragged. Both were bearded, and the beards of both were stained, below -the mouth, with tobacco. Nevertheless, they played keenly, and at the -conclusion of each game broke into bitter, cackling arguments. These -arguments lasted only so long as it took them to rearrange the men, when -the one whose turn it was made the first move, and silence instantly -descended on them again. - -These gusts of debate which broke from the old men now and then were the -only sounds in the room. - -Beside one of the men, and leaning forward over the table in a strained -and awkward position, was the boy. He may have been fourteen years old. -But it was strange and pitiful to see in his face, in his eyes, an air -of age and grim experience almost equaling that of his two old -companions. This boy was dressed in clothes too small for him, so that -his wrists stuck out from his sleeves, his neck reared itself bare and -gaunt above his coat collar, and his pale ankles and shins were exposed -above the shoes he wore. - -This boy was reading. He was reading a copy of the bulletin of the Ohio -Brewers’ Association. He was spelling it out word by word, with the -closest attention. When the old men burst into argument, the boy shook -his head a little as though annoyed by their outcries. But for the rest, -he read steadily, passing his fingers along the lines as he read. - -The dog slept on the floor at his feet. The dog was just a dog. - -The other person in the room was the manager of the Weaver House. The -manager was a woman. The manager was also the owner. She sat in a chair -beside what had been the bar, at one side of the room. Her hands were -folded in her lap, her head lolled on one shoulder, her mouth was open, -and she was asleep. - -This woman was a virago. In the old days, she once hit a brakeman with a -rubber bung starter, and he died. She was acquitted because the brakeman -was drunk and she pleaded self-defense. She was feared and respected by -the men among whom she lived. In Paris, in ’93, she would have been a -commanding figure. In the Nail Mill Addition of Hardiston she was a -plague. But as she sat here now, asleep, her old hands folded in her -lap, she invited not fear nor disgust but just compassion. - -She was merely a tired old woman, asleep. - -She was still asleep when the street door opened and four men came in. - -The floor of the office was a foot below the level of the street. The -first of the four men tripped and stumbled over this descent; and this -slight sound woke the woman. She got to her feet with scrambling -quickness, and from behind the breastwork of the dusty bar, surveyed -her visitors. Her eyes were failing, and she thrust her head forward and -twisted it on one side that she might see the better. - -When she saw who the leader of the four men was, she straightened up -with relief and said, her voice openly contemptuous: - -“Oh, it’s you, Kite?” - -It was. V. R. Kite, Jack Routt, and two of Kite’s satellites. Kite -glanced at the men over the checkerboard, and at the boy. The old men, -at their entrance, had looked up in fretful hostility, surrendered to -the inevitable, and returned to their game. The boy continued to read. - -“Hello, Mrs. Moody!” said Kite to the woman; and he stepped toward her -and lowered his voice. “Is there a man--Wint Chase--staying here?” - -Mrs. Moody grinned. The grin revealed a startlingly perfect set of false -teeth, as beautiful as those of a girl of twenty. Their very beauty made -them hideous in Mrs. Moody’s mouth. She nodded. - -“I want to see him.” - -“He’s upstairs. I’ll show you.” - -She turned around and took a lamp from a shelf behind her and lighted -it. Then, with this in her right hand, and her petticoats gathered up in -her left, she emerged from behind the bar and led the way to the stairs. - -The four men followed in silence. Kite led, and Routt was on his heels. - -The stairs were uncertain; but they made the ascent without disaster. -Mrs. Moody led the way along a narrow hall to an open door, and stood -aside here so that the others might enter. She was enjoying herself. - -The four men went into the dark room, and the woman followed and set the -lamp on the mantel. This lamp illumined the place. - -The room contained a bed, a chair, and a wardrobe. On the chair were set -two shoes. On the floor lay a hat and a coat and one sock. In the bed, -sprawling on his back upon the dirty coverlet, was Wint. - -The woman crossed and shook him by the shoulder. She screamed at him: - -“Wake up, deary! Here’s gentlemen to see you!” - -Routt crossed quickly to her side, his face working. “Here. Let me!” - -She pushed him scornfully. “And don’t I know the ways of a drunk, at my -age? Get back with you. It’s me that has a right to bring him out of -it.” - -She shook Wint again; and this time he came slowly back to -consciousness. He gasped, flung out his arms, stirred. His mouth twisted -as though at a bad taste on his tongue. They waited for his eyes to -open, but after a moment he settled back into sleep again. - -The woman looked up over her shoulder. “He’s had a full dose. Since noon -he’s been so.” She shook Wint again, yelled into his ear, cuffed him. - -Thus presently he woke. - -His eyes opened, though he still lay on his back. His eyes opened, and -they wandered idly about the room, fixing a dull gaze now on this face -and now on that. Wint was usually amiable when he was drunk, and so when -he discovered Routt, he grinned and tried to sit up. - -“Good ol’ Jack,” he said thickly. “Tried be a guardian t’ me. I fooled -’m. No hard feelin’s, Jack. Shake, ol’ man.” - -He leaned on one elbow and thrust out an unsteady hand. V. R. Kite -grinned wickedly, and Routt stepped forward and sat down on the bed and -put his arms about Wint’s shoulders. - -“Wint,” he begged. “Stiffen up! We’ve got to get you out of here.” - -Wint shook his head. “I’m comf’ble here. My hostess--” He waved a hand -toward Mrs. Moody. “She’s a lady. I’ll stay right here. I’m always go’n’ -stay here, Jack.” - -Routt shook him gently, cuffed his cheeks smartly. “Wint! Wint! Come out -of it! Come on. Let’s go to my house. Let’s go home.” - -Wint recognized the others. “H’lo, V. R.,” he said amiably. “V. R., why -this sudd’n s’lic’tude?” - -V. R. Kite was not a bashful man. He was enjoying himself. “I came to -take you home--take you to some respectable house,” he declared. “This -is no place for you.” - -Mrs. Moody broke into objurgations. But one of Kite’s companions deftly -hustled her into the hall, and silenced her there. Wint persisted: - -“Why don’ this place suit me all right? I wanna know, V. R.” - -Routt looked at Kite, and Kite said oracularly: “Because, my friend, the -voters of Hardiston have elected you their next Mayor.” - -Wint was swaying a little in Routt’s arms; and for a time his face -remained blank. Then it assumed a puzzled look. In the end he asked, his -voice less unsteady: “What’s--that?” - -“You’re elected Mayor, Wint,” Routt told him. “Brace up.” - -Wint sat up slowly, pushing Routt’s arms aside. “You mean--my father, -don’t you?” - -Routt shook his head; and Kite said pompously: “No, not your father. -Yourself. The voters wrote in your name on the ballots....” - -They saw a slow sweep of red flood Wint’s face; and for an instant his -eyes closed as though he were fainting. The flush passed and left him -pale. He got up, stood erect, unsteady, then firm. He shed drunkenness -as though it were a cloak, throwing it off with a backward movement of -his shoulders. - -They watched him, waiting; and V. R. Kite suddenly moved a little toward -the door, half afraid. - -Then Wint burst out on them. He waved his hands furiously. “Routt!” he -shouted. “This is a poor joke. It’s a damn poor joke. You Kite, you old -whited sepulchre. You panderer, you worse than a prostitute--get out of -here! Jack--I counted you my friend. You’re all dogs, cowards, rascals! -Get out! If I choose to lie drunk in this shack--I’ll lie here. None of -you shall stop me. It’s not your affair. It’s mine. Mine! Get out! The -last one of you! Get out!” - -He was so furious that they obeyed him. Routt tried to protest, but Wint -gripped him by the shoulders and whirled him and thrust him toward the -door. - -They tumbled over each other into the hall. Even V. R. Kite lost his -dignity. Wint pursued them, cursing them. He drove them to the stairs, -down, stood above them with brandished fists. And when they had gone he -still stood there for a space, trembling and alone. - -Then he turned and went haltingly back into the room. He was no longer -drunk. He was as sober as hell. He went into the room, stood at the -door, frozen, ghastly white. - -The lamp still stood on the mantel, and he crossed to it without knowing -what he did. He stood before it. - -There was a cracked mirror behind the lamp, above the mantel. Wint saw -himself in it. - -He looked into his own eyes for a long instant; and then his face -twitched into a terrible, shamed, disgusted grimace. He lifted the lamp -in both hands and sent it crashing into the grate in the fireplace. It -splintered and shivered into fragments. The flame of the wick still -burned, however, and the oil that had spilled caught fire, so that for a -time the hearth and the grate were wreathed in blue flame. - -Then the oil burned itself out. The room was left in darkness. - -Wint went slowly across to the miserable bed and sat down on it. He -gripped his head in his hands. After a little he lay down on his back on -the bed. - -Presently his misery and shame became so poignant that tears filled his -eyes and welled over and flowed down his cheeks to the pillow. He -ignored them. - -Eventually, the silence in the room was torn by a single, racking sob. - -END OF BOOK ONE - - - - -BOOK II - - - - -CHAPTER I - -MULDOON - - -The sun woke Wint in the morning; and the awakening was cruel. Level, -white-hot rays burned through his eyelids as though they would char to -cinders his aching eyes. He threw his arm fretfully across his face to -keep off the glare and lay quietly on the shabby bed, groping back into -the night and into the hours of the preceding day in a terrible effort -to remember. - -There was no more drunkenness in him. The shock of what they had told -him had banished that. He was sober. Too sober, in all conscience, for -any peace of mind. It was his loneliness that was most torturing. If -there had been some one near, some one else in the room, for whose -benefit it was necessary to play a part, Wint would have stiffened his -resolution and laughed at the situation. But he could not play a part -that would deceive himself. Alone in the dingy bedroom in that -disreputable place, he burned with shame and tortured pride. - -He began to fit together the pieces of the puzzle. He never doubted that -it was true the voters had elected him. There had been truth in Jack -Routt’s eyes the night before, truth and a sort of triumph. Routt was a -good fellow and a true friend; and he rejoiced, no doubt, that Wint had -been so honored. Wint, thinking this, grimaced. He knew, without -explanations, that his election was a joke; a colossal joke in the first -place upon his father, and a grim jest at his own expense. He could -imagine the cackling mirth of those who had engineered the thing; and -this laughter that he seemed to hear lashed his ears. - -He flung himself over on his face and buried his head in his arms and -tried to think. He was full of rebellion. He would go away, leave this -place, never return.... - -After a time, he lifted his head and moved his body and sat up on the -bed, his feet on the floor. He sat up and looked about him and shuddered -in a sick way. - -The light of day made this room more hideous than it had been by -lamplight. The shattered lamp lay in the grate, and there was a charred -place on the floor near the hearth, where the oil had burned itself out, -when Wint threw down the lamp the night before. Above the mantel hung -the cracked mirror. In it from where he sat, Wint could see a distorted -reflection of the ceiling of the room, and an angle of the wall. There -had once been paper on this wall, and it had been cracked by the -shrinking of the plaster, and picked away by casual fingers, and here -and there it hung in short, ragged strips. The bare floor was unclean; -the chair near the bed where Wint’s two shoes now reposed was decrepit -and lacked paint. One door of the big wardrobe hung awkwardly from -weakened hinges. It was a little ajar, and Wint could see a disorder of -rubbish inside. On the floor near the chair lay his hat and coat and one -sock, where he had dropped them when he had come here and stumbled -drunkenly to bed. - -He held his head in his hands, and his fingers clenched in his crisp -hair. - -For some time, his senses had been catching hints of life in the -building below him. The smell of burning grease had come up the stairs -from the kitchen; and the grumble of voices now and then upraised in -protest or abuse had reached his ears. Once he heard, from a distance -and muffled by intervening doors and walls, the clamor of quarreling -dogs. But these things did not penetrate his consciousness until a new -and louder disturbance broke out somewhere below. - -A dog barked, snarling and angry; another yelped. The two joined their -voices in an angry tumult of sound. Then a woman’s voice, the voice of -Mrs. Moody, shouted abuse, and a door opened and cries and barks and -snarls redoubled. - -Wint lifted his head, in sudden recognition. He heard the thud of some -missile that had missed its mark and clattered against the floor; and -then he heard the scramble of hard-toed feet racing up the stairs, and -the snuffing of eager nostrils. His eyes lighted softly; and he called: -“Muldoon!” - -There was a yelp of delight and a new scuffle of feet, and Muldoon -plunged in through the open door and was all over Wint in a delirious -joy at this reunion. The dog leaped up on Wint’s knees; it tried to -climb on his shoulders; its tongue sought to caress his cheeks; it -nipped his hands lovingly; and all the time it whined a low whine of -happiness. Wint, cuffing the hard and eager head, smiled in spite of -himself at the dog’s caresses; he smiled, and caught Muldoon by the ears -and held him away and shook him affectionately. - -“You, dog!” he scolded. “How did you come here? Eh, you?” - -Muldoon wriggled in a desperate effort to explain; and then he stiffened -in Wint’s arms, and turned toward the door with hackles rising. Wint -looked that way and saw Mrs. Moody, panting with the zeal of her -pursuit. The virago came in; she bore a stick of firewood in one harsh -hand; she made for Muldoon, and her old lips dripped blistering abuse. - -Wint drew Muldoon close in his arms and held up a protesting hand. “Wait -a minute, wait a minute!” he warned her. “What’s the matter?” - -She smiled mirthlessly, brandishing her billet and reaching for -Muldoon’s scruff. “I’m a-goin’ to whale that pup, deary,” she told Wint. -“He’s been around here all morning.” - -Wint hugged Muldoon closer. “Of course,” he said, “he knew I was here.” - -She looked puzzled. “He ain’t your’n, is he?” - -“Sure,” Wint told her. “He’s some dog, too.” - -The woman’s anger vanished. “Well, say now, if I’d a knowed that....” -She laughed, her desolately beautiful false teeth glistening between her -wrinkled lips. “He’s drove my dog crazy. He come around here before day, -and Jim heard him and tried to get out. Woke me up. I drove this one -away; but he came back. Jim got out once, and they had it till I broke -’em up. And then a minute ago, Jim got out again, and when I went after -’em with this stove wood, that’n of your’n slipped by me and in and up -th’ stairs.” - -Wint rubbed Muldoon’s head proudly. “He must have tracked me, found me -out somehow,” he explained. “I left him locked up. Hope he didn’t hurt -your....” - -“Oh, Jim c’n take care of hisself. If he can’t, he’ll have t’ look out.” -She looked around the room curiously. “You had callers last night. D’ye -remember?” - -Wint nodded, bending over the dog. “Yes--I remember.” - -The woman studied him. “Thought mebbe you was too far gone to know -anythin’....” She waited for Wint to speak; but Wint volunteered -nothing, so she remarked: “I see th’ lamp got broke.” - -“I’ll pay for it,” Wint told her. She nodded. - -“That’s all right. All in the bill. You must’ve been tickled to hear -about bein’ elected.” - -Wint said nothing. The woman laughed harshly. “Never had a Mayor of -Hardiston in my hotel before. Had some sheriffs, and a marshal now ’nd -then. But no Mayor!” She shook with mirth at the thought. “I d’clare, -I’ll have t’ raise my rates.” - -Wint looked at her steadily, with expressionless eyes. He was fighting -to hide the humiliation which was stinging him; and he succeeded. His -silence at last frightened the woman; she backed toward the door, -babbling broken sentences. Only when she was in the hall, with an avenue -of flight open to her, did she recover herself. “But I s’pose you’ll -forgit old friends, now that you’re Mayor, deary,” she told him. - -Wint smiled bleakly. “Don’t count on it,” he said. - -She seemed uncertain whether to take this as a threat or reassurance. “I -was always a good friend to you,” she reminded him. - -He nodded. “Yes--you’ve been consistent, at least.” - -She wagged her old head, comforted and grinning. “I guess you won’t -forgit,” she told herself. And after a moment: “Will you be wanting some -breakfast?” - -Wint stroked the ears of Muldoon. “No,” he said. “No.” And he added -thoughtfully: “Thank you very much.” - -“That’s all right, deary,” she assured him, and so turned at last and -went haltingly down the stairs. - -When the woman was gone, Wint sat very still for a space, staring at the -empty doorway, thinking. Muldoon was on his lap, and Wint forgot the -dog, although his hand still played automatically with Muldoon’s ears. -The dog was for a time content with this, moving its head now and then -under Wint’s hand to get full value from his caresses; but by and by it -became conscious of his abstraction, and looked up into his face, and -wriggled, and at last muzzled a cold nose under his chin and nudged -upward against Wint’s jaw until Wint emerged from his absorption and -laughed and caught Muldoon’s head in his hands and shook it. “There, -boy,” he whispered. “D’you think I’d forgotten you? No fear, Muldoon.” - -Having aroused his master, Muldoon in his turn decided to feign -abstraction. He lay down, ostentatiously, across Wint’s knees, and he -pillowed his muzzle on his forepaws and lay there with eyes rolling up -in spite of himself to watch Wint’s face. Wint cupped the dog’s lower -jaw in his right hand and shook it gently. “What are they saying about -me uptown, Muldoon?” he asked. - -The dog moved its head, then fell into a motionless pose again. Wint -bent over it, whispering, half to Muldoon and half to himself. -“Laughing, of course,” he said softly. “Laughing! The joke of years!” He -smiled grimly. “Tough on dad. He’d set his heart on this Mayor -business.” - -He looked across to the window, and his eyes hardened. “They meant it as -much as a joke on me as on father,” he reminded himself, and his eyes -burned. He wondered how the plan had been carried through. Caretall and -Gergue must have had their hand in it; they had probably united with V. -R. Kite. It would be reasonably easy, he knew. His father had had no -real popularity. Winthrop Chase, Senior, was not a likable man. He was -not a vote getter. There was a self-conscious condescension about his -good-fellowship. - -Wint had never paid any great attention to local politics. He wondered -idly what a Mayor had to do. He tried to remember some of the things -Mayors had done in the past; and he found his only knowledge of the -subject concerned with a Hallowe’en prank as a result of which he and -two others had been haled before the Mayor’s court and badly frightened. - -“He must do something besides that,” he assured himself. “But Lord--I -couldn’t even do that.” - -What was he to do? That was the thing he had to decide, and he must -decide at once. What could he do? Was there any way by which he could -nullify the election; resign; abdicate; get himself impeached? He -thought of these projects wistfully. They took no concrete form in his -mind. He knew nothing of the machinery of local government, knew nothing -of the avenues of escape which might be open to him. - -He only knew that he would not be made thus the butt of the town’s -mirth. His face flushed at the thought; and he got up abruptly and -walked to the window, Muldoon pacing at his side and looking up -wistfully at his master. He would not do it. They should have their -trouble for their pains. They were fools. Impudent fools.... - -One thing he could do; one thing at least. He could go away. Hide. If he -were not here, they could not force him to serve. So much was sure. He -would go away.... - -This decision, Wint told himself, had cleared the air. He tried to -believe that it solved all his perplexities; and he bent over Muldoon -and cuffed the dog and romped with it across the room, to Muldoon’s -delirious delight. Then he began to whistle to himself, and so looked -about and sat down on the bed, and drew on the sock which still lay on -the floor. He had difficulty in fastening the sock supporter about his -leg. The leg of the trousers obstructed him. He fussed over the thing -until he was fuming again, and his face flushed with stooping. But at -last the trick was done, and he took his shoes from the chair and put -them on. He found that one of the laces was broken, no doubt by his -drunken fingers when he had unlaced the shoes before removing them. This -discovery whetted his resentment and disgust. He knotted the lace and -hid the knot under an eyelet of the shoe, where it pressed on his instep -and irked him. He kicked the shoe on the floor until it gave him some -measure of comfort. - -His hat and coat were on the floor. He put them on, brushing the dust -from the coat with his hands, and afterwards with a flicker of his -handkerchief. Then he crossed reluctantly to the speckled mirror and -looked into it. - -He saw that his face was dirty, and his collar soiled and crushed. He -took the collar off and turned it inside out and replaced it, and it -gave him some faint satisfaction to see the improvement thus effected in -his appearance. But he was still ghastly. There was no water in the -room; and he knew that the bathroom at the end of this upper hall was -not made for cleanliness, so he wet his handkerchief with his tongue and -scrubbed his face clean with that. The result had a forced and unnatural -look, but he was constrained to be content. - -He started slowly for the door, but his feet lagged. It was hard for him -to make up his mind to face the world again. He thought, uneasily, of -remaining here through the day and catching a night freight out of town; -and he turned irresolutely back toward the bed, but Muldoon, at his -knee, barked softly in remonstrance, and Wint bent and patted the dog’s -head and said softly: “Right you are, pup. We’re not afraid of them. But -Heaven help the man that laughs, Muldoon!” - -The dog wagged its whole body, and barked again, as though in approval; -and Wint smiled faintly and went again toward the door. He looked down -and saw that his trousers were wrinkled, and he smoothed and tugged at -them in an effort to give them some appearance of respectability. When -he had done his best for them, he went toward the door again, and this -time he did not stop. He went out into the hall, and to the stair head, -and so down into the office of the hotel. - -Like the bedroom, the office of the Weaver House suffered by daylight. -Even the dingy and unwashed window panes could not keep out the pitiless -sun; and the room’s ugliness was exposed in hideous nakedness. - -The room, save for the fact that the sun instead of a lamp lighted it, -was as it had been the night before. The smoky lamp, still standing on -the table, gave forth a smell of dirty oil which filled the place and -fought with the reek of bad tobacco and the pungent smell of alcohol. -Doors and windows were tight shut. At their corner of the table, above -their checkerboard, still leaned the two old men. It was as though they -had not stirred, the long night through. As Wint came down the stairs, a -game ended, and their cackling voices broke into the familiar argument, -while their stained old fingers swiftly rearranged the pieces for a new -beginning. Then one moved a piece, and both fell silent, and the new -game began. - -Mrs. Moody sat at her place behind what had been the bar. The only -change in the room since the night before was that instead of the -reading boy, a man sat by the table. This man was unshaven, trembling, -shrunken within his rumpled and baggy garments. His eyes were open, and -his head wagged from side to side as he sat, and his lips moved in an -interminable, mumbling argument with some one invisible. - -Jim, the dog that was just a dog, was not to be seen. - -Wint, with Muldoon at his heels, came down the stairs and stopped in -front of the bar and nodded to Mrs. Moody. He reached into his pocket, -and the old woman got up briskly and grinned at him, the enamel of her -teeth a blinding white flash in her wrinkled old face. Her eyes puckered -when she grinned; and she laid her hands, palms down, upon the bar. - -“Going away, deary?” she asked. - -Wint nodded. “What do I owe you?” - -“Sorry I ain’t got a bite to offer ye,” she apologized. Then, with a sly -glance at the men across the room. “Less’n you wanted to come out by the -kitchen in back. A little drop....” - -Wint shook his head. “Not to-day. How much?” - -She told him and he selected a bill and gave it to her. She took it, and -tucked up her apron and delved into the pocket of her loose skirt and -produced a dirty, cloth bag. This bag was tied with a string at the top; -and she untied the string, and rummaged inside, and found his change, -and gave it to him. He took it from her; and as he did so, he turned at -a shuffling step and saw the drunken man at his elbow. - -This man peered at him; and Wint moved a little away from him. The man -followed a lurching step, and grinned placatingly, and mumbled: “Wint -Chase, ain’t it?” - -Wint nodded. “Yes.” He tried to pass the man and get to the door; but -the man thrust out a shaking hand. - -“Shake!” he invited thickly. “Wanna shake hands with new Mayor. Voted -f’r you, voted f’r you three times.” - -Mrs. Moody was leaning across the bar and watching and grinning. Wint -hesitated, and then he took the man’s hand and shook it, and tried to -release it; but the man clung to it, and lunged closer, and put his -other hand on Wint’s shoulder. His weight fell against Wint’s chest. - -“New Mayor,” he repeated uncertainly. “Good, nice new Mayor.” He -chuckled loosely and wiped his wet mouth with the back of his hand and -gripped Wint’s shoulder again, and regarded Wint seriously, studying -him. “Good little man,” he applauded. “Make dam’ good Mayor f’r this -little town.” - -He rocked on his feet, and Wint tried to put the man away without -offending him, but the man staggered and clasped his arms around Wint’s -neck and giggled weakly on Wint’s breast. - -“This’ll be a nice, wet li’l town now, eh, boy!” he exulted. “Eh, boy? -Nice, wet li’l town....” - -Wint, with a sudden revulsion that sickened him and stiffened his angry -pride, thrust the man away and stepped quickly out into the street. He -felt Muldoon brush against his legs, and he looked down at the dog and -set his jaw. - -“You, dog,” he whispered. “They’ve tried one joke too many. Eh, pup? -We’ll stay and turn the joke on them, Muldoon. What say?” - -Muldoon whined approvingly, fidgeting on eager feet; and Wint bent and -clapped him on the shoulder. “Come on, you,” he said softly. “Come on. -Let’s go home.” - - - - -CHAPTER II - -JOAN - - -Wint left the Weaver House at a little before noon, Muldoon trotting -sedately at his heels. The street outside the hotel was empty; and Wint -was glad of this. He followed it to the railroad tracks, intending to -cross the yards and take a back street toward his home. But at the end -of the street, he encountered Peter Gergue. - -Gergue saw him coming, and stopped, and fumbled in the tangle of hair at -the back of his head until Wint came near. Wint would have avoided him, -but there was no way to do this, and so he said coldly: - -“Good morning, Pete.” - -Gergue grinned slowly. “Why--right fair,” he agreed. “Yes’r, it’s a -right fair morning--if you look at it that way.” - -Wint nodded. He would have passed by, but Gergue stopped him. “I was -coming down after you,” he said. - -“Why?” Wint asked. - -“Oh--I thought you might want company. Heard you was here.” - -“Want anything special?” - -“We-ell--I did think of congratulating you.” - -Wint smiled coldly. “Thanks. That all?” - -Gergue rummaged through his hair. “Thought you might have things to -inquire about.” - -Wint started to say “No” to this, then changed his mind and looked -steadily. “You--you mix in politics, don’t you, Pete?” - -Gergue looked startled. “Why--some,” he admitted. “Why, yes, I might -say--some.” - -“Friend of Congressman Caretall’s, aren’t you?” - -Gergue spat, and nodded slowly. “I like to help him out--when I c’n -manage,” he agreed. - -Wint smiled again. “Then you know how this thing happened.” - -“Some,” said Peter. - -“Explain it to me,” Wint invited. “How was it worked? And--why?” - -Gergue grinned slyly. Then he laughed, a shrill burst of merriment of a -sort unusual in this man. When this mirth passed, he touched Wint’s -lapel. “Cleanest piece of work I ever see,” he declared. - -“How was it done?” - -“Word o’ mouth! Word o’ mouth! Cong’essman knew folks was expecting -something f’om him. He kept ’em expecting. Told everybody he was going -to vote for a man named Chase. Got ’em worked up, sittin’ on needles and -pins and cockle burrs to know where the trick come in. Everybody knowed -they was some trick. Then--last minute--he passed the word to V. R. -Kite, and him and Kite passed the word around. Everybody figured it -would be a joke on your paw. Whole town took it laughing, and went and -done what Cong’essman told ’em t’ do. Writ in your name....” - -Wint smiled frostily. “Great joke, wasn’t it?” - -Gergue chuckled. “Fine. Take V. R. Kite. Tickled him half t’ death. Like -t’ killed Kite.” - -“Caretall and my father are against each other, of course.” - -“Sure. Your paw comes to the Cong’essman, high and mighty, offering him -this ’nd that. That wa’n’t no way to go at the Cong’essman. Amos ain’t -used to it.” - -Wint nodded. “But why me?” he asked. “Why pick on me?” - -Gergue waved his hand. “That made it more like a joke on your paw. -Everybuddy knowed what your paw thinks of you. Figured it’d pupplex him. -It did, too, Wint. It certainly did pupplex your paw.” - -“It would,” Wint agreed. “But--I should think Caretall would as soon see -my father elected as me.” - -“Yo’r paw had a little too much wind in his sails. Needed a little -coolin’ off. Amos gave it to him.” - -“But how about Kite?” Wint asked. “Why was he so ready to fall in with -it?” - -Gergue looked at Wint sidewise. “Why, he don’t like yo’r paw so very -much,” he explained, with an appearance of frankness, “and besides that, -Kite’s wet, and your paw’s dry. That stands t’ reason.” - -“He figured I would be wet, of course.” - -Gergue nodded emphatically. “Natural,” he said. “Natural, he figured -that way.” - -“Did Caretall have that idea, too?” - -Gergue wagged his head. “We-ell, now,” he parried, “Amos don’t lay so -much on that end of it. He’s a wet man, in politics; but he don’t touch -it hisself. I guess he just wanted t’ give you a leg up--see what you’d -do. Amos keeps his eye on the young fellows, that way.” - -They had crossed the tracks while they were talking, and now they met -two men. Wint knew these men casually; they knew him. They were workmen; -and they saw Wint and Gergue together, and grinned, and one of them -called: “Morning, Mr. Mayor.” - -Wint smiled at them amiably. “Good morning.” - -“Congratulations!” - -“Thanks.” Wint’s cheeks were burning. The men passed by, and he and -Gergue started up the hill by a back street that led toward his home. -Neither of them spoke. Presently they began to meet other men. One or -two men scowled at Gergue, stared angrily at Wint; but for the most part -they smiled covertly, and voiced congratulations. Their words seemed to -Wint to mark covert jibes. - -After a time the two came to a cross street that led toward town; and -here Gergue halted and looked at Wint curiously. “Was there anything -else?” he asked. - -Wint shook his head. - -“You wasn’t thinking, maybe, of walking uptown?” - -“Not now.” - -“Going on home, I guess.” - -“Yes.” - -Gergue nodded. “All right. When you come uptown, you might stop in and -see me.” - -“I’ll see,” Wint told him. - -“Amos aims to do right by you,” said Gergue. - -“Much obliged.” - -“You don’t want to hold this against him.” - -Wint smiled slowly. “Good-by,” he said. - -Gergue nodded. “By-by,” he responded. “I’ll see you again.” - -He turned toward town, and Wint watched him for a moment, and then went -on toward his home. Muldoon trotted sedately before him, ranging now and -then across the street or into a yard to investigate some affair of his -own. Wint walked swiftly, for he had an uneasy feeling of nakedness in -the light of open day, as though every one he encountered must see the -shame that was torturing him. He came to his home through a short cut -that brought him by way of an alley to the kitchen door; and when he -opened the door and stepped into the kitchen, he saw Hetty Morfee there. -Hetty was rolling biscuits on a board, her sleeves rolled to the elbows -on her creamy arms; and she turned at the sound of his entrance and -stood with the rolling pin in one hand, brushing back the hair from her -eyes with the other, and laughing at him softly. - -“Oh, you Wint!” she said. - -Wint closed the kitchen door behind him and faced the girl. “Is mother -here?” he asked. - -“She’s in next door.” She nodded her head reproachfully. “You certainly -have started something, Wint.” - -“Where’s father?” - -“Uptown. He telephoned just now to know if you had come home. He ain’t -coming home for dinner.” - -Wint dropped his eyes for a moment, then lifted his head. “All right,” -he said. “I--I suppose he’s mad as a hatter.” - -Hetty chuckled softly. “Mad as two of ’em,” she declared. “You certainly -have started something this time, Wint.” - -He looked toward the biscuit board. “Are those for lunch?” - -“Uh-huh.” - -“How soon will they be ready?” - -“Half an hour. You hungry?” She studied him, solicitude lurking in her -eyes. - -“Yes. I didn’t have any breakfast.” - -The girl moved toward him with the quick instinct of woman. “You poor -kid! I’ll get you something now.” - -He lifted his hand impatiently. “Never mind. Or--just a glass of milk.” - -She laughed, crossing the room toward the pantry. “You just sit down and -see.” And while he still stood irresolutely in the middle of the floor, -she was back with bread and butter and a glass of jelly and a bowl of -milk. She spread these things upon the table, and cut the bread for him, -and made him sit down and eat while she hovered over him, her eyes never -leaving the brown head as he bent above his plate. Now and then she -laughed softly, and more than once she repeated: “You surely have -started something this time.” - -He ate ravenously. He had not realized his own hunger. But after the -second slice, she stopped him. “Now that’s enough,” she declared. -“You’ll spoil your dinner.” - -He laughed, the first time he had laughed that day. “I guess not,” he -declared. “I could eat a house.” - -She smiled, carrying the viands back to their places. “Where was you -last night?” she asked curiously. - -He looked up at her, half resentful, half glad of her friendship and -understanding. “Weaver House,” he said. - -She made a little grimace. “Golly! You must’ve been pie-eyed for fair.” - -He flushed, but he nodded. “Yes.” - -“And look what they’ve done to you. It don’t pay, does it, Wint?” - -He laughed. “I suppose not.” - -“What are you going to do?” - -“I don’t know.” - -“Your paw’s awful mad.” - -He got up stiffly. “I suppose so. Well--he’s been mad before.” - -“And your maw’s upset.” - -“I’ll be up in my room,” he said. “Call me when dinner’s ready.” - -She was back at her biscuits, laying them delicately in the pan. “Sure. -Go ahead.” The door closed behind him. When she heard the click of a -latch, the girl stopped her work for an instant, and looked over her -shoulder at the closed door. She remained thus for a space; then brushed -her arm across her forehead as though a lock of hair distressed her, and -went on with her task. - -Wint went to his room, and threw aside his soiled garments, and bathed -and was half dressed when Hetty called up the stairs that dinner was -ready. He came down into the hall as his mother entered the front door. -When she saw him, she lifted her hands, and ran at him, and poured out -upon him a torrent of querulous complaint. “Wint, where have you been -all this time? Your father is so mad. He’s terrible mad at you. I never -saw your father so worked up, Wint. I don’t see what you had to go and -do a thing like that for anyhow, Wint. I told Mrs. Hullis this morning I -just couldn’t see how you could do it. Your father was so set on getting -elected, and everything; and he’d made so many plans, and when he came -home last night I said to him--” - -Hetty called from the dining-room door: “Dinner’s ready, ma’am.” - -“All right, Hetty, I’m a-coming,” Mrs. Chase assured her. “Wint, you -come along. I want to talk to you. I don’t see what you’re going to do -about it. I don’t see--I said to your father last night that I just -couldn’t see how you could--” - -Wint broke in: “Mother--please! It wasn’t my doing. I had nothing to do -with it.” - -“I said to your father last night, when he came home,” she insisted. “He -came home so mad, and everything. He was in a terrible state, Wint. He -ramped and tore around here like he was a crazy man; and I said to him -that I didn’t see how a son could do a thing like that to him. He was -tramping up and down, and he kept talking about you, and I said to him -that I--” - -“I tell you I had nothing to do with it, mother.” - -“I think Congressman Caretall ought to have something better to do than -to come home here and stir up a son against his father. I told your -father so; and I said--” - -“He didn’t stir me up against father, mother. It was a trick, a -political game. I didn’t know anything about it till they told me I’d -been elected.” - -“I said to him that I just couldn’t believe it. And he said if it wasn’t -true why weren’t you here at home where you belonged? He said you were -probably down at Caretall’s, laughing at your father. And I said I just -couldn’t see how a son could do a thing like that to a father like him. -Because your father has been good to you, Wint. He’s been mighty good to -you; and he’s stood a lot. I said to him that he’d stood a lot, and he -said you were probably off drinking again somewhere, and that you’d--” - -Hetty came in from the kitchen with the plate of biscuits, and set them -before Mrs. Chase, and looked at Wint and laughed and pressed her hands -to her ears and grimaced at Mrs. Chase’s unconscious head. Wint -protested: - -“Mother, I--” - -Mrs. Chase broke in. “Hetty, those biscuits are just fine. I declare, -your things always seem to come out better than mine. I wish I could do -it that way. I wish your father was at home, Wint. He likes hot biscuits -so. But goodness knows, he wouldn’t have any appetite to eat anything -to-day. Hetty told me when she called me to come home that he’d -telephoned he wasn’t coming. She told me you had come, and I came right -over to tell you that I just didn’t see how you could--” - -Wint was glad at last to finish and escape. He went up to his room, his -mother’s words pursuing him. The reaction had set in; and he was -terribly tired, and sick and full of sleep. He flung himself on his face -on the bed, and he tossed there for a space, thinking miserably, and so -at last he fell asleep. - -He was awakened by a thrumming knock on his door, and sat up and called -huskily: “Who’s that?” The door opened, and his father came in. - -His father came in, and shut the door behind him. Outside, Wint saw his -mother. She was saying something; and the closing door cut off her -words. His father ignored her; he slowly turned and faced Wint. - -It was late afternoon, almost dusk. Shadows had begun to fill the room. -Wint saw that his father’s face was black; and he got up from the bed -and stood there for a moment, and he saw that his father was trembling. -He took a step forward. “Father,” he said unsteadily, “I want to tell -you I had nothing to do with this. I’m sorry. And I’ll do whatever you -say to make things right.” - -The restraint which the elder Chase had imposed upon himself fled before -the wind of passion. He lifted his clenched hands as though he would -bring them down upon Wint’s head. “You! You!” he cried. “You’re my -son--and you join with drunkards and vagabonds and thieves to make a -laughingstock of me.” - -Wint protested. “I did not! I knew nothing.” - -“Don’t lie to me, Wint,” his father cried. The elder man’s anger was -terrible. It swept away the poise with which he faced the world, it left -him nothing but his wrongs; and these wrongs and his own rage somehow -transfigured and ennobled him. In spite of himself, Wint had never -respected and loved his father so much as then. He cried again, almost -pleadingly: - -“Dad....” - -“Be quiet!” his father cried. “Don’t speak. It is my time to speak. I -have kept silent too long. You have disgraced me with your drunkenness; -and now you make a joke of me before the world. You....” - -“I tell you, I knew nothing of this till it was done.” - -“You lie. You lie, Wint! And even if it were true, you have made it -possible by--by your debaucheries. You have given them the chance--you -have made me the laughingstock--” he flung his arms wide. “Why even the -Cincinnati papers have the story, Wint. They--the whole damned country -knows....” His voice broke suddenly; his hands dropped at his side. -Resentment fought with affection in Wint; and pride stiffened his voice -as he said again: - -“I told you I’d do anything, dad.” - -“Anything? What good will that do? You and Caretall--laughing at me! I -won’t stand it! I’ll break Caretall if it kills me. Caretall is a -scoundrel, a crook. He’s debauched the town....” - -He stopped suddenly, he became cold and still. “Come down to supper, -Wint,” he said shortly. “After that, you can get out. I’ve warned you -enough--the last time. I’m through.” - -Wint stiffened. “Dad....” he said softly. - -His father made a fierce gesture. “Be quiet! I tell you I am through.” -He whirled to the door, and opened it, and was gone before Wint could -speak again. But while Wint still stood quiet, he returned and called: -“I know where you were last night. That was enough. That alone. I’m -through. Through!” - -This time he did not return. And Wint waited for a space, and then, -mechanically and automatically, he picked up his hat, and put it on, and -went down the stairs. His mother and father were in the dining-room. He -heard his mother’s voice. But he did not go in. - -He went to the door and out, and down the walk to the street. As he -reached the pavement, the door opened behind him, and he looked back and -saw his father standing there. For a moment, the two looked at each -other; then the elder man turned his head, and went back into the house -and closed the door. - -Wint walked steadily down the street. He did not know where he was to -go; he did not think of this. And so it was without his own volition -that he came to Joan’s home, and saw the girl sitting in a chair upon -the veranda, a book in her lap. - -Her eyes met his. Her eyes were very serious and sad; but Wint turned -in, and came to the steps, and stood there before her. She smiled a -little wistfully; and he said, under his breath: “Joan.” - -She made no move to answer him. He said again: “Joan....” And then: -“Joan....” - -She bent her head a little, but her eyes held his. “Wint,” she said, so -softly he could scarce hear her words. “Wint--I’m sorry. But--I can’t go -on. I can’t--trust you, Wint. This is good-by.” - -He felt himself shrink a little at the word; and he stood still for a -moment till his senses steadied. Then he lifted his head a little. - -“I don’t blame you,” he told her. - -She said again: “Good-by!” And he nodded and echoed quietly: - -“Good-by, Joan.” - -For another moment, their eyes held each other. Then his dropped, and he -turned and went down to the street again. - - * * * * * - -Half an hour later, Mrs. Moody was lighting the smoky-lamp in the office -of the Weaver House when Wint came in. She saw him and grinned, and her -teeth reflected the lamp’s light like pearls. “Why, hello, deary! Back -again?” she called. - -He nodded. “The same room, please,” he told her. - -She bustled across to the stairs, and paused there and looked at him -wisely “A little drop first, in the kitchen?” she invited. - -He shook his head. “No--nothing.” - -And so presently he found himself in the place where he had slept that -sodden sleep the night before. - - - - -CHAPTER III - -THE STRATEGY OF AMOS - - -Wint had returned to the Weaver House in a numb revulsion of feeling. He -was hurt and angry at the whole world; and he was wholly at sea as to -what he should do. His instinct was to fight, to fight the thing out, to -fight his father and to prove to Joan that she was mistaken in her -condemnation. It was this instinct, with an unspoken thought that he -would face the thing honestly, that sent him back to the hovel where he -had spent the night before. That was where he belonged, he told himself. -It was to such places that his father and Joan had consigned him. So be -it. He found a grim sort of satisfaction in flaunting the stigma of his -shame. - -The greatest single force in Wint’s life had always been his resentment -of dictation. A devil of contrariness possessed him; a devil of false -pride that made him go counter to all warnings for the sheer joy of -opposition. Thus his best friends became his enemies; for their good -advice and counsel thrust him into evil paths; and by the same token, -those who thought themselves his enemies were as often as not his best -and truest friends. There was a stubborn streak in Wint that ruled him; -it was rare that the gentler side of him had the ascendancy. One of -those rare moments had come when he faced his father on this day. He had -been humble, shamed, regretful, ready to make any amends. But the elder -Chase, writhing under the ridicule to which the day had subjected him, -had been in no mood for gentleness; and the result of the interview of -father and son had been a parting which left them both sore and -resentful. - -The first faint anger in Wint’s heart grew swiftly. When he had seen -Joan, and she had sent him away, he coupled her with his father in his -thoughts. They were both against him; both thought him nothing better -than a drunkard; both thought him a treacherous and ribald fool. And the -consciousness of this lifted his head in anger, and stiffened his heart, -so that he swore he would fight out the battle and prove to them they -were wrong, and then throw his newly won victory in their faces. They -thought him a drunken sot; very well, he would fight the fight on that -basis. They thought the Weaver House was the place where he belonged; -very well, he would fight his fight from that brothel. And it was in -such fashion as this, wearing his own disgrace like a plume, that he -returned to Mrs. Moody’s disreputable hostelry. - -When he was alone in his room, he sat down on the edge of the bed and -lighted a cigarette. He rested his elbows on his knees, the cigarette -dangling from his clasped fingers, and considered. And as he thought, -his face hardened, hardened with the effort to control his own pity for -himself. He was immensely sorry for his own plight, immensely resentful -of the misunderstandings of which he was a victim. And he was terribly -lonely. He missed companionship--Jack Routt, Gergue, even Muldoon. -Muldoon would have been the most welcome of them all, but he had left -Muldoon at home. He regretted this; and his regret at last became so -keen that he could not bear it. With a sudden resolution, he tossed the -half-burned cigarette into the grate, and went down the stairs and -crossed the railroad and bent his steps toward home. Muldoon, at least, -would not condemn him. Muldoon was a faithful sort; a good pup.... - -He took alleyways and unfrequented streets, and avoided chance -encounters. Thus he came near his home without meeting any one, and he -went in through the alley and halted under a cherry tree that shaded -Muldoon’s kennel, beside the coal house, and whistled softly. The dog -might be in his kennel; he might be in the house; he might be roaming -abroad in search of his master. - -He whistled three times, and got no response. Muldoon was somewhere -beyond hearing. He might be in the house; and if he were and heard -Wint’s whistle, Wint knew he would bark a demand that he be allowed to -come out. - -So Wint whistled more shrilly; a long, familiar call. - -For a time he got no answer to this. He tried again, and this time he -heard the faint sound of a muffled bark from inside the house. This bark -came nearer, became clamorous, located itself at the kitchen door, where -Wint could hear Muldoon’s claws rattling on the panels. - -He started toward the kitchen, then halted. For the windows were -lighted; and at one of them Hetty Morfee appeared. She was wiping -dishes, and when she came to the window she held a plate, gripped in a -dishcloth, in her left hand, and shaded her eyes with her right as she -tried to peer out into the night. - -Muldoon’s close-cropped head appeared beside her at the window for an -instant, and he barked again. Wint shrank back into the shadow. He did -not wish to be discovered and he was unwilling to risk encountering his -father or his mother by going to the house. He shrank back into the -darkness; but he whistled again, and this time Hetty left the window and -opened the door, and Muldoon came out like a projectile, and found Wint -under the cherry tree, and slavered over him. - -Wint was so absorbed in the dog that he did not see, until too late, -that Hetty had followed Muldoon. She came on him, under the tree, -laughing softly. “It’s you, is it?” she called. - -“Yes.” - -“What’s the matter?” - -“I came for Muldoon. He’s mine.” - -She chuckled lightly. “You’re the original Mister Trouble, Wint. Your -paw says he never wants to see you again, and your maw’s gone over to -tell the neighbors all about it.” - -“Where’s father?” - -“He stomped off uptown after supper.” - -Wint fumbled with the dog’s head. “Thanks for letting Muldoon out,” he -said. - -“That’s all right. Don’t you want some supper? Come on in.” - -“No.” - -“Where are you going to spend the night? - -“The Weaver House.” - -She gave an exclamation of disgust. “That dirty joint!” - -“They say that’s where I belong. I can stand it if they can.” - -“Oh, don’t be a nut!” - -He turned away into the alley, Muldoon at his heels. She called after -him: “What’s your hurry?” - -“Good night.” - -“Your paw’ll come around.” - -Wint said nothing. He was moving away. She ran after him and caught his -arm. “Wint! Don’t be a nut! Come on back! He’ll come around.” - -He released his arm and shook his head. “That’s up to him,” he said. -“I’ve eaten dirt. All I intend to.” - -She lifted her shoulders, laughed. “Oh--all right. If there’s anything -you want from here, let me know and I’ll get it for you.” - -“Thanks. And--good night!” - -“Good night,” she said; and moved back into the shadow of the coal shed -and watched him disappear. Leaning there, one hand fumbling at her -throat, she was a wistful and unhappy figure. But when Wint was gone, -she laughed harshly, and turned back to her work in the kitchen. - - * * * * * - -If Hetty had wished to confirm Wint in his resolution to go his stubborn -way, she could have taken no better means than to repeat her warning: -“Don’t be a nut!” He took a certain delight in being thus unreasonable. -What he did was his own affair; it concerned no one else. And he -returned to the Weaver House in a surprisingly peaceful frame of mind -and climbed to his room and went to bed with Muldoon curled on the floor -beside him, and slept soundly and healthfully. - -He woke in the morning to find Muldoon sitting by the bed, watching him -and waiting for him to stir. When he opened his eyes, Muldoon wriggled -and yawned and licked his hand, and Wint chuckled, and got up briskly, -and dressed himself and went downstairs. The office was empty when he -came down, for the hour was early; and he went out without seeing any -one, and followed the railroad tracks to the station. There was a lunch -cart near the station; and he crowded in among the toil-grimed crew of -the night freight and ate a Hamburg steak sandwich garnished with a -biting slice of onion, and drank a great mug of steaming coffee. Some of -the men recognized him, and they talked to him with an unwilling respect -in their manner. He liked this. They did not seem to be laughing at him, -although they professed interest in the manner of his election, and -asked him how he had worked it, and what he was going to do now. He told -them, honestly enough, that he had known nothing about it beforehand; -and he told them, with equal honesty, that he was asleep in the Weaver -House when the word was brought to him. They seemed surprised that he -should state these things without attempt at palliation; and they seemed -to approve of him for doing so. Their attitude gave him renewed -confidence, so that he went up toward town with his head high, ready to -look men in the eye. - -He began to meet people at once. They were for the most part men going -to their work; and some of them eyed him angrily, and some seemed -inclined to laugh at him; but most of them, like the railroad men, gave -evidence of a certain new respect. They hailed him with effusive -cordiality as “Mr. Mayor,” but they seemed a little afraid of the sound -of their own words, a little afraid of what his attitude might be. - -Wint had made his plans. He must get some clothes from his home, must -cut himself off completely from his father. To this end he sought Jack -Routt. Routt, like every one in town, went to the Post Office each -morning for his mail; and Wint found him there. - -Routt shook his hand heartily. “Wint, congratulations!” he said, under -his breath. “This’ll be a great thing for you. It will steady you, -Wint.” - -Wint shook his head, some of the sullen anger of the night before -returning. He had no wish to be steadied, and he said so. “I can take -care of myself,” he told Routt. - -Jack nodded. “So you can. But you need something to hold you down. And -this’ll do it.” He nudged Wint in the ribs, smiling slyly. “Y’ know, -you’ve been hitting it too strong lately. You don’t know when to stop, -Wint. This will put the brakes on. Make you tend to business.” - -Wint brushed his hand across Routt’s face abruptly. “Cut it,” he said. -“Say, Jack, I want you to do something for me.” - -“Anything in the world.” - -“My father is sore. He thinks I was in on this. So he kicked me out last -night.” - -“Kicked you out?” Routt was startled and indignant. “Why, say, -that’s--Where did you go? Why didn’t you come over to my place?” - -Wint said consciously: “No--I went to the Weaver House. They know me -there.” - -Routt looked quickly around to see if any one had heard. “Sh-h-h!” he -warned. “Say, that was a fool thing to do. Don’t let any one find it -out. You want to walk straight now--” - -Wint cut in. “I want you to go out home and get my steamer trunk and -pack it with some things. There’s a blue suit in my closet. And shirts, -and so on. Get my overcoat, too. Mother will show you--or Hetty.” - -Routt looked at him quickly. “Hetty who?” - -“Hetty Morfee.” - -Routt looked at Wint and laughed softly. “Oh--she’s working for you?” - -“Yes.” - -“Nice kid, isn’t she?” - -“Yes. And--as I said--she’ll help you if mother won’t.” - -Routt nodded. “All right,” he agreed. “I’ll go out this morning. -Where’ll I send the trunk? Weaver House?” - -“I’ll send for it. You just pack it.” - -Routt touched Wint’s arm. “I’ll do it,” he said again. “But Wint,--for -the love of Mike, don’t make a fool of yourself! Thing for you to do is -to take hold, run the town right, and make a name for yourself. It’s a -great chance, Wint. Make everybody see what you’ve got in you. And it’ll -be the making of you, Wint.” - -The distribution of the morning’s mail to the boxes was ended just then, -and the windows opened. Routt broke off and went to get his mail, and -Wint, still resentful at Routt’s insistence on the moral advantages of -his situation, went to the window. Dave Howells, one of the postal -clerks, was there; and before Wint could speak, he had offered his -congratulations. These continual good wishes were beginning to irk Wint. -He nodded impatiently. “Dave,” he said, “I want you to hold my mail -hereafter. Don’t send it to the house.” - -“Oh, we always put it in your father’s box,” Howells told him. - -“Well, don’t do that. Hold it. I’ll call for it.” - -The clerk wanted to ask questions, but decided not to do so. He took out -a card and wrote something on it. “I think there’s a letter for you in -the box now,” he said. “I’ll give it to you.” - -Wint nodded; and a moment later the man handed him an envelope, and Wint -turned away from the window. He met his father, face to face, at the -door of the Post Office. Neither of them spoke. - -Wint had dropped the letter into his pocket without looking at it. When -he reached the hotel on the corner, he turned in, and sat down on one of -the deep, leather chairs in the lobby, and drew out the envelope. The -address, he saw, was typewritten. The letter had been mailed in town. -The envelope was plain; and when he opened it he saw that the paper it -contained bore no distinguishing mark. - -The letter, like the address, was typewritten, and Wint read it once, -and read it again with slowly kindling resentment. It said: - - “_Dear Wint_:-- - - “You have made ducks and drakes of your life. And you have made - yourself the butt of the town’s jokes. And you have made those who - loved you the objects of derision. - - “But your election as Mayor gives you the finest chance a man ever - had to retrieve those old mistakes, to make a man of yourself, and - to make a fine town of Hardiston. - - “Take hold. Work hard. Live straight. And be sure that there are - some true friends who will watch you lovingly and sympathetically, - and hope and pray for your success.” - -This letter was unsigned. Wint read it a second time, and then with -tense, stiff fingers he tore it into little bits and dropped these bits -into a wide, brass cuspidor beside his chair. As the scraps of paper -fluttered from his hand, he clenched his fists; and he looked about to -see if any one had been watching. - -He hated this preaching, this morality, this harping on the hope of his -redemption. He was all right; no harm in him. But they would not leave -him alone. They nagged at him; nagged.... He hated it. - -He wondered, as an undercurrent to this rage, who had written the -letter. It might have been his father, or his mother, or Routt. Routt -was a sanctimonious ass about some things. Or it might have been.... He -thought it was probably the minister of his father’s church; and he -grinned with dry relish at the thought. The old man must have been sadly -shocked at Wint more than once; and this letter sounded just like him. -Blithering, self-righteous.... - -He lunged up from his chair, boiling furiously. All his determination to -stick it out was gone. He would not do it, would not make a righteous -spectacle of himself for the edification of these old women. He went out -and turned up the street past the Court House, walking blindly, storming -inwardly. He would get out of town, shake the dust of the place off his -feet. Let them find a new Mayor. - -He was still fuming thus when, in front of the Court House, he met Peter -Gergue. Peter rummaged through his back hair and grinned at Wint. “Saw -you coming,” he explained. “Thought you might be looking f’r me. So I -came down.” - -“I’m not looking for you,” said Wint. - -Gergue nodded. “All right,” he assented. “Mind if I walk along with you? -Going on this way?” - -Wint halted in his tracks. “What’s up?” he asked sharply. “What do you -want?” - -“Me?” Peter ejaculated. “Why--me? I don’t want nothing.” - -“What are you so anxious to keep an eye on me for, then? I don’t want -you.” - -Gergue hesitated, and he looked across the street toward his office; and -at last he leaned toward Wint and said slyly: “Tell you th’ truth, it -ain’t me. Amos is over at my place. He see you coming, and he was -worried f’r fear you’d come up and find him there. He knows you’re mad -at him. Don’t want to see you. Don’t want to listen to you. Knows you -got a fair kick, and he don’t like to listen to kicks.” - -Wint looked across the way, and then at Peter; and then, without a word, -he started across the street. Peter went hurriedly after him. “Say,” he -begged, “you ain’t going--” - -“I’m going to tell that old scamp what I think of him.” - -Peter pleaded. “Oh, now, Wint--he’ll be mad at me.” He laid a -restraining hand on Wint’s arm. Wint shook it off. - -“What do I care what he thinks of you?” he demanded. “Let go.” - -“You don’t want t’ see him, Wint.” - -Wint went stubbornly ahead. He turned into the stairs that led up to -Peter’s office; and Gergue sighed. - -“Glory! Well--all right, then. I’ll trail along,” he said; and then he -smiled at Wint’s ascending back with amiable satisfaction and followed -Wint up the stairs. - -Wint had never been in Peter’s office before. He halted in the doorway, -struck by the slack disorder of the place. There were spider webs in -every corner; there was dust everywhere. The soft floor had been worn by -many feet till every knot stood up like a rounded knob, and every nail -upreared a shining head. The door of the wardrobe hung open, revealing -some battered books inside. The old, oilcloth-covered table at the -window was littered with papers and rusty pens, and sagged weakly under -the weight of the books upon it. At this table, when Wint came in, sat -Congressman Amos Caretall. The Congressman saw Wint, and got up -hurriedly, eyes squinting, head on one side. He looked distinctly -apologetic; and when he saw Peter behind Wint, he eyed his satellite -reproachfully. - -Wint stormed across the room to face the Congressman; but even while he -approached the older man, some of his anger died in him. Amos was so -frankly unhappy, he was so apologetic, the tilt of his head was so -plaintive. Nevertheless Wint cried: “What right had you to use my name -in this way, Congressman?” - -Caretall shook his head humbly. “Not a right in the world, Wint.” - -“It was a dirty trick. Underhand.” - -The Congressman nodded. “I know it, Wint,” he assented. “I c’n see that -now. All the trouble it’s made and everything. If I’d knowed.... But you -see, a man gets to playing the game, and he don’t stop to think like he -oughter.” - -“You hadn’t any right to do it,” Wint insisted; but he was weakening. -Nothing is so disarming as acquiescence; and when a man condemns -himself, it is human nature to wish to defend him. - -“I know it,” Amos repeated. “I ain’t got a word to say, Wint. Except -that I’ll help to straighten things out so you won’t have to serve.” - -Wint looked puzzled for a moment. “I--what’s that?” - -“I say, I’ll help you fix things so you won’t have to take it.” - -“What makes you think I don’t want to take it?” - -Amos spread out his hands like a man who has nothing to conceal. “Why, -that’s common sense. I’d ought to have knowed. It’s a hard job. Prob’ly -you couldn’t swing it. Anyway, it means work, and stickin’ to the -grindstone; and you’re a young fellow. You like your good times. You -wouldn’t want to be tied down to anything this way.” - -Wint laughed derisively. “You think you know a whole lot about me, don’t -you?” - -Amos smiled. “Well, Wint,” he returned. “I’ve seen some of life. I know -a lively young fellow like you don’t want to take on a job that means -work. And you’re right, o’ course. It ain’t the job f’r you. You ain’t -fitted for it. You couldn’t manage it. You’re right. I hadn’t ought to -have got you into this. But I’ll help get you out. That’s th’ least I -can do.” - -Wint looked at the Congressman with level eyes for a moment; and then he -turned and looked out of window, saying nothing. Amos caught Peter -Gergue’s eye, and Peter winked at him. Amos said humbly: “I sure am -sorry about this, Wint. It’s made it hard for you. You can’t stay here -now. You might go over to Washin’ton, Wint. I c’d get you somethin’ -easy, there.” - -Wint turned back to him abruptly; and there was a catch in his voice. -“Congressman,” he said, half laughing, “you owe me something.” - -Caretall nodded. “That’s right, Wint. ’Nd I’m ready to pay.” - -“All right. Here’s what I want you to do.” He hesitated, extended his -hand. “I know I’m not fit for this job, sir,” he said reluctantly. -“But--if you’ll give me a hand and help along--I’d like to tackle it.” - -Amos looked doubtful. “Now, Wint--don’t you get wrong notions. No sense -you’re sticking in this mess. I’ll get you out without any--” - -Wint interrupted him angrily: “You can’t get me out. Nor any one else. -I’m in and I’ll stay in. But--I’d like to have your advice and help when -I need it.” - -And the Congressman yielded. He took Wint’s hand. “All right,” he -agreed. “I’ll back you. I don’t know as you’re right, and I don’t know -as you’re wrong. If you can get away with it.” - -“I intend to.” - -Amos nodded. “Sure you intend to. But can you? Well--we’ve got to see.” -He hesitated, seemed to be thinking. “I hear your father and you’ve -broke,” he said. - -“Yes.” - -“That’s too bad. Where are you living?” - -“The Weaver House,” said Wint defiantly. But his defiance was misplaced. -Congressman Caretall nodded approvingly. - -“That’s fine,” he said. “Old Mother Moody sets a right good table, when -she’s a mind to. I wish I c’d live down there myself. It’s a good plan.” -He looked at Wint and winked slyly. “Always a good plan to play to the -workingman,” he explained. “Good idea of yours, Wint. Living down there. -Get the workingmen and the railroad men and all to sympathizing with -you. They’ll play you for a martyr, and back you strong. You’ll make a -good politician, Wint. I c’n see that.” - -Wint shook his head. “It’s not politics,” he said. “I--don’t intend to -stay there. Just till I get settled uptown. Somewhere.” - -Amos studied him. “Pshaw, now! That’s too bad. It’d been a good play, -Wint.” - -Wint laughed. “I’ll play the game some other way.” - -The Congressman nodded. He remained silent for a moment, then said -thoughtfully, “I was thinking.... You and me has got to do a lot of -talking, planning. I wish you could come and stay with me till your paw -comes ’round.” - -Wint shook his head. “Thanks,” he said, smiling. “That’s good of you. -But I’ll--” He hesitated; for through the window he had seen, across the -street, Jack Routt and Joan together. They were talking briskly; and -Joan was laughing at something Routt had said. Wint stared at them, with -slowly burning eyes; and before he could continue Gergue nudged him in -the side and told the Congressman smilingly: - -“That ’uz a bad break, Amos. He can’t come live with you.” - -Wint looked at him. “Why not?” he asked; and Amos said to Gergue: - -“That’s right, Peter. I’d forgot.” - -“Why not?” Wint repeated impatiently; he glanced again toward the two -across the street. - -“Why, he means Miss Joan wouldn’t like it,” the Congressman explained. - -“Why wouldn’t she?” - -Gergue pointed across the street. “She’d soon teach you manners,” he -chuckled. “The Congressman here’s got a nice-looking daughter of his -own, you know.” - -Wint’s hand clenched at his side. “You’re all wrong there,” he said -curtly; and then to Amos: “I think I’ll accept your invitation, after -all,” he said. - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -INTERLUDE - - -The weeks between his election and his inauguration Wint spent as a -guest at Amos Caretall’s home. At which the townsfolk put their tongues -in their cheeks and smiled behind the back of the elder Chase. This open -alliance between Wint and the Congressman was taken as confession that -Wint’s election had been planned between them; and after a day or two -Wint perceived the hopelessness of denial, and perceived, too, that -those who believed him concerned in the trick respected him the more for -it. Therefore, Wint ceased to deny; and it was one of Amos Caretall’s -rules never to discuss a thing accomplished. - -Between Amos and the young man, a strong friendship began to develop in -these weeks. Congressman Caretall was a good politician, largely through -the advice and counsel of Peter Gergue; but he was also a man of level -head and good common sense, and he found beneath Wint’s pride and -stubbornness a surprising store of good qualities. A week after Wint -went to live at his house, he said as much to Gergue. - -“He’s a fine boy, Peter,” he declared. “Looks to me like a colt that -hadn’t been gentled right.” - -Gergue nodded slowly and scratched the back of his head, tilting his hat -forward with his knuckles. “He has his points,” he agreed. “But--he -ain’t set in th’ traces yet, Congressman.” - -Amos looked at the man. “What’s wrong?” - -“Noth’n’,” said Peter. “Noth’n’. But--there will be.” - -Jack Routt brought Wint’s trunk to the Caretall house and, before he -left that day, he took occasion to drop a word of warning in Wint’s ear. -“Look out for Agnes,” was his warning. “She’s the darndest little flirt -you ever saw.” - -Wint lifted his head angrily. “Cut it out, Jack!” - -Routt laughed. “I’m only giving you some good advice,” he insisted. “You -know--a certain young lady will not be pleased if you pay Agnes too -much attention. And Agnes loves to make trouble.” - -Wint repeated: “Shut up! Drop it!” And Routt lifted his shoulders and -obeyed. - -Two or three days after the election, Wint remembered that he was -supposed to be working in his father’s office at the furnace. With an -unadmitted twist of conscience, he went down to the office, half hoping -to see his father and find some common ground for a reconciliation. But -the elder Chase was not there, and the office manager greeted Wint -coldly and told him that his place had been filled. Wint had ten days’ -salary due him, and the manager paid it punctiliously. Wint took the -money without thinking, thrust it in his pocket, and went back uptown. - -While he was in college, he had been on an allowance; since then his -father had paid him a salary out of proportion to his deserts. This was -one of the vanities of the elder Chase. His own youth had been hard and -straitened; and he took a keen delight in lavishing upon Wint the money -he himself had lacked. He did this, not to please Wint, but to please -himself; and whenever Wint crossed him, he was accustomed to bring up -the matter, to remind Wint of his good fortune as though it were a -reproach. - -“Be sure I never had money to spend, when I was your age,” he was fond -of saying. “And you roll in it. You ought to be ashamed, Wint. You ought -to be ashamed.” - -Then he would give Wint twenty dollars and tell him to mend his ways; -and afterward he would complain to Mrs. Chase of Wint’s ingratitude. - -Wint had always taken this money without scruple. Whenever inner doubts -perplexed him, he would say: “He’s got more than he can use. I might as -well have it as any one else.” In all honesty, he knew the falsity of -such an argument; but he used it successfully to stifle the reproaches -of his own heart. - -A day or two after his visit to the office, however, Amos Caretall asked -him: “Wint, you need any money?” - -Wint shook his head. - -“Didn’t know but you might,” Amos insisted. “Carry you over till your -salary starts.” - -“I’ve got enough,” Wint said. “Dad was always pretty liberal. Gave me -more than I could spend.” - -Amos did not seem surprised at this. He nodded his head. “That’s good,” -he agreed. “If any one had told me, I wouldn’t have believed it. -Wouldn’t have believed Senior had so much sense. Keeps you in his debt, -like, don’t he? Keeps you d’pendent on him?” - -Wint had never thought of it in that way, and he did not like the -thought. He looked uneasy. Amos went on, puffing at his old black pipe: -“Guess he figures to get it all back some way. ’F he sh’d come and ask -you for something, after you’re in, you’d naturally have to give it to -him. Yes, Senior’s a smart man.” - -They were sitting in front of the coal fire in Amos’ sitting room; and -for a time after that, neither of them spoke. Wint was thinking hard, -and in the end he asked quietly: “Know any way I can earn a living till -I’m inaugurated?” - -Amos swung his head around, tilting it on one side, and squinting -thoughtfully at Wint; and presently he smiled approvingly. “Guess you -might,” he said. “Might do some o’ my letter writing. You’d learn -things, that way. I never had no secretary. I’m allowed one. You c’n -have the job, long’s I’m here.” - -Next morning Wint mailed a money order to his father without -explanation, and thereafter he drew a salary from Amos until his salary -as Mayor began. - -From his work for Amos, Wint learned many things. He got for the first -time an insight into the scope of the Congressman’s work, into the -extent of his interests and influence. One of the things he learned was -a sincere respect for Caretall’s ability, and he also came to admire the -shrewdness of Gergue. Wint did a deal of thinking in those weeks. - -Living, as he did, as one of Caretall’s family, he was thrown constantly -with Agnes; and the girl put herself out to please him. She and old -Maria Hale worked together in this. The girl discovered Wint’s favorite -dishes, and Maria produced them and brought them to a perfection that -Wint had never known. It was Agnes’ task to take care of the dusting and -housework; and she began, after a time, to put an occasional cluster of -flowers from the greenhouses next door in his room. When they talked -together, she deferred to him with a pretty fashion of tilting her head -and widening her serious eyes that he found exceedingly attractive. It -stimulated his self-respect; and at the same time it gave him a new -respect for her. Since she so obviously approved of him, there must be -more to her than he had supposed. She was, he decided, a person of -judgment. He had always thought her a giddy little thing with a brisk, -gay tongue and laughing eyes. He found in her an unexpected capacity for -silence and for attention. She encouraged him to talk about himself, -about his plans; she sympathized with him, and advised him when he asked -her advice. They became surprisingly good friends. - -She suggested, one evening, that they telephone Jack Routt to bring Joan -for a game of cards. Wint shook his head; and the girl, without asking -questions, made her curiosity so obvious that Wint told her that Joan -had cast him off. He leaned forward, elbows on knees and fingers -intertwined, staring idly into the fire, while he told her; and the girl -leaned back in her chair and listened and studied him, and when he -finished she laid her hand lightly on his arm. - -“It’s a shame, Wint,” she said. - -Wint shook his head. “Oh--she was right!” - -“She wasn’t right. She ought to have stuck by you, and helped you fight -it out.” - -Wint thought so too, and his respect for Agnes rose. But he said -insistently: “No, she was right.” - -Agnes patted his arm, and then leaned back in her chair again. “It’s -fine of you to think so,” she said. - -One night Wint asked her to go uptown with him to the moving-picture -theater. She was delighted, and she was gay as a cricket on the way. At -the entrance of the theater, they came face to face with Jack Routt and -Joan. - -Wint felt his cheeks burn. Agnes greeted the other two with a burst of -rapid chatter that covered the awkward moment. Routt studied Wint, and -Joan nodded to him without speaking. Then Routt and Joan went inside, -and Wint and Agnes sat three rows behind them. - -While the picture was flashing on the screen, Wint watched the heads of -the two. He could not help it; and when their heads, silhouetted against -the light, leaned toward one another for a whispered word, he felt -something boil within him. His reaction was to bend more attentively -toward Agnes; and the gay little girl beside him responded to this new -mood so that when the film was done and they filed out, she and Wint -were the most obviously happy young couple in the house. They had ice -cream together at the bakery next door, and walked home in comfortable -comradeship, the girl’s hand on his arm. - -That night, Wint’s sleep was disturbed and wretched; and next day when -he met Routt at the Post Office, he stiffened with resentment. But Routt -caught his arm and drew him to one side. “See here, Wint,” he said, -“Joan tells me you and she have quarreled.” - -Wint nodded. - -“You ought to go to her and make it up, Wint. I don’t know what it’s -about, but you ought to make it up with her.” - -“I’ve nothing to make up.” - -“She’s a dandy girl.” - -“I’ve nothing against her.” - -“It makes her sore to have you chase around with Agnes.” - -“There’s no reason why it should,” Wint said stiffly. “She has no hold -on me.” - -Routt hesitated. “Well, Wint,” he said uneasily, “if that’s so, you’ve -no claim on her.” - -“Of course not.” - -“Then you don’t mind my--showing her some attention? I don’t want -anything to come between us, Wint.” - -Wint laughed. “Go as far as you like, Jack,” he said cheerfully. “You -can’t hurt my feelings.” - -Routt gripped his hand. “That’s great, Wint.” He looked about them, and -then added slowly: “I think she likes me, Wint. I’m--in to win.” - -“Go as far as you like,” Wint repeated. - -They separated, and Wint went back to the house and remained in his room -half the morning. He was tormented by angry pride and irresolution; he -could not decide what to do. A recklessness took possession of him; he -repented of his determination to stick, and fight out this fight to the -end. He sought for some way out.... - -Muldoon had become a part of the Caretall household with Wint; and he -looked out of the window now and saw the dog starting toward town at -Agnes’ heels. He made a move to whistle Muldoon back, then thought -better of it. Joan might see Muldoon with Agnes; he hoped she would, -hoped it would make her miserable.... He wanted Joan to be unhappy. - -As the time for his inauguration as Mayor approached, Wint became more -and more uneasy. He felt as though he were about to submit to bonds that -would pin him fast; he felt as though he were on the steps of a prison. -A fierce revolt began to brood in him and grow and boil. - -He broke out once, in a talk with Caretall. He would throw the whole -thing over, leave town, go away, never to return. - -Amos agreed with this project perfectly. He agreed that Wint was not the -man for the job, that it would mean hard work, and difficulties; he -thought Wint was wise not to attempt it. He offered to straighten out -any tangle and free Wint from the obligations of the office; and he -offered to lend Wint money that Wint might make a start elsewhere. - -His great complaisance angered Wint, so that he stubbornly declared that -he would stick if every man in town urged him to go. - -On the morning of the day before he was to take office, he met Jack -Routt uptown, and Jack took his arm. They walked together toward Jack’s -office, and went in and sat down. - -It was evident that Routt had something on his mind. He talked of the -weather, of Agnes, of Joan; and Wint, watching him, saw that Routt was -holding something back, and at last asked impatiently: “Jack, what’s on -your mind?” - -Routt looked surprised. “Why--nothing.” - -“Yes, there is.” Wint laughed at him. “What’s the matter? Open up.” - -Routt hesitated; but at last he said frankly: “Well, Wint, I was -wondering....” - -“About what?” - -“Have you been hitting the booze lately?” Routt asked. - -Wint shook his head; his eyes hardened a little. - -Routt seemed pleased. He thrust out his hand. “I’m darned glad, Wint,” -he said. “Congratulations! You ought to leave it alone. You’re right.” - -Wint flushed angrily. “I haven’t sworn off,” he said shortly. “It--just -happens--” He stared at Routt. “You didn’t bring me up here to ask -that?” - -“Yes, I did.” - -“Why?” - -Routt shifted in his chair and lighted a cigarette. “Never mind,” he -said. “Forget it, Wint.” - -Wint laughed unpleasantly. “Come on. I’m a grown man. What’s eating -you?” - -Routt lifted his shoulders. “Well--fact is, some of the boys wanted to -get up a little supper to-night, at the lodge rooms, in honor of -your--inaugural. I told them nothing doing. Said you were off the stuff. -They didn’t believe it; and I promised to ask you.” - -Wint looked at him angrily. “You’re not my wet nurse, Jack. That supper -idea tickles me. It’s on.” - -Routt protested. “No, Wint. I won’t stand for it. You’ve stayed off the -stuff this long; and it’s the best thing for you. You can’t stop when -you once start. So--leave it alone.” - -Wint got up hotly. “Go to the devil!” he snapped. “Don’t be an old -woman. Who’s running the thing?” - -“Dick Hoover. But you leave it alone....” - -“Rats! Tell Dick I’ll be there. Or I’ll tell him myself.” - -Routt lifted his hands in surrender. “Oh--I’ll tell him,” he agreed. -“But you’re a darned fool, Wint.” - -“Rats!” Wint repeated; and he grinned. He was unaccountably elated, as -though he had shaken off restraining bonds. “Rats!” And he went out to -the street with his head high. - -Routt picked up the telephone and called Hoover. He was smiling. - - - - -CHAPTER V - -ALLIANCE - - -Winthrop Chase, Senior, was thrown by his son’s election to the office -he had counted as his own into a passion in which rage and humiliation -were equally commingled. - -He was a man fed fat with vanity. He took himself very seriously. He -lived a decent and respectable life in the eyes of all men, and he felt -himself justly entitled to the respect of all men. He had, before this, -seen the smiles of those few who dared mock him; but he had believed -them a small minority. When three quarters of the town united in the -jest at his expense, he was outraged inexpressibly. And when the city -papers took up the story and for a time the whole state tittered over -it, Chase trembled and shuddered with his own agony. - -His first reaction had been anger at his son; and when he heard Wint had -been found, sodden and stupid, in that room at the Weaver House, he cast -the boy out of his life, hiding his own honest grief and sorrow under a -mantle of resentment and accusation. For he loved Wint, and had wished -to be proud of him. - -In the beginning, his chief resentment centered on Wint, and he had -toward Amos Caretall only that anger which one feels toward a -treacherously victorious opponent. But about the time Wint sent him that -money order, and stood on his own feet before the world, Chase’s heart -softened in spite of himself. He sought to make excuses for his son, and -in this effort he found Caretall a convenient scapegoat. By degrees he -convinced himself that Caretall had led Wint astray, playing on the -boy’s vanity and pride; and after that came the half conviction that -when Wint denied all knowledge of the coup, the boy had told the truth. -Then all Chase’s anger centered on Amos; and as the first sting of his -disgrace passed by, he began to look about him and seek to rebuild the -shattered structure of his plans. - -He had encountered Amos more than once upon the street since the -election, though neither had carried their greetings further than a nod -or word. But there came a day when Chase met the Congressman face to -face in the Post Office at a moment when there were no others there; and -when Chase nodded, Caretall stopped and tilted his head on one side and -squinted in a friendly way at Chase. - -“No hard feelings, is there, Senior?” he asked. - -Chase looked at him, started to speak, flushed, checked himself; and at -last said huskily: “Congressman, I want to talk with you.” - -Caretall nodded. “That’s fair.” - -“Where can we talk?” - -Amos scratched his head. “Tell you,” he suggested. “I’ll go along up to -Pete Gergue’s office. You go down t’ your place, ’nd then come in the -back way. Guess we don’t want it known we’re gettin’ t’gether.” - -“Very well,” Chase said stiffly. “I’ll be there in half an hour.” - -When he climbed the stairs, Amos had sent Gergue away and was sitting at -the oilcloth-covered table, slowly whittling a charge for his pipe. He -got up bulkily at Chase’s entrance, and motioned the other man to a -chair across the table from his own. Chase sat down and Amos, lighting -his pipe between his sentences, said slowly: “Chase....” a scratch of -the match. “You don’t want to hold this against me.” A succession of -deep puffs. “It’s politics. All in th’ game.” A puff. “You was getting -too strong for me. I had t’ lick you.” Puff, puff, puff! - -Chase struck his fist with quiet vehemence on the table. “It was a dirty -trick, Amos.” - -Amos shook his head, vastly pained. “Now, Senior,” he protested, “don’t -go talking that way. ’Twas all in th’ game. All in the game.” - -“It was a dirty trick,” Chase insisted. “You played on my good feelings; -you pretended to agree to an alliance with me; you got me off my -guard--” - -Amos held up a heavy hand. “Wait a minute,” he protested. “Wait a -minute, Senior. Let me get this here straight. You come to me with a -prop’sition. Wanted to get together. Said you had me licked. I told you -if you was elected Mayor, we’d hitch up. Ain’t that right now, Senior?” - -Chase moved angrily. “Strictly true,” he confessed. “Strictly true. -That’s why I call it tricky. You came to my own meeting and said you -were going to vote for me.” - -“Guess I said I was going to vote for a Chase, didn’t I? Guess I did. -And that’s the way I voted.” - -“The town thought you meant me.” - -“Not long, they didn’t. Word went around what I meant, all in good -time.” - -Chase got to his feet, his head back, his face flushed. He leaned down -to face Amos, and he slapped his right fist into his left palm. “I tell -you it was a trick,” he insisted. “You know it. It was unworthy. And I -give you due warning, Caretall--I’m out for your scalp now. I propose to -get it. Take your measures accordingly.” - -Amos puffed hard at his pipe. He, too, rose; he tilted his head -thoughtfully on one side and squinted at Chase. “I don’t like t’ hear -you talk that way, Senior,” he said slowly. “You come to me and talked -to me till you rightly showed me we ought to get together. I’m -ready--even if you did get--” - -Chase flung up his hand. “Stop!” he cried. The self-control which he had -imposed upon himself was gone. “Stop! Man, man! D’you think I’m one to -lick the hand that stabs me? You lie to me, trick me, make a fool of me -and a joke of me before the state; and to cap it all you steal my own -son out of my house--” - -“Heard you was the one to throw him out,” Amos interjected, but Chase -went hotly on: - -“You steal my own son, take him into your own home, turn him against me, -persuade him to help destroy me....” His voice broke with his own rage -and grief. “I tell you, Amos,” he said again, leaning steadily forward, -“I’m going to get you. Fair warning. Take your measures accordingly.” - -Amos looked out of the window; he puffed at his pipe; and at last he -faced the other man again, and smiled. “Well, Senior,” he said slowly, -“if the land lies so--thanks for the word. As for them measures--I’ll -take them like you say.” - -For a moment longer, the eyes of the two men held each other. Then Chase -turned stiffly on his heel, and stalked to the door and went out. - -As he disappeared, Amos called: “G’d day!” But Chase made no answer, and -Amos, left alone, grinned slowly to himself and shook his head. - -After that interview with Amos, Chase began to emerge from the turmoil -of anger and shame in which he had been fighting since the election. His -head cleared and his brain cooled, and he began to plan, with a certain -newly acquired shrewdness, his next steps against Caretall. In many -matters, heretofore, the elder Chase had been as simple as a boy. Now he -was becoming crafty. In the past he had honestly believed that the life -of self-conscious rectitude which he had led was of a sort to inspire -respect and affection. Now he knew that he was wrong, knew that he must -always have been disliked or despised by half the town. He had always -been benignly courteous; and this courtesy, which was more than half -condescension, had made more enemies than friends. He had played a -straightforward game; and he had lost. - -Like other men before him, in the determination to change his tactics, -he went too far. He threw himself into the fight to injure Caretall with -an utter disregard for the conventions he had once observed; he sought -allies where he might find them; and for the first time in his life, he -tried to put himself in another man’s place and guess what the other man -would do. - -The man into whose place he sought to put himself was Amos Caretall; and -the result of his considerations of Amos’s possible future plans threw -Chase into the arms of his ancient enemy, into the shrunken arms of V. -R. Kite. - -The feud between Kite and Chase had never been a concrete thing. It was -based upon a thousand minor incidents, none of them important in itself. -Kite, as the leader of the “wet” forces in the town, and as the -proprietor of half the liquor-peddling establishments, was a man very -quick to resent “dry” activities. Chase had always been actively “dry.” -And Kite, curiously enough for one of his vocation, was a very -thin-skinned man. He found offenses in words that were meant for -kindness; he found a sneer in an honest smile. - -It was a part of the manner of the elder Chase to smile and nod -benevolently upon those whom he encountered. This was automatic with -him; and he smiled at Kite with the rest. Kite, a man of fierce and -violent temperament, knew that Chase had no kindly feeling toward him; -and so he saw in these smiles only sneers. He had complained to Amos -Caretall: “He’s always grinning at me,” when Amos asked why he hated -Chase; and this was an old grievance with the liquor man. - -Kite had been one of those who rejoiced most highly in Chase’s -humiliation; and for a week or two after the election, he went out of -his way to meet Chase upon the street. On such occasions, he paid back -with interest those grins he had resented; he spoke to Chase with -exaggerated courtesy and extreme solicitude. He inquired after the -other’s health end spirits; he sympathized with Chase in his defeat. - -These sports palled upon him only when he perceived the growing change -in Chase. For Wint’s father was in many ways at this time like a child -that has been punished for a fault it does not understand. The elder -Chase was groping for friendliness; he sought it wherever it could be -found; and he took some of Kite’s satiric inquiries in good faith and -responded to them with such honest confidence that Kite was touched and -faintly uneasy. - -A few days after Chase’s talk with Amos, he sought out Kite in the -little Bazaar which the latter conducted. It was an institution like a -five and ten cent store, and did a flourishing business. Next door to it -was a restaurant, also owned by Kite, and reached by a communicating -passage. In a room behind this restaurant, knowing ones might be served -with anything in reason. But Kite went there only for his meals, and -most of the hours of business found him at his desk in the rear of the -Bazaar. - -Chase frankly sought him there. He drew a chair up to face the wrinkled -little man; and Kite was surprised, and cocked his head on his thin neck -and tugged at his drooping side whiskers until he looked more like a -doubtful turkey than ever. “Howdo, Chase?” he said. - -Chase nodded. “Kite,” he began frankly, “I want to talk to you.” - -Kite tried to grin derisively; he tried to reawaken the old enmity in -his breast. But there was something appealing about Chase, and so he -said nothing, only waited. - -“Kite,” said Chase, “Amos Caretall played a good trick on me.” - -Kite looked startled; then he grinned. “Yes, Chase, he did that,” he -said. - -“You helped him.” - -Kite frankly admitted it. - -“You helped him,” said Chase, “because you thought with Wint in as -Mayor, the town would stay as wet as you want it.” - -Kite hesitated, then he nodded. “Yes,” he agreed. “Yes, that’s so, -Chase. What about it?” - -Chase leaned back. “Amos made a fool of you,” he said. “He’s going to -turn this town dry, with the man you helped elect.” - -Kite flushed; he leaned toward Chase with narrowed eyes peering out from -an ambush of wrinkles; and then suddenly he threw back his head with his -long, turkey neck rising raw and red from his collar, and he laughed -cacklingly, so that customers in the front of his store looked that way -to share the joke. Chase frowned angrily. “Well?” he snapped, “what’s -funny about that?” - -Kite dropped a dry old hand on Chase’s arm. “Oh, Chase,” he choked -through his mirth, “the notion of Wint making this town dry....” - -Chase flushed. He started to speak. Kite interrupted: “Now don’t get -mad. Course, he’s your son, but he does like his drop now and then, -Chase.” - -“I tell you, Amos is planning to do it.” - -There was something so deadly sure in Chase’s tone that Kite sobered and -looked toward him. “Say, what makes you say that?” he demanded. “How do -you know?” - -“Amos has sense. He sees this question is the big one in this state. -He’s out for Congress again. He’s not going to have it thrown at him -that his man let this town soak itself illegally.” - -For the first time, Kite began to look worried. “Amos wouldn’t do that. -He told me--” - -“Told you? He told me many things, too. But none of them were true.” - -Kite, suddenly, burst into flame like an oily rag. He threw up a -clenched fist. “By God, Chase, he don’t dare try it!” - -“Dare? He’ll dare anything.” - -Kite stammered with the heat of his own anger. “He don’t dare!” he -insisted. “Why, Chase--if he tries that--I’ll--I’ll--” With no sense -that his words had been said before, he exclaimed: “I won’t live in the -town, Chase. I’ll get out! I’ll shoot him! Or myself.” - -Chase leaned forward. “I tell you, he’s aiming to do it,” he said -steadily. “So sit down.” - -Kite gripped his arm. “Chase, you got to drill some sense into that son -of yours. You got to tell him--” - -“He’s not my son now; he’s Amos’s. Living with Amos, doing what Amos -says. Don’t forget that.” - -There was a bitterness in Chase’s voice which silenced Kite for a -moment. Then the little man touched Chase on the arm. “See here,” he -said softly, “you don’t like Amos any better’n I do.” - -Chase smiled mirthlessly. “I’m out for his hide,” he declared. - -Kite nodded, chuckling grimly. “He thinks he’s a big man,” he said. “He -thinks he can run over us, play with us, use us and then give us the -brad. But I tell you right now, Chase....” He lifted his open hand as -one who takes an oath. “I tell you right now, Chase, if he tries that -little trick--you and me’ll get together, and we’ll hang his old hide -in the sun to dry.” - -“He’ll try it,” said Chase steadily. - -Kite stuck out his hand. “Then we’ll skin him.” - -“That’s a bargain,” Chase declared, and gripped the other’s dry and -skinny fingers. - -It was in this fashion that these two enemies joined hands against the -common foe. - - - - -CHAPTER VI - -THE WHISTLE BLOWS - - -The festivities in Wint’s honor on the night before his inaugural were a -great success, from every point of view. - -There was nothing formal about them. They occurred in an upper room in -one of the newer business blocks on Main Street. Only half a dozen young -fellows attended them; but these were all chosen spirits, and congenial. - -At half past nine, they were all pleasantly illuminated by their -libations and the general good cheer of the occasion. At eleven, two of -them were asleep quite peacefully in each other’s arms upon a couch at -one side of the room. These two snored as they slept. The others were -playing cards, and the refreshments which had been provided were in easy -reach. Wint and Jack Routt were among those playing cards. Routt never -passed a certain stage of intoxication, no matter how much he drank. He -reached this stage with the first swallow. - -With Wint, it was otherwise. In such matters, he progressed steadily -toward a dismal end. As eleven o’clock struck, he had just passed the -quarrelsome stage and was beginning to pity himself. He opened a hand -with three queens, but when Routt raised his bet, Wint threw down his -cards and put his head on his arms and wept because he could not win. -Then he took another drink. - -After a little, he cried himself to sleep. - -Toward one o’clock, Routt and Hoover took Wint home to Amos Caretall’s. -The streets, at that hour of the night, were utterly deserted. There was -a moon, and the street lamps were unlighted as an economical consequence -of this heavenly illumination. Wint was between Routt and Hoover. At -times he took a sodden step or two; at other times he dragged to his -knees upon the ground, wagging his head from side to side and singing -huskily. - -Hoover was almost as badly off as Wint; and now and then he joined in -this song. Jack Routt was cold sober, and coldly exultant. His eyes -shone in the moonlight; and he handled Wint with rough tenderness. - -When they were about half a block from the Caretall home, Wint became -very sick; and Hoover sat down in the middle of the sidewalk and giggled -at him while Routt, leaning against a tree above the sprawling body of -his friend, waited until the paroxysms were past and then caught Wint’s -shoulders again and dragged him to his feet. - -Wint had thrown off some of the poison; he was able now to help himself -a little more than before; and they got him to their destination. There -Routt propped him against a tree before the house and shook him and -tried to impress upon him the necessity of silence. - -“Don’t you sing, now, Wint,” he warned. “Brace up. Have some sense. Keep -quiet.” - -Wint pettishly protested that he liked to sing, and that he was a good -singer; and he tried to prove it on the spot, but Routt gagged him with -the flat of his hand until Wint surrendered. - -“Cut it out, Wint,” he insisted. “You’ve got to be quiet while we get -you to bed.” - -Then Routt felt a hand on his shoulder, and some one drawled: “You’ve -done your share, Routt. Go along. I’ll tuck him in.” - -He turned and saw Amos Caretall. Amos was in a bath robe of rough -toweling over his nightshirt; and his feet were in carpet slippers. -Routt was tongue-tied for a moment; then he found his voice. “I’m mighty -sorry about this, sir,” he said. “I tried to keep him from drinking too -much. But you can’t stop him. He’s such a darned fool.” - -Amos grinned at him in a way that somehow frightened Routt. “He sure is -the darndest fool I ever see,” he agreed. “But don’t you mind, Jack. -Boys will be boys. You and--who is it?--oh, Hoover. You and Hoover run -along home. I’ll tend to him.” - -“Don’t you want me to help get him in the house?” - -“I’ll get him in. I’ve handled ’em before.” - -Routt hesitated: but there was nothing to do but obey, and he obeyed. -Congressman Amos Caretall, in carpet slippers, nightshirt, and faded -bath robe, watched them go; and then he turned to where Wint had -slouched down against the tree and said kindly: - -“Well, Wint--come on in.” - -Wint wagged his head and began to sing. The Congressman bent over him -and slapped him expertly upon the cheeks with his open hands, one hand -and then the other. The sting and smart of the blows seemed to dispel -some of the clouds that fuddled Wint, and he grinned sheepishly, and got -to his feet. Amos put his arm around him. “Come on, Wint,” he said -again. - -They went thus slowly up the walk and into the house. Amos shut the -front door behind them, and led Wint to the stairs and up them. - -In the upper hall, one electric bulb was burning; and as they came into -its light, Agnes came out of her room. Her soft, fair hair was down her -back; her eyes were dewy with sleep; and a flaming, silken garment was -drawn close about her. “What is it, dad?” she asked: and then saw Wint -lurching along on her father’s arm with nodding head and dull and -drunken eyes, and she laughed softly and stepped toward him and shook -her finger in his face. “Oh, you Wint! Naughty boy!” she chided. - -Her father said sharply: “Get into your room, Agnes!” The girl looked at -him, and at the anger in his eyes she turned a little pale and slipped -silently away. - -Amos took Wint to his room, where Wint fell helplessly across his bed -and began instantly to snore. The Congressman looked down at him for an -instant with a grim sort of pity mingled with the anger in his eyes. -Then he bent and loosened Wint’s shoes and drew them off; and afterward -he took off the boy’s collar, and unbuttoned his garments at the -throat, and unbuckled his belt so that his sodden body should nowhere -be constricted. - -“I guess that’ll do, Wint,” he said slowly then. “You’re too heavy for -me to handle. Besides, Wint--you ain’t right clean.” He stood for a -moment longer, then turned toward the door. At the door he looked back -once, snapped out the light, and so was gone. - -Wint’s snores were unbroken. - - * * * * * - -The Caretall home stood in that end of town where the largest of the -furnaces is located. A railroad siding passes this furnace, and a -switching engine is busy here twenty-four hours of the day. The engine -occasionally finds occasion to whistle; and the furnace itself has a -whistle of enormous proportions; a siren whose blast carries for miles -across the hills. This siren blows at every change of shift, it blows at -casting time, and it blows at the whim of the engineer who may wish to -startle some casual visitor or friend. - -Persons who have lived long in this part of Hardiston grow accustomed to -this great whistle. They sleep undisturbed when it rouses the night -echoes; and they talk undisturbed when it shatters the peace of the day. -It is even told of some of them that when the furnace went out of blast -and its whistle was stilled, they used to be awakened in the middle of -the night by the failure of the siren to sound at the accustomed time. - -Wint’s own home was in the other end of town. He had not lived long -enough near the furnace to accustom himself to its noises; and they -disturbed him. They penetrated his stupefied sleep on the night of this -debauch. The steady roar of the great fires, which could be heard three -or four miles on a still night, played on his worn nerves and tortured -them; the sharp toots of the switching engine made him jump and quiver -in his sleep like a dreaming child; and when he woke in the morning to -find Amos shaking him by the shoulder, he was miserable and sick and his -head throbbed with the beat of a thousand drums, and seemed like to -split with agony. He wished, weakly, that it would split and be done. - -When he opened his bloodshot eyes, Amos laughed and jerked him upright -and shook some of the slumber out of him. “Come, Wint,” he commanded -heartily. “I’ve got a cold tub all ready. Jump in it. Got to get in -shape, y’know. Inaugurated t’day.” - -Wint groaned and held his head in both hands. “Hell with it,” he -scowled. “Inaugural. Whole damn business. I’m not goin’ to do it. Goin’ -sleep. Hell with it, I say.” - -He tried to drop back on the bed, but Amos laughed and caught him and -dragged him to his feet. “Come out of it,” he enjoined. “You’ll be all -right.” - -Wint shook his head stubbornly; then cried out with pain at the shaking. -The fumes of the liquor were gone out of him; he was only dreadfully -sleepy and dreadfully sick. He felt as though he were pulled and -tortured by pricking wires that tore his flesh, and his eyelids were as -heavy as lead and as hot as coals upon his bloodshot eyes. But he opened -them, and said heavily: “No, Congressman Caretall. It’s off. I won’t do -it. I’m through.” - -It was as Amos groped for a next word that the siren began to blow. This -was the signal for the morning’s casting. The engineer must have been in -good spirits that morning, for he gave more than full measure on the -blast. The whistle shrieked and roared till the very windows rattled and -shivered in their places; and Wint, at the first sound, whipped up his -hands to shield his agonized ears, and dropped on the bed and held his -head and groaned until his groan became almost a shriek with the pain. -Then, when the siren died into silence, he got dully to his feet, and -glared at Amos, who said huskily: “I’d like t’ kill man that did that. -Like to dynamite that whistle. Anything--make it keep quiet.” - -Amos suddenly smiled; then he chuckled. “Well, Wint,” he said quickly, -“there’s ways to make it keep quiet.” - -Wint looked at him with torpid interest. “I’ll bite,” he said. “Tell me -one.” - -Amos waved his hands. “Why, f’r instance, the Mayor has power to enforce -the abatement of a nuisance. Make them shut off that whistle, if it’s a -nuisance. Anything like that.” - -Wint swayed on his feet, and steadied himself with a hand on the foot -of the bed. “Can the Mayor do a thing like that--on the square?” - -“Why, sure,” said Amos. - -Wint grinned; a cracked and painful grin, but mirthful too; and he took -a step forward. “Then say,” he exclaimed. “Then say! There’s something -in this Mayor job, after all....” - -“Sure there is!” - -Wint gripped Amos’ arm. “Lead me to that cold, cold tub,” he enjoined. - -END OF BOOK II - - - - -BOOK III - -INTO HARNESS - - - - -CHAPTER I - -ON HIS OWN FEET - - -The inauguration of a small-town Mayor is no great matter for -excitement. But Hardiston was interested in Wint, and wanted to have a -look at him, so everybody came to see him step into his new -responsibilities. - -The Hardiston council chamber was on the second floor of the fire house. -This was a three-story building of red brick, and a place of awe and -wonder for the small boys of the town. The fire engine and the hose cart -were kept on the ground floor, in front. Behind them were the stalls for -the four sleek horses; behind the stalls again, a number of iron-barred -stalls for human beings. Here were housed the minor criminals, arrested -by Marshal Jim Radabaugh for petty peculations or disorders, and waiting -for their hearings before the Mayor. These little cells were not -designed to house prisoners for any length of time, and for the most -part they were furnished simply with heaps of straw pilfered from the -supply that was kept for the fire horses. The town drunkard, when the -marshal got him, was treated as well as the fire horses; and this is -more than may be said in larger towns than Hardiston. - -At the left-hand side of the building there was an entrance hall, -through which one passed to reach the stairs that led up to the council -chamber. In the middle of this square hallway hung a rope, with a knot -on the end. This rope disappeared through a hole in the ceiling. If you -pulled it in the proper fashion, the bell in the steeple began a -chattering, staccato beat like the clanging of a gong. This was the fire -bell; and when it rang the fire chief came from his feed store across -the street, and the firemen came from the bakery, and the hardware -store, and the blacksmith shop where they worked; and the fat fire -horses--they doubled in the street-cleaning department--came on the -gallop from their abandoned wagons in the streets. Then everybody got -into harness of one kind or another and went to the fire. - -Everybody in town wanted to ring that fire bell. Any one who discovered -a fire and reached the fire house with the news was privileged to do it. -There was a tradition that a boy once tried to ring the bell and was -jerked clear off the floor by the rebound after his first tug at the -rope. This added to the wonder and the mystery of it. The boys used to -hang around the doorway, watching this rope, and occasionally fingering -it in a gingerly way, and wishing a fire would start somewhere so that -they might see the bell rung. - -It was through this hall where the rope hung that the people of -Hardiston crowded to see Wint inaugurated. They went up the worn, wooden -stairs into the council chamber, and they packed themselves in on the -benches in the rear of the room. This was not only the council chamber; -it was the seat of the Mayor’s court. There was an enclosure, surrounded -by a railing. When some of the bigger, or perhaps it was only the -braver, men of the town came in, they sat inside this railing, tilting -their chairs back against it, with a spittoon drawn within easy range. -The crowd came early; and they talked in cheerfully loud tones while -they waited. One by one the aldermen drifted in, the new ones and the -old. And Marshal Jim Radabaugh was there; and the clerk and the other -officials arrived and took their places within the enclosure. They were -carelessly matter of fact, as though the inauguration of a new Mayor was -an everyday matter. The boys, perched on the window sills, whistled, and -giggled, and then subsided into frightened silence to watch with staring -eyes. - -Amos Caretall had let Wint sleep as late as possible this morning. Wint -needed the sleep, and Congressman Caretall made it his business to study -the needs of his fellow men. His Congressional creed, which he -summarized upon occasion, was as simple as that. “If a bill’s aimed to -make you folks at home here more comfo’table, I’m for it,” he would -say. “If it ain’t, I’m against it; and that’s all the way of it with -me.” So he let Wint sleep this morning until the last minute, then shook -him into wakefulness. - -Even then, Wint might have thrown the whole thing over but for that -whistle. He was sick and sore, his head hurt, and his eyes could not -bear even the dim light of his bedroom. He told Amos he would not go -through with it, that he would not be inaugurated. Then the whistle -blew, and when Amos said it would be a part of his powers as Mayor to -stop that plagued whistle if he wanted to, the idea struck Wint’s sense -of humor. He grinned, and decided there was something in being Mayor, -after all, and climbed unsteadily out of bed. - -After the tub of cold water which Amos had waiting for him, he felt -better. After old Maria Hale’s breakfast--fried eggs, and country-cured -ham, and three cups of strong coffee--he felt better still. But he was -not yet himself. Physically, he was acutely comfortable, blissfully -comfortable. His legs and his arms felt warm; they tingled. His head did -not hurt; it was merely numb. It was true that his tongue was furry and -thick, so that he had to talk very carefully when he talked at all; but -save for this precision of speech, there was no mark on him of the night -before. He was young enough to recover quickly, his cheeks were red, his -eyes were lazily clear. - -But it was not to be denied that his head was numb. He was in something -like a daze when he went out with Amos and started toward the -fire-engine house. The day was bright and warm for the season, and the -sun was cheerful. Wint enjoyed the walk. But he had to keep his eyes -shut much of the time. The light hurt them. When he heard Amos speak to -some one they passed, he also spoke. When Amos talked to him, he -answered. But his answers were idle and unconsidered; he was too -comfortable to think. - -They went up some stairs after a while, and Wint understood that they -had arrived. He heard people talking all together, and then one at a -time. Men said things, and Amos nudged him, and he made replies. He -could hear what others said to him. They mumbled hurriedly, as though -over some too-familiar formula. There was nothing particularly -impressive, or dignified, in the proceedings. The light from the windows -at the back of the room hurt Wint’s eyes, so he still kept them half -shut. The people before him were merely black shadows, silhouetted -against this glare. He could not see who any of them were. - -After a time, some one--it sounded like a small boy--yelled: “Speech!” -And others took up the cry, and Amos nudged Wint. So Wint stood up again -and said with that careful precision which the condition of his tongue -demanded: “I’ve nothing to say. I’ll let what I do, do the talking for -me.” - -That seemed to be satisfactory. Every one cheered, so that the noise -hurt his ears. Then he sat down. A moment later, every one got up, and -he got up, and they all began to crowd around him, and to crowd toward -the door. Somebody came up and shook hands with Wint, and he recognized -the voice of V. R. Kite. He had never liked Kite; the man was like a -foul bird. A buzzard. The idea pleased Wint. He said cheerfully: - -“To hell with you, you old buzzard.” - -He heard Amos chuckle, somewhere near him. Every one else stood very -still. So Wint strode past Kite to the stairs, and Amos followed him, -and Peter Gergue followed Amos. They went back home to Amos’s house. -Once, on the way, Wint asked: - -“That all there is to it?” - -Amos said: “Land, no, that’s just the beginning.” - -Wint chuckled. He was beginning to enjoy himself. But he was very -sleepy. When they got home, he went to bed and slept till dinner was -ready, and he slept all the afternoon, and he went to bed for the night -as soon as supper was done. - - * * * * * - -Amos had been thinking he ought to get back to Washington. He was glad -Wint went off to bed, because there were two or three matters he wanted -to attend to. One of these matters had to do with Jack Routt. Amos was -not sure of his ground in that direction, but he had his suspicions. He -sent for Peter Gergue after supper, and Gergue came quickly at the -summons. They sat down before the coal fire, and Peter filled his pipe -in careful imitation of Amos, and the two men smoked together in silence -for a space, while Amos considered what to say. - -Peter was one of those unfortunate men who do not like silences. This -put him at a disadvantage before Amos, who could be silent indefinitely. -It was Amos’s chief superiority over Peter, and it gave the Congressman -his mastery over the man. This night as always, it was Peter who spoke -first. He puffed at his pipe, and he said: - -“Well, Amos, you’ll be gittin’ back to Washin’ton.” - -Amos turned his head, tilted it on one side, and squinted at Peter. “I -guess so,” he agreed. - -“Thought you’d be going,” said Peter. “Wint’ll miss you.” - -“Do you think he’ll know he misses me?” Amos asked. - -“If he did,” said Peter, “he wouldn’t admit it.” - -The Congressman nodded. “Wint’s a cur’ous cuss. Peter.” - -“Yeah.” - -“He’s a nice boy--give him a chance.” - -“We-ell, he’s got his chance.” - -“What’s he going to do with it, Peter?” - -Gergue rummaged through his black hair thoughtfully. “Guess that depends -on what he’s let do with it. Somebody come along and tell him he ought -to make a good Mayor, and he’ll make a bad one, just to show he can’t be -bossed.” - -“That’s right.” Amos agreed. He considered, grinned to himself. “You -know, Pete, if we could get Kite to sign on as Wint’s guide, -philosopher, and friend. Wint’d do all right.” - -Gergue considered, and he chuckled. “Sure. If he went contrary to what -Kite said. And he would. Wint’s always on the contrary-minded side of a -thing.” - -“Now why is that?” Caretall asked. - -“That’s because he’s who he is, I sh’d say.” - -Amos puffed deep at his black pipe. “Trouble is,” he commented, “Kite -wouldn’t take the job. Not after what Wint handed him to-day. You heard -that?” - -Gergue grinned widely. “Yeah. The old buzzard. Say, that surely does -hit Kite. The way he holds his head. I’d always thought of a turkey, but -I guess a buzzard does it too. Like he was always looking over a wall.” - -“What I’d like to see,” said Amos, “is some one that would guarantee to -give Wint bad advice.” - -“We-ell,” Peter told him, “I can do some of that.” - -“Trouble is, there’s others will tell him to do the right thing.” - -“You talk like James T. Hollow,” said Gergue. “Always trying to do -what’s right.” - -“I wonder,” said Amos casually, “whether them that tell him to keep -straight figure he’ll do what they say?” - -Peter understood that there was something back of the question; he -studied Amos’s impassive face. Then he thought for a minute, and nodded -his head. - -“You mean Jack Routt,” he said. - -“Yes,” the Congressman agreed. - -Peter considered. “I don’t quite know about Jack,” he said. “He lets on -to be Wint’s friend. But he don’t help Wint any. Jack’s got a way of -telling Wint to do a thing that works the opposite every darned time.” - -“I’ve a notion,” said Caretall, “that if Routt was to tell Wint to take -care of his health, say, Wint’d go shoot himself, just to be different.” - -“That’s right,” Gergue agreed; and the two men sat for a time without -speaking, their pipes bubbling, the smoke drifting upward lazily. - -“Question is,” said Caretall at last, “what are we going to do about -it?” Gergue made no comment, and Amos asked: “What do you think, Peter?” - -“I don’t see through Routt,” said Gergue. “I don’t see what he’s got on -his mind.” - -“Looks to me that he’s plain ornery,” Amos suggested. - -“I guess that’s right.” - -“But that don’t get us anywheres. I’d like to have him let Wint alone.” - -“He’d ought to.” - -“How can we make him let Wint alone?” Amos asked. - -Peter considered that, fingers rummaging about the back of his head. -“Routt’s looking for something,” he said. “Maybe he wants to be -prosecuting attorney. Or something. I don’t know.” - -“He never will be,” said Amos. - -“I guess that’s right.” - -“Not as long as I can swing any votes here.” - -“Question is,” said Peter, “whether he knows you feel that way.” - -“No,” Amos told him. “He don’t know.” - -Peter looked sidewise at Amos. “He might be bought,” he suggested. “Or -he might be scared. I don’t know. He may be yellow. If he is, you could -scare him.” - -Amos’s pipe went out, and he rapped it into his palm and treasured the -charred crumbs to prime his next smoke. “Peter,” he said thoughtfully, -“I’d like to see Jack. To-night.” - -Gergue was a good servant. He got up at once. “All right, Amos,” he -said. - -Caretall went with him to the door. “I’m taking the noon train, -to-morrow,” he told Gergue. - -“I’ll be there,” said Peter. - -Amos shut the door behind him and went back to the fire. He sat there -for a while, considering. Then he went out into the hall and called -Agnes. She was in her room; and she came running down, very gay and -pretty in a blue-flowered kimono, her hair down her back in a golden -braid. Amos looked at her thoughtfully. There was always a wistful -question in his eyes when he looked at Agnes. He met her at the foot of -the stairs, and he asked: - -“Agnes, how’d you like to go to Washington?” - -Now the girl had gone to Washington one winter with Amos. And she had -not liked it. Amos was just a small-town Congressman, one of scores. And -his daughter was just a pretty girl, and nothing more. Amos was a small -toad in that big puddle; Agnes had found herself not even a tadpole. -And--that did not please Agnes. Here in Hardiston, she was the daughter -of the biggest man in town; and she was the prettiest girl in town, -some said. At least, they told her so. Jack Routt, and some of the other -boys. - -“I wouldn’t like it at all, dad,” she told Amos laughingly. “Washington -is a dead old place beside Hardiston.” - -“I’m thinking of taking you,” Amos said, watching her with something -like sorrow in his eyes. - -“I haven’t any clothes,” she protested. “I’m not ready, at all. I’d -rather not go, dad.” - -“I’d rather you would,” he repeated gently. - -She pouted. “Why? You’re always away. I’d never see you. I’d have -nothing to do at all. I--” - -“I’d rather not leave you and Wint alone here. Wouldn’t be just the -thing,” her father insisted gently. - -She laughed. “You funny old daddy. We’d have Maria for chaperon.” - -“Wouldn’t be just the thing,” Amos said again. - -“I’m not going to eat Wint,” she protested, half angry. “We get along -beautifully.” - -“Guess you’d better go along with me,” Amos told her. - -She stamped her foot. “Dad, I don’t want to.” - -Amos jerked a forefinger up the stair, head on one side, eyes steady. -“Run along and pack, Agnes,” he said. “Won’t be much time in the -morning.” - -Agnes began to cry. Amos watched her for a moment, watched her bowed -head, and a load seemed to settle on the man’s big shoulders. He turned -back to the sitting room without a word. After a while, he heard her run -up the stairs, every pound of her little feet scolding him, as a bird -scolds. - -Amos filled his pipe and began to smoke again. - - * * * * * - -Jack Routt came late. While he waited, Amos had smoked two pipes to the -last bubble. When Jack knocked, he got up lumberingly and went to the -door to let the young man in. “Come in,” he said curtly. “Hang up your -things.” - -He went back and sat down before the fire, and Jack Routt joined him -there. Amos looked up at him sidewise. “Sit down, Routt,” he said. “Take -a chair. Any chair.” - -Routt sat down. “Gergue said you wanted to see me,” he reminded Amos. - -“Yes,” Amos agreed. “I told him to tell you.” - -“Came as soon as I could,” said Routt. - -“That’s all right,” said Amos. “I wasn’t in a hurry. I’m hardly ever in -any hurry. Things come, give them time.” The colloquialisms had fallen -from his speech. Amos talked as well as any one when he chose; when he -was with Hardiston folks, he talked as they talked. Routt was a college -man. - -Routt fidgeted in his chair. He had always been somewhat afraid of Amos. -He wondered what the Congressman wanted now, but Amos did not tell him. -He just sat, staring at the fire, smoking. Like Gergue, Routt was driven -to break the silence. - -“What did you want with me, Amos?” he asked. - -Amos spat into the fire. “Wanted to talk things over, Jack,” he said. -“I’m going to Washington to-morrow.” - -“I’ve been expecting you’d go back.” - -“Well, I’m going.” - -Another silence, while Routt moved uneasily. At last he said: “You put -Wint over, all right.” - -“Yes,” Amos agreed. “I put him over.” He looked at Routt then, with eyes -unexpectedly keen. “Think he’ll make a good Mayor, do you?” - -“Well,” said Routt slowly, “he’ll be all right if he lets the booze -alone.” - -Amos caught Routt’s eyes and held them commandingly. “Jack,” he said, “I -want you to let Wint alone.” - -Routt asked angrily: “Me? What do you mean?” - -“I don’t want you giving him any advice, and I don’t want you getting -him drunk. I want you to let him alone. Is that clear?” - -Routt protested: “I’m the best friend Wint’s got.” - -“You’re the worst enemy he’s got,” said Amos. “And you know it.” - -“You can’t say that,” Routt pleaded. - -Amos did not let go the other man’s eyes. “You got Wint drunk, day -before election,” he said. “You got him drunk last night. Routt, don’t -you do that again.” - -“I got him drunk? Good Lord, Congressman, Wint’s a grown man. I’m not -his keeper.” - -“I made you his keeper, before election,” said Amos. “I told you to keep -him straight. You didn’t do it. You got him drunk. Now I tell you, let -him alone.” - -“I tried to keep him from drinking,” Routt urged. - -“You said to him, ‘Don’t you drink, Wint. It ain’t good for you. You -can’t stand it.’ So he drank, to show you he could stand it. Just as you -knew he would.” Amos got up with a swiftness surprising in that -slow-moving man. He said harshly: “Routt, get your hat and get out. And -mind what I say. You let Wint alone.” - -Some men would have sworn at Amos, some would have defied him. Routt was -the sort to promise anything. He said, with an assumption of -straightforward frankness: - -“Why, of course, if you say so, I’ll keep away from him.” - -“See that you do,” said Amos. “Now--good night.” - -When the door closed behind Routt, Amos stood for a minute in the hall, -thinking. “Now I wonder,” he asked himself. “Will he do it? Was he -scared enough to keep hands off? I wonder, now.” - -Routt, half a block away, was grinning without mirth. “Damn him,” he -said to himself. “Him and Wint too. I’ll....” - -He wondered just what he had best do; and before he reached home, he had -decided to go and see V. R. Kite. - - * * * * * - -Congressman Caretall and Agnes took the noon train, next day. Wint went -with them to the station, and Amos had a last word for him. - -“Don’t you get the idea I’ve left you on your own, Wint,” he said. -“You’ll need help. Things’ll come up. When they do, don’t you try to -stand on your own feet. Just write me--or telegraph. And I’ll come, or -tell you what to do. - -“You’ll run into trouble. Don’t you try to fight it alone. Just you call -on me.” - -Then the train pulled out. Wint watched it go; and when it rounded the -curve and disappeared beyond the electric-light plant, he grinned. - -“Run to you when I need help, will I, Amos?” he asked good-naturedly, -under his breath. “I guess not. You’ve left me alone. And I’m going to -stand on my own hind legs. On my own two feet, by God!” - -He turned and went swiftly back uptown. - - - - -CHAPTER II - -JOAN TO WINT - - -The months of that winter passed quietly in Hardiston. The excitement of -the election was not forgotten; the drama of Wint’s choice as Mayor -became one of the stories to be told about the stoves on cold -home-keeping days. But Wint himself was no longer an object of curious -interest; he was just the Mayor. An inconsiderable figure in the town. -There had been Mayors in the past, and there would be again. Never -amounted to much, one way or another. Hardiston went along just the -same; the winters were just as cold, the summers just as hot, the rains -just as wet, the sun just as warm. - -Hardiston is infamous for its winters and for its summers. In the spring -or in the fall there is no lovelier spot. In the spring, apple blossoms -clothe the hills; in the fall the woods are great splashes of flame -against the dull green of the fields. But in winter the mercury drops -far below zero, and climbs forty degrees in half a day. The snow comes -tempestuously, eight, ten, twelve inches of it; and it melts as quickly -as it comes. The roads turn into mud at the first snow; they remain mud -till the increasing heat of the northing sun bakes them to dust. On -Monday, every water pipe in town freezes tight; on Tuesday, violets -bloom in sheltered corners about the houses. On a cold morning, -adventurous boys skate on the film of ice that forms on streams and -ponds; but by noon the ice is unsafe, and some one has broken through, -and by mid-afternoon, it is freezing hard again. - -This winter in Hardiston was like all others. The new Mayor stuck -strictly to business. Jack Routt let him alone. When boys were arrested -for misdemeanor, or children of a larger growth for more pretentious -wrongs, they were brought before Wint and he passed sentence upon them, -marveling that he, Wint Chase, should be passing judgment on his fellow -man. At first, this feature of his work shamed him; later it awed him, -and made him look into his own heart and ask whether he were fit for -such a rôle. He tried to make himself fit. - -To act as judge of the Mayor’s court and to preside at council meetings -comprised the bulk of Wint’s official duties. They took only a fraction -of his time. When the electric-light plant went out of commission with a -broken cylinder head, Wint had to do the explaining; when a sewer became -stopped up, he had to see that it was opened; when the old project for a -sewage-disposal plant came up on its annual burst of life, he had to -consider it. When Ned Howell filed his regular yearly suit for damages -done to his pasture by overflow from the sewage-filled creek, Wint had -to attend court and testify. But--there was time on his hands and to -spare. He did not know what to do with himself. - -He did not undertake any crusades. A certain diffidence, in these first -months, restrained him. He was not sure of his ground; he was not sure -of himself. V.R. Kite’s underlings continued to peddle their wares, and -the Mayor’s court had to deal, now and then, with one of Kite’s bibulous -customers. Wint dealt with them, but he did not dig for the root of the -evil, to tear it out. Matters in Hardiston went on much as they had in -the past. Men rose, did their day’s work, ate, and went to bed again. -Women likewise. The annual Chautauqua lecture course began and was -finished; Number Four theatrical companies came to town with Broadway -attractions, played one-night stands, and departed as they had come. The -moving-picture houses had new films every day, and the same audiences -day after day. The dramatic teacher in the high school organized a -pageant, and it was presented to the eyes of admiring parents in the -Rink. The high school played basket ball, the women played bridge, the -men played poker of a night. Now and then the Masons or the Knights of -Pythias gave a dance. The preachers preached sermons in which they tried -to prove there was nothing the matter with the churches. The schools -developed their annual scandal over the discharge of a school-teacher. -There were the regular rumors of a new factory that was to come to town; -and the rumors fell through in the regular way. Now and then a baby was -born, now and then there was a wedding, now and then there was a -funeral. - -Wint stuck to his guns, and the world rolled majestically and -interminably on. - -When Wint took hold of his job, he wondered what there was for him to -do. Dick Hoover told him. Dick was a lawyer, in with his father, who had -the biggest practice in town. He showed Wint where to look, in the -statute books, for the duties of a Mayor. Wint was surprised to discover -that laws were simple, everyday things, having to do with life as it was -lived. One day when he went to Dick’s office to look up a statute, the -book he sought was in use. To kill time, he took down a volume of -Blackstone and peered into it curiously. He discovered that Blackstone -said water was a “movable, wandering thing,” and the description -fascinated him. He read on.... - -The more law he read, the more interested he became. In January, he -asked Dick Hoover if it were possible to study law in leisure hours. -Hoover told him it was not only possible, it was easy. The end of -January saw Wint putting in his spare time on calfskin-bound volumes of -which each page was one-third reading matter and two-thirds footnotes. -The first day he picked up a book of cases was marked with a red letter -on his mental calendar. He found these cases as interesting as fiction. - -He began to read law systematically. Dick Hoover’s father was -interested, helped him. The elder Hoover told Wint’s father one day: - -“Chase, your boy is going to make a lawyer before he’s through.” - -The senior Chase looked at Hoover, half minded to resent the fact that -his son had been mentioned in his presence. But--the old wound was -healing. Men no longer took occasion to remind him of last fall’s -election with a jeer in their eyes. His conditional alliance with Kite -had languished, because Wint had made no move to make the town dry. -Chase hated Amos Caretall as ardently as ever; but he could not hate his -son. That is not the way with fathers. He loved Wint; he had been, for -some time, secretly proud of him. - -He said to Hoover: “He’s smart enough, if he sticks to it.” - -“He’s sticking,” Hoover told Wint’s father. - -Winthrop Chase, Senior, nodded indifferently, hiding the light in his -eyes. “He never stuck to anything before,” he said, and turned away. - -He thought of telling Wint’s mother, that night, but did not do so. When -he spoke of Wint to her, it precipitated one of her endless remarks. -They wearied him. But he had to tell some one, so he told Hetty Morfee, -when he went to the kitchen for a drink of water. Hetty was washing -dishes at the time, and she stopped with a plate in one hand and a -dish-rag in the other, and listened, and said with a cheerful -wistfulness in her voice: - -“Wint’s smart, sir. You’ll be proud of him.” - -Chase was proud of him, but he would not admit it to himself, much less -to Hetty. - -“He’s smart enough,” he told her. “But he’s ... He’s....” - -He turned abruptly and went out of the kitchen without saying what Wint -was, and Hetty looked after him with understanding in her smile. Then -her face became still and somber again. There was growing in Hetty’s -eyes a certain unhappy light. A desperate fashion of unhappiness, which -no one was sufficiently interested to notice. She was not so cheerful as -she used to be. And there was a helplessness about her. - -Word of Wint’s new industry spread slowly through Hardiston. It was Dick -Hoover himself who told Joan of it. Dick was a Mason, and he took Joan -to a Masonic dance one night. She spoke of Wint. “I have heard that he -is studying law,” she said. “Is it true?” - -So Dick told her. “True as Gospel,” he said. “And he’s darned quick to -pick it up, too. The principles.... Of course, it will take time. But -I’d just as soon have him try a case for me now, as some of these....” - -He went on enthusiastically. Hoover was always enthusiastic about -things. He was an extremist. His friends were the finest chaps in the -world, his enemies were the least of created things. But he had few -enemies. People liked him, and he liked people. Joan liked him; liked -him particularly this evening because he talked to her of Wint. - -Joan Arnold was, in a way of speaking, a girl to tie to. There was a -peculiar steadfastness in her. She was a little taller than Wint, and -she was habitually grave and quiet, especially when she was with him. In -his presence she had always been faintly abashed and reticent as a girl -is apt to be in the presence of a man she cares for. Joan had always -cared for Wint. In spite of the fact that she was a year or two his -junior, they had played together as children: and they had grown up -together. When they were little children, they fought as only good -friends can fight. When they were a little older, Wint scorned her -because she was a girl. A year or so later, she scorned Wint because she -was at the age when girls resolve to have a career and never marry at -all. But in their late teens, they were devoted to each other, so that -the mothers of the town smiled when they passed by, and nodded to each -other, and whispered, with the delight women take in such matters, that -they were a nice-looking couple together. Wint’s short, sturdy strength -matched well the girl’s slightly larger stature and her quiet poise. - -The first passage of affection between them had come when she was -eighteen, when he went away to college. Before that they had been much -together, but none save the most casual words had passed between them. -The night before Wint went away, he went to see her. He was feeling -adventurous and heroic and important as a boy does feel when he leaves -home for the first time. He talked vastly, of big things he meant to do, -of his dreams. She thrilled to his dreams with the half of her that was -still child; she smiled at his enthusiasm with the half that was already -woman. They were sitting on the porch of her home. There were locust -trees about the veranda. They sat in a two-seated swing, facing each -other, Wint leaning toward her earnestly. - -He became melancholy, and she comforted him softly. He did not want to -go away, he said. She told him he would be happy. The movement of the -swing made him lean toward her. There was a moon, and the September -evening was warm, and the very air seemed trembling in a rhythm that -beat upon them both. - -When he got up to go, she got up at the same time, and the swing lurched -and threw them together. Ineptly, he kissed her, fumblingly, on the -cheek. She did not move, she trembled where she stood. He took her -awkwardly in his arms, as though afraid she would break, and kissed her -cheek again. He rubbed his cheek against hers. She looked at him with -wide eyes, lips a little parted, and he kissed her lips. They were cool, -unused to kisses. - -The months thereafter, till Wint was expelled from college, passed -smoothly with them. Too smoothly, too placidly. They wrote short, broken -letters; they saw each other when Wint came home. They thought they were -very happy; yet each was conscious of a lack in their happiness. There -was no fire in it, none of the exquisite anguish of love. They missed -this, without knowing what they missed. All went too well with them. - -Joan wept on her pillow when he was expelled, but she did not let him -see her weep. She reassured him. There was an unsuspected strength in -her. Women are full of these surprises. They are indescribably dainty -creatures, habitually clad in fabrics like gossamer, seeming light as -air and fit to vanish at a breath, who reveal--in a bathing suit, for -instance--a surprising physical solidity. It was so, spiritually, with -Joan. She was so quiet and so still that Wint, if he had thought at all, -would have supposed she was a simple girl and nothing more; but in the -revelations of his disaster, she showed a poise and a power which -heartened him immensely, and made him a little afraid of her. She was a -tower of strength for him to lean upon, a miracle of understanding and -of sympathy. - -He had expected her to be shocked and revolted at the shame of his -expulsion; she was simply sorry for him, and loved him none the less. -Wint knew, then, how much he loved her. There is nothing that so -inspires love in a man as to find himself beloved. This is the conceit -of the creature! - -Joan had told Wint that she was done with him, when the story of his -drunken sleep in the Weaver House went abroad through Hardiston. -But--she had done it for his sake. She thought there was good in him. -How could she love him else? She thought it might come out if he had to -fight; she thought his very stubbornness might save him. Joan had no -illusions about Wint. She knew he was prideful and stubborn. But--she -loved him. And so had told him she would have no more of him. With a -reservation in her heart.... - -Thus what Dick Hoover told her made Joan happy; happier than Hoover -could possibly guess. Another girl would have cried herself to sleep -with happiness that night, but Joan was not given to tears. She lay -awake for a long time, thinking.... - -Three or four days later, she met Wint on the street. They had met thus, -often, for Hardiston is a small place. But heretofore they passed with a -word, unsmiling. This time, Wint would have passed her in that fashion; -but Joan stopped and spoke to him. - -“Wint,” she said. - -He had been sick with hunger for a word from her for weeks. He stopped -as though she had struck him, and his cheeks burned red as fire. He -could not have spoken, for his life. He stood, hat in hand, face -crimson, staring at her. - -Joan knew what she wished to say. “I want you to know that I am proud of -you, Wint,” she said. - -His impulse was to laugh, to reject her friendliness. The old Wint, -stiff with pride, would have done this. But the old Wint was gone; or at -least, he was going. This Wint who stood before Joan tried to find -something to say, but all he found to say to her was: - -“Oh!” - -Joan smiled at him. “There was a time when I wouldn’t have dared say -this, Wint,” she said. “But I do dare now. Stick to the fight, Wint. -This is what I want to say.” - -He said, sullen in his embarrassment: “I’m going to.” - -“There was a time when you were not going to--just because I--your -friends--told you to stick.” - -Wint looked away from her. “Well, that’s all right,” he told her -uncomfortably. - -“There’s never any harm in having friends, Wint, and taking their -advice,” she said. - -The old impatience burst out for a moment. “Don’t preach,” he said -harshly. - -“I’m not going to preach.” She was afraid she had spoiled it all. But he -reassured her, hot with shame at his own decency. - -“It’s all right, Joan,” he said. “I know you mean to help. I’ll try.” - -“Do try,” she echoed softly. - -He nodded, and she watched him, and at last added: - -“I’d like to have you come to see me some time.” - -He hesitated, then he said swiftly: “All right. Some time. Good-by!” - -He jerked his head in farewell and hurried away as though he were afraid -of her. Joan watched him go, and she pressed her hand to her lips as -though to still them. - - - - -CHAPTER III - -ROUTT TO KITE - - -When Wint left Joan, after their encounter on the street, he was walking -in a daze. He stumbled, his head was down, his eyes were blank. He was -stunned and humbled; and after he had left her, he began to feel -defiant. He thought of words with which he could have crushed her and -silenced her. Presuming to forgive him, to praise him. What right had -she to do that anyway? He ought to have laughed at her. - -Not that Wint did not love Joan. He did; but he was still, at this time, -a boy and nothing more. And he had rather more than a boy’s usual -measure of stubborn contrariness in him. When his father, and his -mother, and Joan, and every one else he cared for had bade him mend his -ways, he had refused to mend them, and the thing had been a scandal on -every tongue in Hardiston. When, in like fashion, father and mother and -Joan bade him go to the dogs, whither he seemed surely bound, he had -braced himself, fought a good fight, begun to make good. Now Joan was -telling him he had made good, that he was all right. He had a reckless -desire to go to the devil, forthwith, to prove her wrong. - -He had met Joan at the corner by the Star Company’s furniture store, an -institution that was always holding fire sales and closing-out sales -without either fires before or actual closings after. Their talk there -together had not gone unremarked. Every one in town would know of it -within the day. When they separated, Joan went away from town toward her -home, and Wint went up Broadway toward the Court House. Not that he knew -where he was going. But he had to go somewhere. - -There were only one or two places in Hardiston to go to when you did not -know where to go. You might go to the Smoke House, and shake dice for a -cigar, or drop a nickel in the slot machine and see how your luck was -running. Or you might drop in at the Post Office in the idle hope that a -special train had come along with a letter for you since the last -regular mail was sorted into the boxes. Or you might stop at one of the -newspaper offices. The editors were always willing to talk, and there -were usually two or three others there before you. - -Wint headed, somewhat aimlessly, for the Post Office. But when he passed -down Main Street, B. B. Beecham, editor of the _Journal_, called Wint in -to look at proofs of some city printing. Wint always got on well with B. -B. The editor never preached, he never seemed to have any particular -interest in the wrong-doings of other people, he attended to his own -business and let you attend to yours. A square-built man, with a big -barrel of a chest and stocky shoulders, and a strong, amiable -countenance. Wint went in at his hail; and B. B. got the proofs for him, -and Wint began to look them over. B. B. chunked up the fire in the -little round iron stove that had seen so many years of service it was -disintegrating. It was bound together with wire to hold it together; and -there were holes in the front of it through which the fire could be -seen. The stovepipe went up at an angle like that of the leaning tower -of Pisa, then made a back-handed elbow turn and ran along in a hammock -of wire braces to disappear into the wall. B. B. thrust a bit of wood in -through the door, down into the fire, twisted it upward, breaking up the -clotted coals and ashes. Then he put on more coal, and shut the door, -and the fire roared up the chimney. Wint was going over the proofs, -figure by figure. They had to do with bids on a sewer contract. B. B. -sat down at his desk with his back to Wint and busied himself with -something. - -B. B.’s desk was a roll top, its pigeonholes frazzly with letters and -papers jammed into them to the bursting point. The desk itself was -littered with newspapers and notes and notebooks and scratch pads made -out of old order blanks. There was an old iron inkwell, a tin box full -of pins, a pencil or two. In a little hexagonal glass bottle at one -side, a newly hatched humming bird which had fallen from the nest and -been killed was preserved in alcohol. Not so large as a bumblebee, and -not nearly so impressive. For paper weight, B. B. used a witch ball, -taken from the stomach of a steer that Ned Howell had butchered. A -round, smooth, yellowish thing, with a hole picked in to show the hair -inside. It was as big as a small orange, and looked not unlike one, save -that the yellow was dull and muddy. On top of the desk were books, a big -hornet’s nest, an ear of corn. There was a curiously marked squash on -the open iron safe in the corner; and in the rear of the office a -stand-up desk and a smaller one at which a person might sit were -littered with the miscellany of B. B.’s business. - -While Wint was looking over the proofs, an old darky came in from the -street. A ragged old man.... Wint knew him. He lived down the creek in a -log cabin, and caught catfish, and farmed a plot of ground. His hat was -battered, his coat was too big for him, his trousers slumped about his -slumping shoes. His name was John Marshum. He took off his hat and -looked around the ceiling of the office uneasily, as though he expected -it to fall, and Wint and B. B. said hello to him, and he said: - -“Howdy.” - -B. B. asked: “Is there anything I can do for you?” - -The old negro gulped, and said: “I’d like tuh borry a paper and a -pencil, ef you please.” - -B. B. gave him what he asked for, and the old man sat down at the desk -in the back of the room, and bit his tongue, and gnawed the pencil, and -began to write with infinite pains, slowly, the sweat bursting out of -him with the effort. Wint and B. B. went on with their affairs. - -After a while, the old fellow got up and crossed to B. B. and held out -the product of his effort. “Heah’s a paper for you, suh,” he said. When -B. B. took it, the old man hurried awkwardly out of the door and -disappeared. - -B. B. read the paper and chuckled, and Wint asked: “What is it?” The -editor handed it to him, and he read the scrawl aloud: - - “‘John Marshum was a very plesint vister at this office Thursdy.’” - -Wint laughed good-naturedly. “The poor old clown. Wants his name in the -paper. You ought to put it in, just to make him feel good.” - -“I’m going to,” said B. B. “Old John’s one of my best friends in the -county. He’s been a subscriber twelve years, and always paid up. You’d -be surprised to know how many don’t pay up. And you’d be surprised how -many people come in, just as he did, to get their names in the paper. I -don’t suppose you ever thought of that.” - -Wint passed the corrected proofs over to B. B. “One or two mistakes,” he -said, and the editor sent the proofs up for correction. “What do you do -with the darned fools?” Wint asked. “Tell them advertising space costs -money?” - -B. B. looked surprised. “No, I print their names. That’s what the -paper’s for--to print people’s names. It makes them feel proud of -themselves, and that’s good for them. It’s one way of helping them -along, doing them good.” - -Wint grinned. “Never did me any particular good to see my name in -print,” he said. “Usually made me mad.” - -“It wasn’t the fact that they printed your name that made you mad. It -was what they printed about you.” - -“Maybe so,” Wint admitted. “I didn’t see that it was any of their -business.” - -“That’s the way the city dailies are run,” B. B. agreed. “But a country -weekly is a different proposition. I never print anything that will make -any one mad. Not if I can help it. Not even a joke. A joke on a man’s no -good unless he can appreciate it himself.” - -Wint eyed B. B. and remarked thoughtfully: “I remember, when they stuck -me in as Mayor, you didn’t print the fact that my father was a -candidate.” - -“No,” B. B. agreed. - -“I supposed that was because you and my father are--allies in politics -and such things.” - -“No,” said B. B. “I try not to print things that will hurt people. Mr. -Chase felt badly about that.” - -“I don’t blame him,” said Wint slowly. “You know I had nothing to do -with it.” He had never talked so freely to any one as he was accustomed -to talk to B. B. There was some strain in the editor that invited -confidences. He knew as many secrets as a doctor. - -“Yes, I know,” he said. - -“You know,” Wint went on, abruptly, “people are funny, B. B.” - -“Yes.” - -“I’m funny, myself.” - -B. B. laughed in a friendly way. “Like the old Quaker who said to his -wife: ‘All the world is a little queer save thee and me, my dear; and -even thee are at times a little queer.’” - -“No,” said Wint, smiling. “I include myself. I’m queer.” - -B. B. said nothing. Wint started to go on, but the words were not in -him. He had a curious, sudden impulse to ask B. B. about his father; -this impulse was like homesickness. But he fought it back. His jaw set -stubbornly. His father had thrown him out. That was enough; he didn’t -ask to be kicked twice. - -When B. B. saw that Wint was not going on, he spoke of something else. -Then Ed Howe, one of Caretall’s men, dropped in and cut a slice from a -plug and filled his pipe in the Caretall fashion: and Wint listened to -Ed and B. B. talk for a while before he got up and took himself away. He -had found some measure of reassurance in his talk with B. B., not -because of anything that had been said, but simply because B. B. was a -reassuring man. A strong man. A strong man, and a wise man, with open -eyes--and an optimist. Not all men who seem to see clearly are -optimists. - -In front of the Post Office, Wint ran into Jack Routt. Routt had been -out of town for a month or so on a business trip, and Wint had seen -little of him since Amos went away. He was glad to see Jack, and said -so. They shook hands, and Wint bought Routt a cigar. Routt studied Wint -curiously. He wondered if it were true that Wint was keeping straight -and doing well. And to find out, he asked laughingly: - -“Been over to see Mrs. Moody lately, old man?” - -Mrs. Moody was that virago who managed the Weaver House, that woman of -the hideously beautiful false teeth. Wint flushed uncomfortably at -mention of her. “No-o,” he said hesitantly. - -“That’s the boy,” said Routt. “You keep away from her. You let the stuff -alone. You can’t monkey with it, the way some fellows can, old man.” - -And he watched Wint. There had been a time when this word would have -acted as a challenge, when Wint would have snapped at the bait. -But--Wint hesitated, he considered, he shook himself a little and said -quietly: - -“I guess you’re right, Jack.” - -“You bet I’m right,” said Routt. - -Wint nodded. “Yes,” he agreed. - -When they separated, Routt went to his office and sat down with his feet -on his desk to consider. And--he scowled. Matters were not going well -with him. It did not suit him for Wint to keep straight. It did not suit -him to lie supine under Amos Caretall’s injunction to let Wint alone. -The Congressman’s command had irked him more than once, and more than -once he had thought of V. R. Kite in that connection, and thought of -going to Kite. He had a fairly definite idea that Amos would never help -him along politically, and Kite might be able to. And--he remembered the -word Wint had fastened on Kite on the day of his inauguration. He had -called Kite a buzzard, and others had taken it up. The name seemed to -fit; it tickled the sense of humor of Hardiston folks. But it did not -tickle V. R. Kite. Kite ought to be ready to take means to crush Wint. -And--that would please Routt. He had held off thus long in the belief -that Wint would be his own ruin. He began to doubt this, now. It might -be necessary to do something. - -Routt was of mean stuff, small and tawdry. He had been what Hardiston -called a mean boy, a trouble-maker. He had an infinite capacity for -hate, a curious shrewdness that enabled him to fasten on another’s -weakest point. As boys, he and Wint had fought once. They fought over -Joan, because Routt teased her till she cried. Wint had whipped him, -though Routt was the taller and the heavier of the two. Routt had never -forgotten that; but Wint forgot it as soon as the incident was over. -Wint forgot, and Routt remembered. Circumstances threw them much -together; they grew up as friends; Routt behaved himself; people decided -that he had outgrown his meanness. Wint liked him, did not distrust him, -accepted him for what he seemed--a friend. - -But Jack Routt was nobody’s friend. Sometimes, when he was alone, you -might have seen this in his face. It was so now, as he thought of Wint; -his countenance was twisted and distorted and malignant. In later years, -it was to bear the marks of these secret and rancorous moments for any -eye to see. Indelible and unmistakable. But just now Routt knew how to -smile, how to be a good fellow.... - -He brought his feet down from the desk with a bang. He got up and -reached for his hat. He had made up his mind; he would go and see Kite. - -Kite was in town. Routt knew he would find the man in the Bazaar, the -town’s five and ten cent store. He went that way, but as he reached the -place, Peter Gergue came along the street and Routt went past without -entering. Just as well Gergue should not know that he was seeing Kite. -Gergue would tell Amos. When Gergue had disappeared, Routt went back and -turned into the Bazaar. Kite’s desk was in the back of the store, but -Kite was not in sight. The little man might be hidden behind the desk. -One of the girls who clerked in the store--her name was Mary Dale, and -she was a pretty, simple little thing--asked Routt what he wanted, and -he stopped to talk to her for a moment. Routt liked pretty girls. He -asked her if Kite was in, and she said he was at his desk, so Routt went -back that way. He drew up a chair to face the little man, and Kite -cocked his head on his thin neck, and tugged at his side whiskers. -“Howdo, Routt,” he said. - -“Morning,” Routt rejoined. “How’s tricks, Kite?” - -“All right.” Kite looked suspicious. Routt offered him a cigar, which -Kite declined. Jack lighted it himself, then said idly: - -“Well, I just got back.” - -“Been away?” - -“Yes. Columbus.” - -“Oh!” - -“I see Wint hasn’t closed down on you yet,” Routt drawled. - -Kite flushed angrily. “Of course not. Why should he? He’s no fool.” - -“I said he hadn’t shut down on you--yet,” Routt repeated, and he -emphasized the last word. - -“He likes his drop now and then, same as another man.” - -“Hasn’t been taking many drops lately, has he?” - -“I’m not his guardian. How do I know? Long as he lets me alone.” - -Routt grinned. “I heard he didn’t let you alone, day he was inaugurated. -Called you a buzzard, didn’t he?” - -“The man was drunk.” - -“Name’s kind of stuck, though. A darned, rotten thing like that will -stick.” - -Kite was trying to keep calm, but he was an irascible little man. He -snapped at Routt: “What do I care for names? They break no bones.” - -“Well, that’s so,” Routt agreed good-naturedly. - -“Long as he lets me alone, I’m satisfied,” Kite said again. - -Routt nodded. “How long do you figure he’ll let you alone?” he asked. - -Kite’s temper got away from him. “By God, he’d better let me alone!” He -banged a clenched fist on the table. Routt drawled: - -“Don’t get excited.” - -“I’m n-not excited,” Kite stammered. “But he’ll let me alone. He don’t -dare to bother me. Why, Routt, if he tries anything, I’ll--I’ll get out -of town. I won’t live in the place. I’ll take my money out of the dirty -little hole.” - -“We-ell,” said Routt, “you could do that, of course. That would suit -him. He’d get his own way, then. You could get out. Or you might fight -him.” - -“Fight him?” Kite snapped. “I’ll fight him to the last dollar.” He -controlled himself with an effort. “But he’s not going to start -anything. I know him. He’s inoffensive. A boy.” - -“Amos Caretall is no boy,” Routt reminded him. “And Amos is backing -him.” - -Kite remembered that Winthrop Chase, Senior, had told him this same -thing; had warned him that Amos meant to use Wint to clean up the town. -He and Chase had made an alliance on that basis. If Wint tried a -crusade, they would go after Amos together, and hang his hide on the -fence. They had sworn that together.... Now Routt was saying the same -thing. He had been feeling fairly secure; he and Chase had made no move. -Chase had wanted him to start a back fire against Amos, but Kite had -been ready to let well enough alone.... Now Routt ... Routt was one of -Caretall’s men. He would be likely to know what the Congressman planned. -Kite demanded angrily: - -“What makes you think Amos is planning anything? He and I understand -each other.” - -Routt laughed. “Amos would double cross his best friend and call it a -joke,” he said amiably. “You know that. Didn’t he double cross Chase?” - -“Sure. I helped him,” said Kite defiantly. - -“Next thing,” Routt told him, “he’ll double cross you.” - -Kite leaned across and gripped Routt by the arm. “What makes you say -that? You and Amos are together.” - -“We were,” said Routt, “but I told him a few things he didn’t like. I’m -no particular friend of Amos.” - -Kite said: “I’m not either. But as long as he plays fair with me, I’ll -play fair with him.” - -“What if he don’t?” - -“I’ll smash him.” - -“You can’t smash Amos,” said Routt, “but you can hurt him.” - -“How?” - -“Smash young Wint.” - -Kite snorted. “Pshaw! Wint’s a boy.” - -“He’s growing up. One of these days, he’s going to send for Jim -Radabaugh and tell him to clean up the town....” - -“By God, if he does,” Kite swore, “I’ll tear him all to pieces.” - -Routt got up. “When you start in to do that,” he said, “send for me. I -might be able to help.” - -“I won’t need any help to rip Wint Chase wide open.” - -“You send for me,” said Routt insistently. - -“All right. I’ll send for you.” - -“I’ll be here,” Routt promised. When he went out through the store, he -stopped and told Mary Dale she was the prettiest girl in town. Mary was -pleased. She knew he didn’t mean it; she was simple enough, if you like; -but she knew there were probably other girls just as pretty as she was. -Nevertheless, she was glad Jack had told her she was pretty. She thought -it meant he was pleased with her. - -As a matter of fact, it only meant that he was pleased with himself. But -that was a thing Mary Dale could not be expected to understand. - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -WINT TO JOAN - - -Wint had lived very comfortably that winter, in Amos Caretall’s home, -with old Maria Hale to take care of him. In the beginning, when Amos -went away, he had protested at this arrangement. He told Amos he would -go to a hotel, to a boarding house, hire a room somewhere.... He said he -would not impose on Amos by living on his bounty. - -Amos laughed at him and said Wint would not be living on any one’s -bounty. “I aim to charge you board and keep,” he said. “And that’s -velvet for me, because I’d keep the house going anyway. Got to, to keep -old Maria. If I ever let go of her, somebody’d grab her in a minute.” - -Wint knew it was Amos’s habit to keep the house open and Maria in it, -even when he and Agnes were both away; so he accepted the proposition. -The board which Amos required him to pay was nominal; and Wint wanted to -pay more. Amos shook his head. - -“First thing you want to learn, Wint, is never to pay a man more than he -asks, for anything. He’ll think you’re a blamed fool.” - -So Wint had been comfortable. Maria knew how to cook, she kept the house -neat, she picked up after Wint’s disorderliness. And she mothered Wint -as her kind know how to do. - -He was comfortable, but he was lonely, desperately lonely. Wint was a -convivial young man. He liked to be with people. He had never been much -in his own exclusive company. Some one said that it is not good for man -to be alone; but it is equally true that it is not good for a man never -to be alone. Solitude is good for the soul. It gives an opportunity for -a certain amount of thought, for taking stock of one’s self. If every -one could be persuaded to an hour’s solitary self-consideration each -day, the world would be bettered thereby. It is hard to deceive -yourself. Wint found out the truth of this in his solitary evenings that -winter. He found himself forced to face facts, and face them squarely; -he found himself forced to recognize his own mistakes. - -Thus his loneliness did him no harm; but it did make him uncomfortable. -The fact that he was much alone resulted from two or three circumstances -and causes. His father had cast him out; so he saw his father and mother -not at all. And he had been accustomed to see them every day, all his -life. It is true there had usually been little pleasure for him in these -encounters. His father’s harshness, his mother’s garrulous tongue had -irked and angered him. They had worked at cross-purposes, as families -are apt to do. There had been little obvious sympathy and understanding -between them. Nevertheless, Wint found that he missed them; that he -missed his father’s overbearing accusations, and he missed his mother’s -interminable talk. Once or twice, when he met her on the street, he -stopped to talk with her; and he took a certain comfort from the flow of -breathless reproaches which poured out upon him at these times. Mrs. -Chase was as unhappy that winter as a mother must be when her son is set -apart from her; but she was loyal to her husband, and reproached Wint -for his disloyalty. - -Wint missed Joan, too. He missed her enormously. There was never any -doubt that Joan was half the world to him. He had longed for her -desperately at times; he had wanted to go and abase himself before her. -But he would not; he was strong enough to keep to his own path. And Joan -kept to hers. - -The fact that Wint and Joan were thus at odds made Wint an awkward -figure in any group of young people, because Joan was almost sure to be -there. He knew this as well as any one. So when Dick Hoover asked him to -go to the dances, he refused because Joan would be there; and when Elsie -Jenkins asked him to a card party, he refused again, and for the same -reason. But he did not tell Dick and Elsie what this reason was. As a -consequence, people stopped asking him to the festivities of Hardiston, -and Wint was left solitary. - -Solitary, and lonely. He was so lonely, that night of Elsie’s party, -that he walked past her house for the sheer, hungry joy of looking in -through her windows at the throng inside. He often walked about the town -in the evenings, thus. Sometimes it was to pass Joan’s home.... And he -did a deal of thinking, and of wondering; and he made a resolution or -two.... - -When Joan spoke to him, asked him to come and see her, Wint experienced -a strange revulsion of feeling. He was unhappy, and he told himself he -would never go; and he went uptown and dropped in on B. B. Beecham and -had that innocuous and idle talk with the editor, which never touched on -his troubles at all. Nevertheless, Wint emerged from the _Journal_ -office in a more cheerful frame of mind. People were apt to be more -cheerful, and more optimistic, and more resolved, after talking with B. -B. This was one of the virtues of the man. - -Wint decided, after leaving B. B., that he would go and see Joan. Some -time.... He decided he would not be in any hurry about it. Next month, -perhaps, or next week, or in a day or two.... - -As might have been expected, the end of it was that he went to see her -that night. For Wint was still half boy, with a boy’s impatience; and he -had been lonely for Joan for so long. After supper, with the long -evening before him, and nothing to do, he thought of going to Joan. He -swore he wouldn’t go; but he wanted to, so badly. Why shouldn’t he? She -had asked him. He wouldn’t and he would, and he wouldn’t and he -would.... - -In the end, he decided to walk out to her home and see if he could see -her, through the window. There was snow on the ground, it was fairly -cold. He bundled up in overcoat and cap and filled a pipe and lighted -it, and set out. He would just walk past the house, come back another -way, go to bed.... That would do no harm. - -But even while he tried to tell himself this was what he meant to do, he -knew that he would not come back without seeing Joan--if the thing were -possible. And when he got to the house, he saw that it was possible. -The shades were up at the sitting-room window; he could see her, reading -before the fire. She was alone. - -So Wint went reluctantly up the walk from the street, and he hesitated -at the steps, and then he went up the steps, stamping, and knocked at -the door. He heard Joan stirring, inside. Then the door opened, and Joan -was there before him. The light behind her shone through her hair; her -eyes were dark and steady. - -The light fell on his face, and she said quietly: “Hello, Wint. -I’m--glad you came.” - -Wint took off his cap, and held it in his hand. She thought he looked -very like a boy. He said nothing; and Joan moved a little to one side -and bade him come in. He went in, like a man walking in his sleep, and -she shut the door behind him. Wint stood in the hall as though he did -not know what to do. He wanted to run; but the door was shut. - -She said: “Take off your coat.” So he did, and laid it on a chair in the -hall, and put his cap on top of it. Joan told him to come into the -sitting room; and he said huskily: - -“All right.” - -So they went in and sat down together before the fire. And Wint wished -he had not come. He crossed his legs one way, then he crossed them the -other. He folded his arms, he folded his hands in his lap, he cleared -his throat, he leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. He did not -look at Joan; but Joan watched him, and by and by she smiled a little, -and her smile seemed like a caress upon his bent head. - -Wint said abruptly: “Your people all right?” - -“Yes,” Joan told him. - -He muttered angrily that that was good; and silence fell upon them -again. He twisted in this silence, like a caterpillar on a pin. He was -immensely relieved when Joan spoke at last. - -“What shall we talk about, Wint?” she asked steadily. “Do you want to -talk about your--fight? What are you doing?” - -“No,” he said dourly, staring at the fire. - -Joan watched him, not resenting his sullenness, because she had -understanding. After a little, she said gently: “I saw your mother the -other day.” - -Wint shot a quick glance at her. He could not help it. “That so?” he -asked. - -Joan nodded, and she smiled a little wistfully. “Yes. She misses you. -She and your father....” - -“They haven’t told me so,” said Wint morosely. - -“Have you talked with them?” she asked. - -“No. My father--” For the life of him, he could not stifle the choke in -his voice. “No, I haven’t,” he said. - -“You couldn’t, of course,” she agreed, and she looked at him sidewise. -“Of course, if you went to them, your father would think you were trying -to make up. You couldn’t do that.” There was an anxiety in her eyes; the -anxiety of the experimenter. Wint went by contraries. Joan knew quite -clearly what she wanted; she wanted him to go to his father. Was this -the way to lead him to make the first move? - -She was frightened at what she had done when he looked at her angrily. -“See here,” he said, “do you want me to go to him? Do you think I ought -to?” She was so frightened that she could not speak; but she nodded. -Wint barked at her: - -“Then why don’t you say so? I’m sick of having people make me do things -by telling me not to.” - -“I wasn’t trying to--make you do it, Wint,” she said; and she was almost -pleading. - -“You were; and you know it,” he told her flatly. “Weren’t you, now? -Secretly trying to make me....” - -Joan could not lie to him. “Y-Yes,” she said. - -“Then come out with it,” Wint demanded; and he got up and stamped about -the room, and words burst from him. “Joan,” he exclaimed, “I’ve been a -fool, and I know it. Am one still, I suppose. Hate to be preached to and -told what I must do, and mustn’t. You know that. Result is, I’m always -in trouble. Jack Routt, best friend I’ve got, does me more harm than my -worst enemy--just trying to keep me straight. I’ve always known it, in -a way. Knew I was a fool. But I’ve been just contrary enough to refuse -to be preached to. That’s the way I’m made. Only, for God’s sake, don’t -you start trying to manage me.” He hesitated, groping for words, and his -voice was suddenly weary and lonely as he said: “You ought to be able to -talk straight to me, Joan.” - -She did not answer for a moment; then she said simply: “I’m sorry, Wint. -I was wrong.” - -That took the wind out of him. He had hoped she would argue with him. He -wanted an argument, wanted a hot combat of words; he was full of things -that he wanted to say. To show her.... Justify himself to her. But you -can’t argue with a person who agrees with you. He sat down as abruptly -as he had risen, and stared again at the fire. - -Joan asked, after a time: “Are you sure Jack Routt is really your -friend, Wint?” - -“Of course,” he said, looking at her. “Why not? What do you mean?” - -“I don’t like him.” - -He laughed. “A girl never likes a man’s friends. Jack’s all right. He’s -a prince.” - -“Is he?” - -“Sure he is.” - -Joan said no more about Routt. She spoke of other things, trivial -things; and for an hour she and Wint managed to talk easily enough -without touching on forbidden ground. It was not till he got up to go -that they spoke seriously again. She had helped him on with his coat. At -the door, he faced her; and he asked: - -“Joan, d’you really think I ought to--patch things up at home?” - -She answered him straightforwardly: “Yes, Wint.” - -He looked past her, eyes thoughtful; and at last he held out his hand. -“Well, good night,” he said. “Maybe I will.” - -They shook hands, and he went out and tramped swiftly back to Amos’s -house. There was a bounding elation in him; his head was among the -stars. - - - - -CHAPTER V - -WINT GOES HOME - - -Wint had thought of going to his father before he talked with Joan. He -had tried advances now and then. Once he met the elder Chase on the -street and stopped to talk with him, but his father passed by with a -curt word of greeting. Another time, he saw Chase in the _Journal_ -office and went in. Chase and B. B. Beecham were talking together; but -when Wint came in, his father got up and departed. Wint had said: - -“Don’t let me drive you away. I just happened in.” - -But the senior Chase said: “I was going, anyway,” and he went. - -These incidents had roused the old resentment in Wint, but they had hurt -him more than they had angered him. And the hurt persisted, while the -resentment died. He found excuses for his father. He blamed himself; and -he thought of ways of approaching the older man with some hope of -success, and discarded them one by one. - -Seeing Joan gave him new confidence in himself. She had let him come to -see her; his father could do no less. Wint had no illusions as to Joan. -He understood that she wanted to help him, wanted to be proud of him; -but he understood also that he was on probation. He had not proved -himself, in her eyes. That must come with time. They had talked frankly -enough together; but--they had merely shaken hands at parting. That was -all; that was all he had any right to expect. He could wait--and -work--for the rest. - -It was much that she had asked him to come to her. It meant that he was -no longer outcast in her eyes; and the realization of this gave him new -self-respect. It was this very self-respect that enabled him to humble -himself to his father. A man can be servile without being -self-respecting; but self-respect and true humility are synonyms. Each -implies a true self-appraisal. Wint was a man, doing his work among men. -He was also his father’s son; and it was as a son that he went to his -father at last. - -He found the elder Chase at home one evening. He had made sure that his -father would be at home; but he was glad, when he got there, to find -that his mother had gone next door. His mother could not understand; and -no one else could talk much when she was about. Wint smiled when he -thought of her; then his lips steadied. There was need for talk between -his father and himself. - -His father came to the door; and when he saw Wint, he stared at him -coldly, and did not invite him to come in. Wint, with a sudden twinge of -sorrow, saw that his father had changed and grown older in these last -months. It seemed to Wint that his hair was thinner; there were new -lines in his face; and his old benevolent condescension toward the world -at large was gone. Wint said quietly: - -“I want to come in and talk with you if I may.” - -Chase hesitated, even then; but--he had been lonely as Wint had been -lonely. He stepped to one side and said: “Very well.” Wint went in, and -his father shut the door, and bade Wint come into the room off the hall -that served him as library, and office, and den. He did not tell Wint to -take off his coat, so Wint kept it on. Chase sat down at his desk, Wint -took a chair facing him. He did not know how to begin. - -Chase said: “Well, what is it you want?” - -Wint hesitated, then he smiled a little wistfully; and he said: “I want -to be--friends with you again.” - -His father abruptly looked away from him. Without looking at Wint, he -asked: - -“Why?” - -Wint’s right hand moved in a curious, appealing way. “Isn’t it natural -for a son to--want to be friends with his father, sir?” he suggested. - -Chase said harshly: “I told you, once, that I no longer counted you my -son.” - -“Those things don’t go by what we want, sir,” Wint urged. “I--am your -son. And you’re my father.” - -“Have you acted as a son should?” Chase asked coldly. - -“No,” said Wint, without palliation of the finality of the word, and -Chase looked--and was surprised. - -“You’ve realized it, have you?” - -“Yes, sir.” - -There was one thing Chase wanted to do; and it made him feel ridiculous -and ashamed of himself to want to do it. What he wanted to do was to -take Wint in his arms. And both of them grown men! He shook his head, as -though to brush this sentimental desire away. Foolishness! The young rip -had made a laughingstock out of him. Yet here he was, ready to give in -at a word. - -He said: “I suppose Amos sent you.” - -Wint bit his lips, and his face set faintly; but his voice was quiet -enough when he answered. “No, sir,” he said. - -“You tell Amos,” Chase exclaimed, “that you can’t pull his chestnuts out -of the fire for him. And he’ll be more anxious to get around me later on -than he is now. Tell him that for me.” - -Wint shook his head slowly. “Amos didn’t send me,” he said again. - -“Thought Amos told you everything to do?” his father asked. “Haven’t got -a mind of your own, have you?” - -“Yes,” Wint told him. “Yes, I think I have.” - -Chase considered, not looking at his son. He could not look at Wint and -still hold himself together. After a while he asked: - -“Well, what do you want? You haven’t told me what you want.” - -“I want to be friends.” - -Chase flung that aside with a swift gesture. “I mean, what do you want -to get out of me?” - -“Nothing.” - -His father got up, glared down at Wint angrily. “Don’t think I’m a fool, -Wint,” he said, in a rush of words. “You made me look like one, but I’m -not. You linked up with Caretall to make a jackass out of me; you went -out of your way to shame me by your own shamelessness. I kicked you out -with your tail between your legs, as I should have done long before. Now -you come whining home again. Don’t try to tell me you’re not after -something. I know you are. If you don’t want to say what it is, don’t. -That’s your business. But don’t try to make me a fool.” - -Wint had sworn to keep his temper; and he did. But he got to his feet -with a swift, silent movement that startled his father. And when Chase -broke off, Wint said steadily: - -“I’ve told you the truth. It’s true I misbehaved--badly. You have a -right to be angry with me. It’s true I did not know Caretall planned to -stick me in over your head. You know that’s true. As far as the rest of -it goes ... I came here to-night just to tell you that I’m sorry -for--the things I did. And I want you to know I’m sorry. You’re my -father. I’d like to have the right to come to you for advice; and I’d -like to come to you for friendship, if nothing more. That’s all. I’ve -come.” He turned toward the door. “I’ve come, and I’ll go.” - -When Wint turned toward the door, his father’s heart leaped as though it -would choke him. He wanted to cry out to Wint not to go; he did cry out: - -“Wait!” - -Wint stopped and looked at him. - -“Haven’t you given me a right to think--to mistrust you?” the older man -challenged. - -“Yes,” said Wint. - -“You’ve shamed me; and you’ve come near breaking your mother’s heart.” - -Wint found it hard to speak; and when he did speak, he said more than he -had meant to say. “I want to make amends, sir,” he told his father. - -“There are some hurts that can’t be mended,” said Chase inexorably. - -Wint nodded; his shoulders slumped a little, and he would have turned -again to the door. “I’ve said all I can say,” he explained, “so I guess -I’d better go.” - -Chase shook his head. “See here, Wint,” he said. “Listen.” There was not -yet friendliness in his voice; but there was a neutral quality that held -Wint. “Listen,” said Chase. “I’ve learned some things, too, Wint. It’s -only fair to say that I can see, now, I was a--bumptious father. And -I’ve not changed. I’m too old to change. Probably there were ways where -I wronged you. I don’t doubt it.” - -“No,” said Wint. “You were always decent to me.” - -“A father can be--decent to his son, without playing fair with him,” -said his father. “A father can--give things to his son, and at the same -time rob him of better things by the giving.” - -“You did your part, sir.” - -Chase hesitated, eyes on the floor. “I did my best for you, Wint,” he -said. “I think I always meant to do what was--best for you. Did you -always try to do what was best for me?” - -“No,” said Wint. - -“I don’t like our being at outs any better than you do,” Chase went on. -“It looks bad; and it’s hard on your mother--and on me. Perhaps on you, -too.” - -Wint said nothing. He was thinking that his father’s thinning hair and -lined face proved that the older man had--found it hard to be at outs -with his son. He was ready to go a long ways to make it up to Winthrop -Chase, Senior. - -His father said abruptly, as though summarizing what had gone before: - -“If you want to come home, Wint, I’ve no objection.” - -Wint had not thought of this possibility, and he said so. “I did not -come for that,” he told the older man. “I--just came to tell you, what I -have told you.” - -“I’m willing to accept what you say at face value,” said his father. “I -understand you’ve--kept sober. I understand you’re studying. I’m ready -to let you prove yourself.” - -Wint smiled with quick satisfaction. “That’s a good deal for you to -offer me, sir,” he said frankly. - -“If you want to come home, you can.” - -“I hadn’t thought of that till you spoke. I don’t know what to--” - -“Your mother would like to have you here,” said Chase huskily, “if you -care to come.” It was as near a plea as he could bring himself. - -Wint nodded with quick decision. “All right, sir,” he said. “I’d like to -come. I’ll bring my stuff to-morrow.” - -They shook hands abruptly, with a curt word that hid their feelings. -“Good night,” said Chase, and Wint said good night, and his father -closed the door behind him. - -Wint felt, while he walked back to Amos Caretall’s house, as though he -had been stripped of a load, had been cleansed, had been made whole. The -world had never looked so clean and bright to him before. - -A few minutes after he left his home, Mrs. Chase came back from the -neighbor’s. She saw at once that something had happened; there was a -change in her husband. He was flushed, and his eyes were shining. She -asked: - -“Why, what’s the matter with you? Has anything happened? Is there -anything wrong? You know, I said to-night, I told Mrs. Hullis, that I -just had a feeling something was going to happen. I told Mrs. Hullis I -just knew things were going to go wrong. Oh, it does look like we have -more trouble all the time.” - -“Wint is coming home, Margaret,” said her husband. - -Poor, garrulous mother! For once she was shocked dumb. Her eyes widened, -and she dabbed at them with her hand, as though a cobweb had stuck -across them. She turned white, and she seemed to shrink and grow old. -And she sat down slowly in the straight, uncomfortable chair she always -used, and put her worried old head down in her arms and cried. - -Chase touched her shoulder, awkwardly comforting her. - -“It’s all right, mother,” he said. “He’s coming home.” - -But Mrs. Chase didn’t say anything. She just sat there, quietly crying. -The tears wet through her sleeve till she felt them damp upon her arm. - - - - -CHAPTER VI - -A WORD AS TO HETTY - - -Peter Gergue wrote to Amos that Wint had gone home; and Amos got a -letter from Wint with the same news, the same day. Wint’s letter was -straightforward, a little embarrassed. “I want you to know,” he wrote, -“that my father and I have fixed things up. I am living at home again. -That doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate your kindness. But I thought I -ought to go home if they were willing to have me, and they were.” - -Peter wrote more at length. Gergue, uncouth to look upon and rude of -speech, was nevertheless an educated man, and a well-read man. There was -nothing bizarre about his letters. He wrote that Wint and his father had -come together. “From what I hear, Wint went home and told Chase he was -sorry, and so on,” Gergue continued. “I guess Chase took on some, at -that; but he came around. He’s wrapped up in Wint, you know, and always -was. This has been a good thing for him. He’s human now. He’s not such a -darned fool. Chase, I mean. If you don’t look out, Chase will give you a -run for your money yet. - -“Wint’s all right, too. Hasn’t touched a drop, far as I can find out, -since you left. He’s studying law with old Hoover, and working at the -job of being Mayor. Not setting the world on fire, either. Just the -routine. Town’s as wet as ever, and looks like it will go on being. I -guess Wint is worried for fear folks will laugh at him if he starts a -clean-up. Or maybe he doesn’t want to. Or maybe he hasn’t thought about -it. - -“He and Routt don’t run around together much. Jack’s been away. I wrote -you about that. He’s back now. Acts same as ever. Mary Dale told me he -was in to see old Kite one day, and Kite went up in the air. She -couldn’t hear what they were saying. She thinks Jack is made and handed -down. Maybe he is. I wonder what he wanted to go and see old V. R. Kite -for? - -“Kite was sore at you, right after election. Some one told him you was -going to have Wint clean up the town. He made talk that he’d hang your -hide if you did. But he got over that. He’s lying quiet. Doing a good -business, too, I should say. There were seven drunks in Wint’s court -last week. - -“I asked Chase if he figured to run against you next fall. He said he -was out of active politics. Active, he said. - -“Guess you’ve seen about the new city government law. Means we’ll have -to vote for Mayor again, this fall, instead of a year from now. You -figure to run Wint? I guess he’d take it. I guess he’s just getting -rightly interested in the job. - -“See the session’s likely to end along in May. You figure to come home -then?” - -Amos read these letters, read Wint’s twice, and smiled at it; then -re-read Peter Gergue’s. That night at their hotel he told Agnes that -Wint had gone to his own home. “Guess you’d better go back and keep -Maria company,” he said. - -He half expected her to protest. Agnes seemed to be having a good time -in Washington; she was very gay and much abroad. Jack Routt had stopped -off for three or four days, during his absence from Hardiston, and she -and Jack had been constantly together while he was in town. Also, there -had been other amiable young men, before and after Jack. So Amos thought -Agnes was enjoying herself, and hesitated to suggest her going home. But -he made up his mind, before he spoke, that she should go. Amos never got -into an argument unless he intended to win. This habit had established -for him a certain reputation for infallibility. - -But--Agnes did not protest. “I’m glad,” she said. “I’m sick of this -stupid old place.” - -Amos, head on one side, squinted at her humorously. “Well, there are -some stupid things done here, anyways,” he agreed. “When’ll you put out -for Hardiston?” - -She planned to get some clothes. “I’ll be along in May,” Amos told her. -“Guess you and Maria can go it alone till then.” - -Agnes was sure they could. - - * * * * * - -In Hardiston, Wint’s home-going was a nine days’ wonder. People made -comments according to their own hearts. Some were glad, some were -amused, some were caustic. The only one to whom Wint offered any -explanation was old Maria Hale. The old negress loved him like a son; -she was sorry to see him go. There were tears in her eyes when she told -him so; they ran down her black cheeks, like drops of ink upon that -blackness. It is easy to speak openly of simple, human emotions to such -folks as old Maria. Wint said to her: “I want to go home to my father -and mother. And they want me. I’m going to make it up to them for some -of the things I’ve done.” He would not have said as much as that to any -other person in the world. But there was no sense of strangeness in -saying it to the old colored woman. - -She bobbed her withered head, and smiled through her tears, and cried: - -“Da’s right, Miste’ Wint. Yore mammy ’nd pappy shore got to be proud o’ -you, boy.” - -“I hope so, Maria,” he told her, and she patted his shoulder. - -“‘Deed and dey will.” - -When he left the house, she came to the door and told him he must come, -now and then, and let her cook him a good supper; and he must come and -see her. She would be lonely, in that big house, without no white folks -around, she said. Wint promised to come; and she waved her blue gingham -apron after him as he went down the street. - -Muldoon was with him, scampering around him and about; and old Maria, -watching Wint and the dog, said to herself as they disappeared: - -“Shore will miss dat boy; but ol’ M’ria ain’t going to pester herself -about not seeing dat dog.” - -She objected to Muldoon because he shed hairs on the rugs. But she had -tolerated him for Wint’s sake. Muldoon thoroughly understood her -feelings; he used to sit with his head on one side and bark at her -while she brushed up those tawny hairs and scolded at him. She declared -he was laughing at her. More than once, Wint had been forced to make -peace between them. - -Muldoon did not seem surprised that they were going home; he took it -quite as a matter of course. In fact, it is doubtful whether he noticed -the change at all. Home, to Muldoon, was where Wint was. For that is the -way of the dog. - -So Wint went home, and Hardiston talked it over. V. R. Kite was glad to -hear it. It meant, he decided, that Wint had shifted allegiance from -Amos to his father; and while Kite had always mistrusted the elder -Chase, he felt they had a common bond in their mutual antagonism toward -Amos. Kite, in the last few months, had conceived a new respect for -Winthrop Chase, Senior. “Chase,” he was accustomed to say, “is a man of -sense. Yes, sir; a man of sense.” - -Joan was glad; she found occasion to tell Wint so, simply and without -elaboration. Wint said awkwardly: “Yes, I’m glad too. I guess it’s -better.” And they never mentioned the change again. James T. Hollow, the -little man whom Caretall had put up for Mayor against Chase, resented -Wint’s move. “It’s desertion,” he told Peter Gergue. “He is deserting -Congressman Caretall; and after all the Congressman has done for him. -It’s not the right thing to do, Peter.” - -Gergue spat, and rummaged through his hair. “Can’t always do what’s -right,” he said. - -“I’m afraid Amos will resent this,” Hollow went on. Peter said he -shouldn’t wonder. - -“If he does object, guess he’ll know how to show it,” he remarked. And -Hollow agreed, and added admiringly that Amos always seemed to know just -the right thing to do. - -The _Hardiston Sun_ and the _Journal_ were both friendly to Winthrop -Chase, Senior; so Skinner and B. B. Beecham made no comment on Wint’s -change of residence. But the semi-weekly _Herald_, which was an outcast -with its hand against every man, politically speaking, said, under a -headline: “The Prodigal Returns,” that Wint, “whose break with the elder -Chase dates from the election, when Senior was made a laughingstock -before the state, has returned to the parental rooftree. Please omit -fatted calves.” - -Sam O’Brien, the fat restaurant man, told Ned Bentley it was a good -thing. “Young Wint’s a fine lad,” he said. “And he’s on the right track. -Does no good, never, to break with your blood and kin.” - -Thus each took his own point of view. It was a poor citizen of Hardiston -who had nothing to say about the matter, except that those most -concerned had nothing to say at all. - -The actual home-coming was simple and undramatic. Wint sent his trunk -out during the day after his talk with his father. In the late afternoon -of that day, he happened to drop in at the Post Office for the late -mail, and met his father there. They greeted each other casually; and -Wint asked: - -“On your way home?” - -“I have to stop at the bakery.” - -“I’ll go along,” said Wint. And he did, while people stared with all -their eyes. Old Mrs. Mueller, the comfortable little woman who owned the -bakery, and who was always associated in Wint’s mind with the delicious -fragrance of newly baked bread, lifted both hands at sight of them -together, then dropped her hands abruptly and wiped them on her apron -and served them without a word. Before the door closed behind them, they -heard her, behind the screen in the rear of the shop, volubly telling -some one the news. - -Wint and his father walked home without speaking once upon the way. They -were both acutely embarrassed and uncomfortable. It was a relief to them -both when they got to the house and Mrs. Chase met them in the hall. -Chase dropped his hand on his son’s shoulder--the involuntary touch, -like a caress, brought the tears to Wint’s eyes--and he said: - -“Here’s Wint, mother.” - -So Wint took his mother in his arms, and she hugged him, hard. “I knew -you’d c-c-c-come home, Wint,” she told him, through her sobs. “I was -telling Mrs. Hullis, only the other day, that I’d--that I was just sure -you’d come home some--” - -“I’ve come, mother,” said Wint. - -“I knew you’d come, too. I told father there wasn’t anything in you that -would--I told him you’d be sorry, that you’d come and tell him so. Your -father’s a good man, Wint. He’s tried to--” - -Chase broke in. People who wished to say anything to her always had to -break in on Mrs. Chase. He said: “Is supper ready, mother? Wint’s -hungry, and so am I.” - -“Yes, yes,” she said. “It’s all ready. Hetty’s made two big pies, Wint. -Apples, with cinnamon in them. Thick, the way you like them. Some of our -apples, from the big Sheep’s Nose tree in the back yard. They’ve kept -wonderful this winter. We haven’t lost hardly any; and they’re as -juicy--” - -“Lead me to ’em,” said Wint cheerfully. “Is Hetty a good cook?” - -“She’s fine,” his mother assured him. “Hetty’s a fine girl. I never had -a harder worker. She don’t seem right happy, sometimes; but she does her -work, and that’s all a body has a right to ask. She--” - -Hetty herself came to the dining-room door, then, and told them that -supper was ready. Wint said: “Hello, Hetty,” and shook hands with her. -She said: - -“Hello, Wint.” The old note of reckless courage and good nature was gone -from her voice; and when he saw her more clearly, in the lighted dining -room, he saw his mother was right. Hetty did not look happy. Her eyes -were tired; and there were shadows beneath them. Her face was thinner, -too. He thought she did not look well. During supper, while she waited -upon them, he told her so. “You’ve been working too hard, Hetty. You -don’t look like yourself.” - -She said, with a twisted smile, that she was all right. There was a -harsh note in her voice. It disturbed Wint; but he said no more. During -the succeeding days and weeks, he grew accustomed to her changed -appearance. He no longer thought of it. - -In mid-April, Jack Routt came out to the house one night to see Wint. -The visit seemed casual enough. He said he had thought he would drop in -for a smoke and a talk. He came early, only a few minutes after supper, -and Hetty was clearing away the supper dishes. When she heard his voice -in the hall, she stood very still for a moment, looking that way. Wint -did not see her. Routt laid aside his hat, and then he saw Hetty, and he -called to her: - -“Hello, Hetty.” - -She said evenly: “Hello, Jack.” - -Then Routt and Wint went up to Wint’s room, and Hetty stood very still -where she was for a little time, before she went on with her work. - -Upstairs, Routt was saying: “I’d forgotten Hetty was working for you.” - -“Yes,” said Wint. - -Routt lighted a cigarette. “She’s a beauty, isn’t she?” - -Wint nodded. “Not as pretty as she was in school. Remember what a -picture she used to be, hair in a braid, and those cream-red cheeks of -hers?” - -“Guess I do,” Routt agreed warmly. He looked at Wint and grinned. “Don’t -know that I’d want her living in the same house with me,” he said. - -“Why not?” Wint asked. - -“Damned bad for my peace of mind.” - -Wint flushed. He was a curiously clean, innocent chap in some ways. He -felt a little ashamed by the mere existence of the thought which had -prompted Routt’s covert suggestion. “I’m glad you dropped in, Jack,” he -said. “Good to see you here again. Like old times.” - -If he had been less busy with the work of his office, and with his -study, Wint might have thought more about Hetty during the next few -weeks. But--he didn’t. They saw each other daily, and once or twice he -realized that she was not as good-natured as she had been. There were -times when she was sullen.... For the most part, however, he did not -think of her at all. - -Now and then he had short letters from Amos. Dry, friendly letters, with -some impersonal advice sprinkled through them. In the third week in May, -Amos wrote that he would come home, arriving the Thursday following. -Wint was glad he was going to see Amos again. He had gone to Amos’s -house once or twice for the suppers Maria loved to cook for him, but -when Agnes came home, he gave that up. Agnes bored him. She was too -vivacious. Joan was quieter, calmer, infinitely strengthening and -strong.... Jack Routt was seeing a good deal of Agnes, he knew. Routt -seemed no longer bent on the wooing of Joan, though he had told Wint, -months ago, that he meant to go in and win. Wint joked him, one day, -about this, and Routt said frankly: - -“You and she have made up. I’m not the sort of a chap that trespasses. -When I see I’ve no chance, I know how to make the best of things.” - -Wint thought that was straightforward and decent in Routt. - -Amos was to come home on the afternoon train, Thursday. Wednesday -evening, Wint spent at home. Chase and Wint’s mother went upstairs early -to bed, but Wint was busy with a case book from Hoover’s office, and -remained downstairs, the book open on the table, the lamp beside him. - -He did not realize that time was passing. Wint had a certain faculty for -concentration; and the dead quiet of the sleeping house allowed him to -enclose himself in the world of his thoughts. He heard nothing, saw -nothing, knew nothing but the matter he was reading. He did not hear the -clock strike midnight, and one o’clock. - -But in the end he did hear some one come up on the back porch. That -would be Hetty, coming home. He knew she had gone out for the evening. -Listening to her step, he wondered what time it was, and looked at the -clock and saw that it was within twenty minutes of two in the morning. - -“Great Scott!” he said, half aloud. “As late as that?” And then, -curiously, “What’s Hetty doing out this time of night?” He listened; and -he could hear no more footsteps, but he did catch the murmur of a man’s -voice. Indistinguishable.... Then Hetty’s in a harsh, mirthless laugh. -He got up abruptly and went out toward the kitchen. He could not have -told what impulse sent him. - -When he opened the door, Hetty was standing on the porch, facing him. -There was no one with her. Wint said: “Alone, Hetty? Time you were -getting in.” He was good-natured. - -She looked at him, and he saw that she was flushed, and her eyes were -reddened, and her mouth was open. Her hair was a little dishevelled. She -looked at him, and laughed, and said loosely: - -“Oh, you Wint. Wint’s caught me. Joke on me.” - -He saw that she had been drinking, and he was inexpressibly sorry and -disturbed. Not that he was a stranger to drink; not that he frowned upon -it from high, moral grounds. But--Hetty had been so beautiful, and so -youthful, and so gay. She was so hideously soiled now. He was not -disgusted; he was infinitely sorry for her. - -Hetty laughed crackingly. “Poor ol’ Wint. ’Member when you came home so? -Hetty put Wint t’ bed. Now Wint’ll have to put Hetty to bed. Mus’n’t let -Chase know, Wint. He’s a moral man.” - -Wint said gently: “Of course not, Hetty.” He took her arm. “Come in.” - -She was unsteady on her feet; and it seemed hard for her to keep her -eyes open. He was afraid she would drop in a sodden slumber before he -could get her upstairs. This fear haunted him during the moments that -followed; it marked them in his memory. He was never going to be able to -forget this business of helping Hetty slowly up the back stairs, and up -to her third-floor room. It was only a matter of minutes; but they were -fearfully long. And he was afraid she would go to sleep; and he was -afraid she would laugh. Once he heard the laughter coming, in her -throat, in time to press his hand over her mouth; and he could never -forget the feeling of her loose, working lips beneath his hand. He was -sweating and sick. - -He got her to her room without turning on the lights. He got her to the -bed and she lay down and seemed instantly asleep. He started for the -door; and she called him back. - -“Shame, Wint,” she said mournfully. “Ain’t going to take off my shoes? I -took off your shoes, Wint. I took off your shoes.” - -She wore low shoes, little more than pumps. He thanked his fates for -that, while his fingers fumbled for the laces. A tug loosed the knots, -the slippers came off easily. Hetty was snoring before he was done, and -he left her so. - -He could hear her snoring, after he got out into the hall. It seemed to -him his father, asleep in the front of the house on the second floor, -must hear. He went down from the third floor to the second on tiptoe -with excruciating care. And on down the back stairs to put out the -lights, and put away his book, and come back up to his own bed. - -He could not sleep for a long time. He was obsessed by a strange and -persistent feeling of responsibility for Hetty. It was as though he felt -himself to blame for this thing that had come to her. - -Jack Routt would have laughed at such a state of mind; but it was very -real to Wint. - - - - -CHAPTER VII - -ORDERS FOR RADABAUGH - - -Wint had a talk with his father next morning; that is to say, the -morning of the day Amos was to come home. He told the elder Chase that -Amos was coming. - -Chase nodded. “I heard so,” he agreed. - -“I want you to understand my relations with him,” said Wint. - -There was a time when the older man would have said that a son of his -could have no relations with Amos Caretall. But Winthrop Chase, Senior, -had been learning wisdom, and a certain tolerance. Also, he had no wish -to lose Wint again. He told himself this was because Wint’s mother was -growing old, would miss him. - -“Well,” he said, “what are they?” - -Wint had been dreading what his father would say; he had been afraid of -anger, of abuse. He was immensely relieved at the older man’s tone. - -“Simply this,” he said. “He put me where I am. That was tough on you; -but I think it has been good for me. It’s a strange thing to have the -feeling that you can give men orders which they must obey; and that you -have a--a sort of control over them. Dad, do you realize that I have to -send men to jail every little while? It’s a pretty serious thing to send -a man to jail, when you know you ought to be in jail yourself, in a way. -I’ve done some thinking about it; so you see, it’s been good for me. It -never hurts a man to think. - -“The whole thing is, Amos has done me a good turn, sir. I can’t help -feeling grateful to him. Can’t help feeling he’s been a good friend to -me. And--I want to be friends with him. And I want you to know there’s -no disloyalty to you in this friendship.” - -Chase considered for a little; then he said quietly: “You know, Amos -played false with me. Deceived me--deliberately. And tricked me.” - -“I know it,” said Wint. “It was politics; and in a way, it was dirty -politics. But--he’s been square with me.” - -“I’m not sure,” said Chase, “that the whole business has not turned out -pretty well, for you. For your sake, I’m not sorry.” His voice stirred -and quickened. “But by Heaven, Wint, Amos is no friend of mine! And some -day I mean to break him.” - -Wint said: “That’s all right. It’s a fair game between you. But I don’t -want you to think I’m taking sides with him.” - -“What are you going to do?” Chase asked. - -“I thought of meeting his train,” Wint told him. “And--he asked me to -have supper with them to-night, to talk things over. I thought I would.” - -“Suppose I tell you not to?” - -Wint said wistfully: “I hope you won’t, sir, because--I’m going to.” - -Chase nodded. “I suppose so,” he agreed. “Well, Wint--you’re a grown -man. I shall not try to treat you--like a boy. Not again. I’m leaving it -to you, Wint.” - -Wint said quickly: “I’m glad.” He got up and, without either’s -suggestion, they shook hands, and looked into each other’s eyes for a -moment. - -“All right,” said Chase. “I’ll tell your mother not to expect you for -supper.” - -“Try to make her understand, will you?” - -His father smiled. “Your mother doesn’t always understand,” he said. -“But--she loves you, Wint.” - -“I know....” - -He hesitated, wondering whether he should tell his father about Hetty. -She had been sullen, avoiding his eyes, when she served breakfast. His -father, or his mother, had a right to know. - -Yet Wint could not bring himself to tell them. There would be no charity -in them for the girl. And Wint had an infinite deal of tolerance for -her. Give her a chance. He would not tell them. Not yet, at least. It -could wait for a while. - -He was conscious of a need to tell some one. Not for the sake of -betraying Hetty, but to find some balm for his own soul. That sense of -responsibility persisted; he could not analyze it, but he could not -shake it off. A strangely haunting feeling, this.... It troubled him -acutely. His thoughts dwelt on it all that day. - -There was a drunken man in the Mayor’s court that morning. An old man. -Wint knew him. He was that man who had embraced Wint in the office of -the Weaver House, on the morning after the election. The incident seemed -to have happened infinitely long ago; yet it was horribly vivid in -Wint’s memory still. The man had treated him like a boon companion, a -good, understanding comrade. He had assumed a fellowship between them; -the fellowship of drink. The shame of it was that his assumption had -been justified.... - -The man reminded Wint of the incident, this day in court. He was -miserably sober when they brought him in, miserably sober, and trembling -to be drunk again. “Don’t be hard on a fellow, your Honor,” he pleaded -with Wint. “You know how it is. You remember. That day; day after you -was elected. You’re a good pal, Mayor, your Honor. Don’t go to be too -hard on a man.” - -He had been in court before; Wint had fined him, had sent him to jail. -The futility of these measures came home crushingly to Wint just now. -The man was not helped by them; he was as bad as ever. Worse, perhaps. A -revolt against this whole system of punishment boiled up in Wint. He -said, without considering: - -“All right. Try to let it alone. Get out.” - -Young Foster, the city solicitor, looked surprised and pained as though -Wint had insulted him. Marshal Jim Radabaugh grinned good-naturedly. The -man himself crowded up to Wint’s desk with his thanks, and poured them -out, and at last whispered humbly: - -“You haven’t got a dime to give a man, have you, Mayor, your Honor? I’m -shaking for a drink. You know how that is. Just a dime, your Honor.” - -Wint gave him a quarter, and Foster said: “Well, I’ll be damned!” The -man went out, calling blessings on Wint’s head. Foster demanded: “What’s -the idea, anyway, Wint? He’s a common souse.” - -“I’m sick of sending him to jail,” said Wint hotly. “I’m not going to do -it any more. What good does it do?” - -“Keeps him sober, anyway. You as good as told him to go and get drunk -again.” - -“Well, let him,” said Wint. “What else is there for him to do?” - -“Go to work.” - -“He looks fit for work, doesn’t he?” - -“Whose fault is that?” - -“Yes,” said Wint, “whose fault is it? Whose fault that he is what he is? -Whose fault that he can buy a drink in a dry town? Whose fault is it, -Foster, anyway?” - -Foster laughed. “Well, what’s the answer?” - -Wint leaned back in his chair, eyes down, considering. He was thinking -of Hetty; he could not help it. And the end of his thinking was this. He -looked at Marshal Jim Radabaugh, and said evenly: - -“Mister marshal, don’t arrest any more men in Hardiston for being drunk -unless they--commit other crimes.” There was a bite in the last word. - -But Jim Radabaugh only grinned and said: “All right, you’re boss.” - -Foster started to protest. Wint asked: “Any more cases?” - -“No. But damn it all, Wint! Listen--” - -“I don’t want to listen,” Wint told him. “I’m through. Court’s -adjourned. Don’t--” - -“You’re turning the town over to the bums,” Foster protested. - -“They can’t run it any worse,” said Wint, and took his hat and departed. -Foster swore. Marshal Jim Radabaugh strolled up to the Bazaar to tell V. -R. Kite this interesting news. - -Wint met Amos at the train, and Amos shook him by the hand and looked -him in the eye and nodded with good-natured approval. “Coming home for -supper?” he asked. - -“Surely. I wouldn’t miss Maria’s supper.” - -“You might say you wouldn’t miss us, too,” Agnes reminded him, clinging -to her father’s arm. “Mightn’t he, dad?” - -“Say it, Wint,” Amos suggested. “Only way to have peace in the family.” - -So they let Agnes have her way, and she made the most of it. Peter -Gergue came for supper, too; and Agnes sat at one end of the table, -presiding over the coffee urn with a pretty assumption of the rôle of -matron. She did most of the talking. The men were too busy with Maria’s -fried chicken. But afterward, when they were done, Amos and Peter and -Wint went into the sitting room, and Agnes said she wasn’t going to sit -and listen to them talk politics. She was going to the moving-picture -show. Amos told her to run along. He and Peter shaved their plugs of -tobacco, and crumbled the slices, and filled their pipes; and Wint -grinned at the exactness with which Peter copied Amos’s procedure. He -had filled his own pipe in more conventional fashion, from his pouch, -and was smoking while they were still rubbing the sliced tobacco between -their palms. - -When the pipes were all going, Amos, as was his custom, sat in silence, -waiting for some one else to speak first. Wint imitated him. And Gergue, -who did not like silences, said at last: - -“Well, Amos, you’re home.” - -“Looks that way,” Amos agreed. - -“Hardiston ain’t changed.” - -“No, Hardiston don’t change.” - -“Same old town.” - -“Yeah, same old town.” - -Silence settled down upon them again. Wint was thinking of Hetty. She -had been in his mind all day; she and the miserable man who had faced -him in the court that morning. They were somehow linked in his thoughts; -linked in a fashion that accused him. Accused him, Wint Chase, of -responsibility for them. He groped for understanding, trying to guess -why this was so. - -Amos, abruptly, looked at Peter Gergue. “Pete,” he said, “I want to talk -to Wint.” - -Peter got up instantly. “Why, sure, Amos,” he agreed. “I got to see some -men, anyways.” - -“Be in your office in the morning?” Amos asked. - -“Guess likely.” - -“I’ll drop in.” - -Peter nodded, and Amos went with him to the door. When he came back, -Wint was still sitting, nursing his pipe. Amos looked at him, sat down, -looked at Wint again; and at last asked: - -“We-ell, Wint, how’s tricks?” - -Wint said, after a little consideration, that he guessed tricks were all -right. - -“Like being Mayor?” - -“It’s--sobering,” Wint told him. “It’s a good deal of a job. For me.” - -“Tell you,” said Amos. “Any job’s a good deal of a job; if a man takes -it serious.” - -Wint laughed. “Shouldn’t wonder if I took this too seriously,” he said. - -“Can’t be done,” Amos reassured him. “Any man that has to look out for -other men has a serious job.” - -Wint said nothing to that. He was wondering if it were a part of his job -to look out for Hetty, and that drunken man of the court. - -“That’s what being Mayor amounts to,” Amos remarked. “Found it so, -haven’t you?” - -Wint stirred in his chair. “Amos,” he said, “a thing happened last -night. I feel like telling you about it. Don’t need to ask you not to -pass it on.” - -Amos tilted his head on one side, squinting at Wint wisely. “That’s all -right,” he said. “Tell on.” - -The permission relieved Wint immensely; he felt as though he had been -loosed from bondage. He told, in a swift rush of words, the story of -Hetty. How she had come home last night. He went on, told about the man -in court that day. He told Amos what had happened, what he had done, -the order he had given Radabaugh. - -Amos looked at him curiously. “Told Jim that, did you?” - -“Yes.” - -“What did Foster say?” - -Wint grinned. “Said he’d be damned.” - -“I reckon not,” Amos decided, after a moment’s thought. “He won’t be. -He’s all right.” - -“He thought I was foolish. I suppose I was.” - -Amos said slowly: “Depends on why you did it, Wint. Depends on what was -in your mind.” - -That set Wint thinking again, trying to decide just what had been in his -mind. Amos smoked steadily, not looking at Wint at all. At last he said -again: - -“Yes, sir, Wint. Depends what was in your mind.” - -Wint assented thoughtfully. “I suppose so,” he said. - -Amos tried waiting in silence for him to go on; but Wint was busy -thinking; he beat Amos at his own game without knowing it. He drove -Caretall to ask: - -“What was in your mind, Wint?” - -The boy groped for words; he flushed uneasily, as though afraid of being -laughed at. “Well,” he said, “I had a fool sort of a feeling that I was -to blame.” - -Amos nodded slowly. “Well,” he said, “that’s what I meant--in a -way--when I said you had a job that meant taking care of folks. Hetty, -and that old rip--they’re folks, like any one else, like as not.” - -“Yes, they are,” Wint agreed. - -“Taking care of them; that’s your job, Wint. Maybe that just means -fining them, and sending them to jail.” - -“I tell you I won’t do that again,” Wint exclaimed. “I told you the -order I gave Jim Radabaugh.” - -“We-ell,” said Amos slowly. “That’s all right. Far as it goes. Might go -farther.” - -“Farther? How?” Wint demanded. “What can I do?” - -“I hadn’t anything pa’ticular in mind,” Amos said carelessly. “Hadn’t a -thing in mind.” He looked at Wint sidewise. Wint’s face was white with -the intensity of his thought. Amos said slowly: “Looks like a shame to -have drunk folks around in as pretty a town as Hardiston.” - -“A shame?” Wint cried. “It’s damnable.” - -“Guess most folks don’t like it,” Amos reminded him. “Town voted dry. -Guess that shows most folks wanted it to be dry, don’t it?” - -“I suppose it does,” Wint agreed. Amos looked at him; and Wint moved -abruptly in his chair, and his eyes began to flame. The puzzle cleared; -he began to understand. He began to understand himself, his own -thoughts, his feeling that he was to blame for--Hetty. He began to -understand, and his lips set. He said, half aloud: “By God, it means a -fight! A hell of a fight in Hardiston.” - -“Fight?” Amos asked casually, as though he were thinking of something -else. “I like a fight, I’d like to see a good one.” And he added, after -a moment: “I might take a hand; if it weren’t a private fight, or -something.” - -Wint sat forward in his chair, looked around the room. “Where’s the -telephone?” he asked. - -“Telephone?” said Amos. “Why, in the hall.” - -Wint got up and went swiftly out into the hall. Amos listened; and he -smiled, with a twinkling anticipation in his eyes. He heard Wint ask the -operator to locate Jim Radabaugh and get him on the ’phone. Then Wint -came back and stood in the doorway, waiting while she signaled for the -marshal with the red light that was set on a pole in the heart of the -town. Amos did not turn around to look at Wint. Wint did not move. - -After a while, the ’phone rang twice. “That’s us,” said Amos, still -without turning. “Our ring is two.” - -Wint went to the ’phone. Radabaugh, at the other end, said: “This is the -marshal. Who’s talking?” - -“Wint. Mayor Chase.” - -“Oh! All right, Mister Mayor. What’s on your mind?” - -Wint said evenly: “I’ve instructions for you. If you are willing to -carry them out, all right. If not, resign, and I’ll fill your place -to-morrow.” - -“You’re the boss,” said Radabaugh amiably. “I do what you say.” - -“Either do what I say or resign,” said Wint again. “I want you to get -busy and break up the liquor business in Hardiston.” - -There was a long silence, and Wint heard the marshal whistle softly -under his breath. Then Radabaugh asked: - -“In earnest?” - -“Absolutely. I want the town cleaned up. I want it bone dry. Will you -take the job? Or quit?” - -“Why,” said Radabaugh, “I’ll just naturally take the job. I’ve been -a-wishing I had something to do.” - -Wint spoke a word or two more, hung up, and came back to Amos. He sat -down without speaking. After a little, Amos asked, looking at Wint -sidewise: - -“Going through with it?” - -“Yes,” said Wint. There was more resolution in the simple word than -there would have been in lengthier protestations. - -“We-ell, all I can say,” Amos drawled, “is that this here is going to -make an awful difference to V. R. Kite.” - -It did: a difference to Kite, and to Wint’s father, and to Jack Routt; -and a difference to Wint himself. A difference to Hardiston, too. - -When Wint went home, at ten o’clock, the word was already humming around -the town. - -END OF BOOK THREE - - - - -BOOK IV - -LINE OF BATTLE - - - - -CHAPTER I - -MARSHAL JIM RADABAUGH - - -Jim Radabaugh, the city marshal, that is to say, the chief of police, -was a man not without honor in Hardiston. A good fellow, and a cool, -brave officer. That he was a good fellow, every one who knew him could -attest. He had no enemies. It was a pleasure to be arrested by him. -There was an equable good nature in the man, and a drawling humor in the -very tones of his voice which inspired good nature and good humor in -return. He was a lean man, lazily erect, as though it were too much -trouble to be stoop-shouldered. Black hair, black eyes.... A chronic -bulge in his cheek that housed the wad of tobacco which he kept there. -An intimate acquaintance with the intricacies of big-league baseball as -set forth in the public prints; a repository of racing lore; a good pool -player and a redoubtable hand at poker. All in all, a good man to keep -the peace according to his lights. - -People said he was easy-going, but every one knew he was no slacker of -duty or of obligation. Three years back--that was before they elected -him marshal--he had been under fire for the first time. It was on the -interurban street-car line that ran from Hardiston “up the crick.” -Radabaugh sat in the front of the car, facing the rear; and a man in the -middle of the car ran amuck with a revolver, shooting wildly. He killed -one man, wounded another, in the seconds it took Radabaugh to charge -down the aisle and overwhelm him. The conductor of the car, at the -moment, was hiding under a rear seat; and the motorman had jammed off -his power and jumped overboard, into a ditch that had more water in it -than he had counted on. Radabaugh knocked the man over with a cuff of -his fist, and pinned him, and took his gun away. - -His friends told him he ought to run for office after that. He said he -didn’t mind. His business was not an exacting one. He and his brother -were tailors, and his brother could handle the bulk of their work -anyway. So Jim ran for marshal, and was elected. Thereafter, when he was -not occupied with his official duties, he used to drop in at the tailor -shop to help things along there. It was no sight for timid customers, -trying on their new suits while Jim’s brother chalked them in mysterious -places, to see Jim come in and go to work. He always came in casually, -spat in the appointed direction, then produced from one pocket and -another his gun, his handcuffs, and his club. He was accustomed to lay -these on one of the bolts of cloth which stocked the shelves, then seat -himself cross-legged on the table, with a little cloth apron on his -knees, and pick up the first task that came to hand. - -His duties as marshal were not pressing, for Hardiston folk commit few -crimes, and usually commit those away from home. When he was wanted -during the day, the telephone operator called the shop. If she wanted to -locate him after dusk, she flashed a signal light which called him to -the telephone. For the most part, his time was his own. - -And this is not to say that Jim Radabaugh had nothing to do. There was -the case, for example, of the darky who was wanted for burglary in one -of the cities in the southern part of the state. Jim got word that he -was drinking in a hovel down by the creek, with two other men. So he -went down there and strolled in and told the man he was wanted. Jim’s -hands, at the moment, were in his coat pockets. The darky pulled a -revolver, jammed it against Jim’s breast, and pulled the trigger. -Nothing happened; that is to say, nothing happened to Jim. The darky’s -gun did not explode, but Jim’s did. It burned a hole in his pocket, and -it bored a hole in the darky, neatly amidships, in such fashion that -there was no further occasion to trouble with that man. His body, laid -open with two slashes of the coroner’s knife that intersected on the -bullet hole, was on view for a day or two in the undertaker’s back room; -and small boys went in to see it. They thought Jim Radabaugh was rather -more than mortal, after that. - -As a matter of fact, it had been a narrow squeak for Jim, as an -examination of the darky’s weapon proved. That unfortunate man had -apparently been unable to buy revolver ammunition, so he had bought -rifle cartridges of the desired caliber and whittled off the bullets to -make them fit into the cylinder of the revolver. Perhaps he had hurried -with this bit of preparation; at any rate, he left one of the bullets -too long, and when he pulled the trigger, the bullet caught and -prevented the cylinder from turning. Which undoubtedly saved Jim -Radabaugh’s life. - -People agreed that was a good thing; for Jim was a good fellow. Wint’s -orders to clean up the town interested him. They meant some measure of -excitement, and he liked excitement. He told two or three people, that -night, and they spread the news. But Jim took no official step till next -day. Then he set out to serve notice on those most concerned. - -One of these people most concerned was a man named Lutcher. His place of -business was on the second floor of a building that fronted on one of -the alleys in the heart of town. You climbed an outside stair from the -alley to Lutcher’s door. Wint and Jack Routt went there, that night of -Amos Caretall’s first home-coming, from their interrupted billiard game. -Lutcher’s place was perhaps the best in town; that is to say, the -surroundings were least sordid, and the wares he sold most meritorious. -He was financed, of course, by Kite. - -Radabaugh went there first. He had been there before, in his personal -capacity. He had no scruples about such visits. Lutcher was a -lawbreaker, of course; but the lawbreaking was tacitly accepted. There -had been no orders against it. And Jim Radabaugh had no objection to a -drink now and then. So he climbed the stairs from the alley to Lutcher’s -door, and knocked, and Lutcher opened the door and admitted him. This -Lutcher was not a bad fellow, say what you will of his business. A big, -bald man with a husky, whispering voice, and a habit of appearing in his -shirt sleeves. He wore rather attractive silk shirts, chosen with no -mean taste; and his vests were often remarked. Also, he smoked good -cigars, instead of the well-nigh universal stogie of Hardiston; and he -gave these cigars freely to his regular customers. - -Lutcher had not heard the news, the night before. So he greeted Marshal -Radabaugh good-naturedly, and told him it was pretty early in the day -for a drink, and that he would lose his reputation if he came here by -daylight in this fashion. Jim laughed at that, and asked cheerfully -whether Lutcher had a good stock on hand. - -“Ice chest full, and a sawdust bin packed with bottles,” Lutcher told -him. “What’s yours? The same.” - -“Any reserve supply?” Radabaugh asked. Lutcher said there was no -reserve; that he was expecting a shipment in a day or two. Radabaugh -nodded. - -“Got bad news for you, Lutch,” he said. - -Lutcher beamed. He was always an amiable man. “Can’t make me feel bad, -Jim,” he said. “Shoot the wad.” - -“Going to close you up,” said Radabaugh. - -Lutcher laughed. “Fat chance, I guess. What’re you trying to do? Work me -for a snifter. All right. Say the word.” - -“Straight goods,” Radabaugh assured him. “Mayor’s orders.” - -“Wint’s orders? That’s a hot one.” Lutcher chuckled, his gay vest -heaving with his mirth. “Why, Wint’s one of my regular customers.” - -“Ain’t been in lately, has he?” Radabaugh suggested. - -“No, not just lately. It wouldn’t look right.” - -Radabaugh nodded. “He’s in earnest, I’d say,” he told Lutcher. “Anyway, -I do what he says. He didn’t say anything about confiscating the stuff, -or destroying it. Said to stop the sale. So I’ve got to seal you up, -Lutch.” - -Lutcher had been losing some of his amiability. He told Radabaugh so. -“I’m a good-natured man,” he said. “But this is no joke.” - -“No,” said Jim. “It’s no joke. Where’s your ice box?” - -“What in time do you think you’re going to do?” - -“Put a seal on it, and on that bin of yours. And drop in and look at the -seals every day or two. And I’ll take charge of shipments that come in, -unless you cancel them. If you bust the seals, I’ll have to take you -into court, and Wint will soak you.” - -“You’ve got a Chinaman’s chance,” Lutcher told him scornfully. “Why, -I’ve given that pup his pap for two years. I’m not going to stand for -this. Not for a minute. You tell him so.” - -“If you’d rather have it so,” Jim said mildly, “I’ll pour it all out of -the window, right now.” He said this mildly, but Lutcher knew Jim’s -mildness was apt to be deceptive. In the end, he surrendered to the -inevitable, because it was the inevitable. Jim placed his seals, and -strolled away. Lutcher boiled out after him and hurried off to see V. R. -Kite. - -The marshal bent his steps toward the Weaver House, that infamous -hostelry where Wint had spent the night of his election, and where he -had been found next day. Radabaugh knew Mrs. Moody, the presiding genius -of that place, as well as he knew Lutcher. He had always made it his -business to know such folk. But Mrs. Moody did not receive him with the -good nature Lutcher had shown. She had heard some rumors of what was to -come. - -The sunken office of the old hotel was little changed, when the marshal -strolled in, since that night of Wint’s election. The light of day, -fighting its way through the dingy windows, served only to make the -interior more squalid. The same old men played their interminable game -of checkers on the table in the corner. The miserable dog that bore -Marshal Jim Radabaugh’s name sprawled beneath the table, its bony legs -clattering on the floor when the creature stirred in its sleep. The boy, -that boy who had been so painfully reading the literature of brewing on -the night of the election, was not to be seen. It is to be hoped that he -was out about some wholesome play. Radabaugh had a suspicion, founded on -experience, that the boy was not in school. He never was. Mrs. Moody sat -behind the high, bar-like counter. When Radabaugh came in, she got up -with a quick, deadly movement like the stir of a coiling snake; and she -smiled at the marshal with those hideously beautiful false teeth -gleaming in her aged and distorted countenance. - -“Why, good morning, deary,” she said, terribly amiable. “I don’t often -see you down here any more.” - -“Morning, Mrs. Moody,” said Jim. And stalked past the counter toward the -door that led to that back room which overhung the creek. Mrs. Moody -bustled after him and caught his arm at the door. - -“Where you a-going, Jim Radabaugh?” she demanded. “You say what you -want, and say it here.” - -Radabaugh shook his head. He knew such measures as he had used with -Lutcher would not serve with Mrs. Moody. The patrons of the Weaver House -had little respect for such flimsy things as seals. He knew, also, that -there was no possibility of relying upon the word of Mrs. Moody. Many -women, especially such women as she, have the attitude toward promises -that the Kaiser had toward treaties. They consider them interesting only -when broken. Radabaugh meant to destroy her stock of liquor; and he told -her so. - -Then she began to scream at him. The old men at the checkerboard brushed -at their ears as though her screaming were a swarm of flies, harassing -them. Jim pushed her to one side and went through to the back room. When -he set about his business there, she attacked him with a billet of wood; -and Jim subdued the old warrior as gently as might be, and told her to -mind what she did. So she began to weep and wail and scream -hysterically; and Jim emptied bottles through the trap-door into the -creek, knocking off the neck of each bottle so that there might be no -survivors. All the while, Mrs. Moody wailed behind him. - -When it was done, he turned to her, brushing his hands. “Orders are, no -more selling, ma’am,” he said gently. “If you start up again, I’ll have -to take you in.” - -She was trying to placate him now. “Whose orders, deary?” she wheedled. -“Who’s doing this to old Mother Moody, anyhow?” - -“Mayor,” Jim told her; and she wailed: - -“Wint Chase. Little Wint that I’ve put to bed here amany a time. He’d -never go and do this, now. Who was it? Honest.” - -“Mayor,” Jim repeated. “Straight goods. Hardiston has gone dry. This is -serious, too. Don’t you go to start anything, ma’am. Because I always -did hate to arrest a lady.” - -“You’ll just have to--you might just as well take me right off to the -poor farm, Jim Radabaugh. I’m not making ends meet, even right now.” Her -withered old hands covered her face, and she rocked and wailed: “Eh, -poor old Mother Moody! Poor old Mother Moody! You wouldn’t take me in if -I sold just a little bit, would you, now?” - -He said he would; and when she saw he meant it, she dropped her attempts -to conciliate him; and she cursed him through the corridor and through -the office; and she stood in the door of her hostelry and cursed him as -long as he could hear, so that even Jim Radabaugh’s hardened ears turned -red and burned with shame. It takes a brave man to face without inward -shrinking the revilements of a thoroughly angry woman. Jim was glad to -be rid of her. - -He stopped, on the way back uptown, to warn a fly-by-nighter who ran a -lunch cart near the station and served stronger drinks than coffee. This -man denied any interest in Jim’s warning; and the marshal could find no -liquor about the cart. Nevertheless he served notice, and made a mental -memorandum to see to it that the notice was obeyed. - -Remained only V. R. Kite. Radabaugh grinned as he thought of Kite. Kite -would take this matter hard; and when V. R. Kite took a thing hard, the -sight was worth seeing. - -But Kite was not in the Bazaar when he got there, so Jim strolled back -up street and dropped in on B. B. Beecham. The editor greeted him as -courteously as he greeted every one. “Good morning,” he said. “Have a -chair. Anything I can do for you?” - -Radabaugh spat into the stove. “No,” he said, readjusting the bulge in -his cheek. “Just dropped in. Waiting to see Kite.” - -B. B. nodded. “Anything new with you?” he asked, for everybody was a -source of news to B. B. Beecham. That was why the _Journal_ was popular. - -“We-ell, I have got a sort of an item for you,” Jim told him. “Might be -worth printing, maybe.” - -B. B. asked what it was; and Jim told him. “Wint’s give orders that the -town’s going dry.” - -B. B. said: “H’m! Is that so?” And Jim said it was so. - -“Guess that’ll be an item folks will read,” he remarked. - -The editor shook his head. “We don’t feel we can print such things,” he -said. “You see, it’s bad for Hardiston, outside. Legally, the town is -already dry.” - -“I never did have much of any use for laws,” Jim drawled. - -“I suppose this means some work for you.” - -“Can’t say. Don’t think so. There won’t be much of it done, except a -little, on the sly. Not after the word I’ve passed around.” - -“Well, it won’t do Hardiston any harm. Even as things are, they are -better than they used to be. I can remember thirteen saloons here at one -time. How many have there been, under cover?” - -“Three-four, regular,” Jim told him. - -“Very few people will really miss them,” B. B. said. “People do so many -things, just because they’re in the habit, and the things are waiting to -be done. It’s surprising how much a man can give up without realizing -that he’s giving up anything. I don’t suppose you ever thought of that.” - -“Can’t say I ever did,” said Jim, and spat into the stove. - -“Like the horse in the story. You’ve heard about the horse?” - -“What horse?” - -“Oh, you haven’t heard it? The horse that was trained to live without -eating.” - -Jim looked mildly interested. “I’ll say that was some horse,” he -remarked. “What happened to him?” - -“Why, just as the man got him trained, the horse died,” said B. B.; and -Jim chuckled, and B. B. laughed in the silently uproarious way habitual -to him. Then Jim saw V. R. Kite pass by on the way to the Bazaar and got -up quickly. - -“There’s Kite,” he said. “See you later.” - -He overtook the little man just inside the Bazaar; and Kite heard his -step and turned and looked at him, and Jim saw that Kite knew. But he -only said: - -“Hello, Kite. Want to talk to you a minute.” - -“Come back to my desk,” said Kite, and led the way, walking stiffly, -head high, ever so much like a turkey. Jim marked this peculiarity to -himself. - -“Exactly like a man looking over a high fence,” he thought. “I’ll -declare, it is.” - -Kite sat down, tugged at his side whiskers, and bade Jim speak. The -marshal looked for a place to spit, saw none, swallowed hard, and said: - -“Guess you’ve heard the orders.” - -“What orders?” Kite asked harshly. But his face was livid, and the veins -stood out on his forehead with his effort at self-control. - -“Mayor calls me up last night and tells me to stop whisky selling. -Hardiston’s gone dry.” - -“What has that to do with me?” Kite demanded. - -The marshal did not grin. If Kite wanted to act that way, all right. It -was the little man’s privilege. After all, he was outwardly respectable -enough, a pillar of the church, and all that. - -“Thought you might be interested,” said Jim. - -“I am,” said Kite. “I believe in the free sale of liquor. Every man must -have an opinion, one way or the other.” - -Jim considered that. Then he got up. “Well,” he said, “I’ve passed the -word around. Don’t know any one that’s planning to keep on selling, do -you?” - -“No, of course not.” - -“Because if you do,” said Jim slowly, “tell ’em not to do it. Because if -there’s any turns up, any selling, I’m going to come and ask you about -it, Kite.” - -Kite boiled up out of his chair and waved his fist. “Get out of here, -you rat!” he raged, holding his voice to a monotonous whisper that was -more deadly than an outcry would have been. “Get out of here, before -I....” - -“Before you what?” Jim asked; and Kite checked himself, and pulled at -his side whiskers, and sat down abruptly, staring at the desk before -him. - -Jim left him there. As he emerged into the street, he began to whistle. -The whistle was ragged, but the tune could be identified. Jim was -whistling: - -“‘There’ll be a Hot Time in the Old Town To-night.’” - - - - -CHAPTER II - -THE BREWING STORM - - -Wint lay awake for a while, the night after he had given his orders to -Radabaugh. He had many things to occupy his thoughts. There was in him -none of the elation which might have been expected; he had no zest for -the fight that was ahead of him. He was, rather, depressed and doubtful -of the wisdom of what he had done, and doubtful of his own strength and -determination to carry it through. He was acutely aware that a great -many people would say: “Well, Wint’s got a nerve. A fish like him, -trying to make Hardiston dry. I’ll bet he’s got a cellar full.” They -would say this, and they would have a right to say it. Wint thought, -miserably enough, that he had been foolish to start trouble. He might -better have let well enough alone. - -The boy’s stubbornness had played him false more than once in the past; -this time it was to do him a good turn. A less stubborn person would -have backed down, under the weight of these misgivings; would have -canceled the orders given Radabaugh, and let matters slide along as they -had slid in the past. But Wint, though he dreaded the ridicule that -would follow what he had done, felt himself committed. They would laugh! -Well, let them laugh! His jaw set; he swore to go on at any cost. On -this determination, he slept at last. - -In spite of his wakefulness, Wint was first downstairs in the morning. -Hetty, sweeping out the sitting room, encountered him. He had not seen -her the day before, except when his father and mother were about. Then -she had avoided his eye. Now she looked at him sullenly, and said: - -“Much obliged for getting me to bed, Wint.” - -“That’s all right, Hetty. I remember you did as much for me.” - -She laughed harshly and defiantly. “Sure I did.” Her eyes were watchful -and on guard. Wint guessed that she expected him to reproach her, to -warn her, to bid her mend her ways. But he did nothing of the kind. - -“Forget it,” he said. “It wasn’t anything.” - -Something wistful crept into her eyes, as though she would have said -more. But Mrs. Chase came downstairs, and Hetty went on with her work, -while Mrs. Chase volubly directed her. - -After breakfast, Wint and his father walked downtown together. The elder -Chase asked stiffly: - -“Well, how did you find Amos?” - -“Same as ever,” Wint said. - -“Suppose he’s home for the summer.” - -“I guess so.” - -He wondered whether to tell his father what he had done; but something -held his tongue. It may have been diffidence, a reluctant feeling that -to tell his father this would be like an effort to justify himself in -the elder Chase’s eyes. It may have been uncertainty as to what attitude -the older man would take. It may have been a shrewd guess at the truth; -that Chase would attribute the move to Amos, and oppose it on that -ground. Wint had no illusions about his father’s attitude toward the -Congressman. Chase held Amos as his enemy, without compromise. - -As they reached the first stores on the outskirts of the business -section of Hardiston, they met Ned Bentley and another man, and -exchanged greetings. Bentley grinned at Wint in a friendly way, and Wint -knew that Bentley had heard of his order to Radabaugh. The elder Chase -saw something had passed between them, and asked Wint: - -“What’s Bentley so cheerful about?” - -“Why, I don’t know,” said Wint. “He’s usually pretty good-natured.” - -He flushed at his own evasion, but the older man did not press the -question, and a little later they separated. - -Foster, the city solicitor--Foster was an earnest young fellow, and took -his office seriously--was waiting for Wint in what passed as Wint’s -office, off the main room above the fire-engine house. Foster looked -flurried; and he asked quickly: - -“Look here, Wint, Radabaugh says you told him to clean up the town.” - -Wint nodded idly, fumbling among the papers on his desk. “Yes, I did.” - -“Well, what’s the idea?” Foster demanded excitedly. “What’s the idea, -anyway?” - -“The idea is to--clean up the town,” Wint told him. - -“You’re in earnest?” - -“Yes.” - -“You mean to stop bootlegging?” - -“Yes.” - -“Good Lord!” said Foster. - -The solicitor’s consternation gave Wint confidence. He asked: “Why, -what’s wrong with that?” - -“Wrong? Nothing’s wrong. But you’ll surely start something.” - -“I mean to stop something.” - -“There’ll be an awful row.” - -Wint said quietly: “If you don’t want to come through.... If you don’t -want to make it stick, help me out, why, now’s the time to say so, and -get out.” - -“Good Lord!” Foster cried. “Of course I’ll stick. Nothing suits me -better. I’m.... I tell you, you don’t know what you’ve started. But I’m -with you, Wint. All along the line. Absolutely.” - -Wint said: “That’s good.” - -“It’s a great chance for me,” Foster said. - -Wint chuckled. “Ought to do you and Hardiston both some good.” - -“Prosecuting all those cases.” - -“Oh, there won’t be many cases,” Wint said cheerfully. - -“A lot you know. Why won’t there?” - -“Because,” said Wint, “I’m going to see that the first man in here gets -soaked, good and proper. I’m going to put the fear of--the fear of me -into them.” - -“You can’t scare those fellows.” - -“Well,” Wint admitted, “that may be so. But I’m surely going to try.” - -Foster had amused him, and encouraged him; but when Foster was gone, and -he was left alone, his depression of the night before returned. He -locked his door. He did not want to see people. And he sat down to -think. - -Radabaugh came in a little before noon to report what he had done. Wint -listened, studying the marshal. “Think Lutcher will keep straight?” he -asked. - -“I should think so.” - -“How about Mrs. Moody?” - -“She’ll need watching.” - -“See that you watch her.” - -“I’m right on the job,” Radabaugh assured him easily; and Jim knew the -marshal meant what he said. “I’ve left ’em run before, because there -wasn’t any kick made. If you say shut ’em off, I’ll do it. That’s all.” - -“I do say it,” Wint told him. He got up and gripped the other’s -shoulder, something of the excitement of the coming fight already -stirring in him. “Jim, we’ll make Hardiston dry as a bone.” - -Radabaugh spat. “We-ell,” he drawled, “it don’t take much booze to wet a -bone. But we’ll see to it the stuff don’t go sloshing around the -gutters, anyway.” - -For his lunch, Wint went to fat Sam O’Brien’s restaurant. He liked the -place. The long, high counter, scrubbed white as the deck of a ship; the -revolving stools before the counter; the shelves on which bottles of -mustards and catsups and spices were ranged; and big Sam O’Brien in his -vast white apron presiding over it all. There was a mechanical piano -which played a tune for a nickel in the back of the restaurant, and it -was jangling and tinkling when Wint came in. Half a dozen men were there -before him; and they grinned when they saw Wint, and spoke among -themselves. Sam O’Brien welcomed him with a chuckle. O’Brien was a -jocular man. He set plate and knife and fork and a thick glass of water -before Wint, and spread his hands on the counter, and asked in a booming -voice: - -“Well, how’s your appetite, you bold crusader?” - -Wint flushed, and said uncomfortably: “Cut it out, Sam!” - -The restaurant proprietor had his own ideas of a joke; and he made the -most of them. At Wint’s words, he threw back his head and laughter -poured out of him. He rocked, he slapped his great fist on the counter. - -“Cut it out?” he repeated. “Oh, Wint, you’re the funny man. Cut it out, -he says! The whole blamed town. ‘The booze is getting you, Hardiston. -Cut it out,’ he says!” He bellowed the words. “Cut it out! Cut it out! -Oh, Wint, you’ll be the death o’ me.” - -There was never any use resenting Sam O’Brien. Wint laughed and said: -“I’ll be the death of you if you don’t get me something to eat, Sam. Get -a move on your old carcass.” - -After lunch, he had a word or two with men upon the street; but he did -not want to talk to them. He wanted to get out of their way, out of -sight. His nerves were beginning to jangle; he wanted something to -happen. There was hanging over him a storm; he wanted the storm to -break. He had a thought of going to V. R. Kite and flinging a defiance -in that old buzzard’s gold-filled teeth. He liked to think of Kite as an -old buzzard; the phrase pleased him. Men will always be pleased to find -they have used words tellingly. The gift of speech is what distinguishes -man from the animals; it is right that he should vaunt himself upon it. - -But in the end, Wint did not go to Kite; he went to Hoover’s office and -hid himself in a back room with a law book. Neither Dick nor his father -was there when he arrived; he counted on not being disturbed. He did not -want to be disturbed. He wanted to be let alone. He was mistrustful of -himself, of his motives and of his powers. - -In mid-afternoon, the telephone rang; and he answered, expecting a call -for one or the other of the Hoovers. But when he spoke into the -instrument, some one said: “Is this you, Wint?” - -He said it was; and the some one said: “This is Joan.” - -Wint said: “Oh!” He was uncomfortable, wondering what she wanted, why -she had called. - -“I’ve just heard what you’ve done,” she said. - -“What’s that?” Wint asked. “Done what?” - -“About how you’re going to--to clean up Hardiston.” - -“Oh, that,” said Wint. “Yes.” - -“Central told me I could probably get you at the Hoover office.” - -“Yes. Yes, I’m here.” - -“I thought you might like to know that I’m glad you’re going to do -this.” - -“That’s all right,” he said awkwardly. The old, stubborn resentment at -any praise was awake in him; but there was a curious tincture of -happiness, too. - -“It’s a good fight, Wint,” she said. “And--you’ll win.” - -Wint laughed uneasily. “Oh, sure,” he said. He did not want to talk -about it; and Joan understood and said good-by. Wint stared thoughtfully -at the telephone for a while; then he went back to his probing into the -musty recesses of the law which he found so live and vital. - -But he was unable to keep his thoughts upon the book. They wandered. He -kept thinking about V. R. Kite. He kept wondering what Kite would do. - -And he wished insistently that whatever Kite meant to do, he would do -quickly. Wint was tired of waiting for the storm to break. - - - - -CHAPTER III - -A HARD DAY FOR KITE - - -If V. R. Kite had been wise enough to let Wint severely alone, in the -days that followed, it is not at all improbable that Wint’s resolution -would have weakened. But if knaves were wise, they would not be knaves. -So, instead of being left alone with his depression, and his doubts of -himself, Wint was attacked front and flank; and the stimulus of battle -proved to be exactly what he needed to forge his determination and whip -his courage to the sticking point. - -Kite first heard the news of what Wint had done from Lutcher, the -amiable man in the distinctive vest, whose stock in trade Jim Radabaugh -put under seal. Lutcher went straightaway to Kite when Radabaugh left -him; and he found Kite still ignorant of what had come to pass. Lutcher -took a decided pleasure in breaking the news to Kite. He found the -little turkey of a man at his desk in the Bazaar; and he stuck his -thumbs into the armholes of his vest and said in his husky, whispering -voice: - -“Well, Kite, we’re closed up.” - -Kite had greeted Lutcher as pleasantly as he greeted any one. He was a -little afraid of the big, bald man, and Lutcher knew it. He was as much -afraid of Lutcher as Lutcher was of Jim Radabaugh. But he forgot to be -afraid of Lutcher in this moment. He came up out of his chair like a -Jack-in-the-Box--and Kite looked not unlike the conventional -Jack-in-the-Box with his lean neck and his poised head and his side -whiskers flying--and he snapped at Lutcher: - -“What’s that you say?” - -Lutcher grinned, and wheezed: “I say we’re closed up.” - -“Closed up?” Kite repeated, in something like a shout. “Closed up? What -do you mean? Talk English, man.” - -Lutcher ran his thick finger around the soft collar of his silken -shirt. “I mean Radabaugh’s given orders not to sell any more stuff,” he -said. “What did you think I meant?” - -“You’re crazy,” said Kite flatly. “Radabaugh wouldn’t dare do that.” - -“Well, he’s done it!” - -“Jim Radabaugh? The marshal?” - -“Sure,” said Lutcher impatiently. “Can’t you hear what I say? Came and -sealed me up this morning. Said it was orders.” - -“Orders? Whose orders?” - -“Mayor’s.” - -Kite’s clenched fists went into the air. “He can’t do that,” he said -fiercely. “I won’t stand for it. By God, if he tries to do that, I’ll -leave town. Or I’ll kill the pup. Or kill myself. I won’t stand for it, -I tell you, Lutcher.” - -“Don’t tell me,” said Lutcher, amiable again in the face of the other’s -excitement. “Don’t tell me; tell the Mayor.” - -Kite stood for a minute with staring, thoughtful eyes, as though Lutcher -were not there. Then he grabbed his hat and started for the street. -Lutcher looked after him, grinning with amusement. “The old buzzard does -take it hard,” he told himself. “Well, I should worry. What’s he up to -now?” - -Kite had disappeared. When Lutcher got to the street, the little man was -no longer in sight. Lutcher wondered what Kite had set off to do; and he -loitered for a while in the hope of seeing the little man again. Kite’s -fury amused him. But Kite had not returned when Jim Radabaugh drifted -into sight; and Lutcher did not want to see Jim again, so he effaced -himself. He saw Jim go into the Bazaar, and come out again, and stop at -the _Journal_ office; and after a little, Kite came down the street from -the Court House, and Radabaugh emerged from the _Journal_ office, and -followed Kite into the Bazaar. Lutcher wished he could be near enough to -hear what they said, but there was no chance of it, so he departed. - -Kite held on to himself while he talked with Radabaugh; but when the -marshal was gone, the little man, in the shelter of his desk, fretted -and jerked in his chair in a tempest of furious anger. There was no -doubt about it; he did take this news hard. But one watching with a -seeing eye might have discovered in Kite’s anger something else; a touch -of panic. - -Perhaps fear is always a part of anger; perhaps it is one of the springs -from which anger flows. But in the case of Kite, his fear and panic -tended to quiet him and steady him and bid him go slowly and watch his -every move. There had been a day when he would have leaped into such a -fight as this, a terrible and furious figure. But Kite was getting old. -There was something senile and pitiful in his fury now. - -There in the rear of his busy little shop, with customers going and -coming and the clerks laughing together, Kite twisted his fingers -together and beat at his head with his clenched hands and tried to think -what to do. He had been so sure that Wint would never take this step; he -had been so sure that with Wint as Mayor, Hardiston would be safely and -securely wet. He had been so sure of Amos Caretall’s good will. Chase -and Jack Routt had warned him; but he had not believed their warnings, -because he did not wish to believe. Wint was a drinker; it was just -common sense that Wint would let the town go on as it had gone in the -past. Kite had counted on it. - -And now Wint had betrayed him. That was the word that sprang into Kite’s -mind. Wint had betrayed him. He felt an honest indignation at the Mayor. -He was more indignant than he had been when Wint called him a buzzard. -He had accepted that good-naturedly enough. Hard names broke no bones; -besides, Wint had been quite obviously suffering from an overnight bout, -that morning. Kite knew the mood; he was not surprised; and he was not -resentful. But this was different. Damnably different. This was out and -out treachery, betrayal. He had helped elect Wint; now Wint turned -against him. - -Kit felt acutely sorry for himself; he felt acutely reproachful toward -Wint. And when Jack Routt dropped in, half an hour after Radabaugh had -gone, with a triumphant light in his eye, Kite told him so. - -“I didn’t think Wint would do it,” he said dolefully. “Routt, I didn’t -suppose Wint would do this to me.” - -Routt chuckled. “It’s not Wint’s doing,” he said. “I told you this was -coming, you know. It’s Amos.” - -But Kite was in no mood for rage at Amos. “I don’t know,” he said. “This -looks like Wint’s doing. It’s a boy’s trick. A man like Amos would have -seen the harm for Hardiston in such a move. No, Jack, Wint did this, -himself.” - -Routt shook his head. “I know better. You get after Amos, and Wint will -come to heel. I know them both, I tell you.” - -“I can’t believe it,” Kite insisted. “What motive could he possibly -have?” - -“Trying to get on the band wagon,” Routt told him. “That’s Amos. Trying -to get on the dry band wagon.” - -“No, no, it’s Wint. He’s the one we must go to. He’s the one we must -work on. He’s got to be stopped, Routt.” Something of the old fire was -reviving in Kite. “He’s got to be stopped. Scared off. Called off. -Something. I won’t stand for such a state of affairs. Such a thing.... -In Hardiston.” - -Routt grinned. “Well, what are you going to do about it?” - -“Get after him. There must be a way. Don’t you know a way to get hold of -him and bring him to time? Must be some way, Routt. Think, man; think. -What can we do? Scare him off?” - -Routt looked at Kite in a curious, intent way, as though he thought -there might be a hidden meaning in what the other man had said. “What’s -your idea exactly?” he asked. “What’s up your sleeve?” - -“Idea?” Kite echoed. “Idea is to get something on that young skate and -make him call Radabaugh off. That’s the idea. Get after him, heavy. -There must be a way. Some way.” - -Routt smiled faintly, tilting back in his chair, looking at the ceiling; -and he blew a long stream of smoke straight upward. Kite snapped: - -“Well?” - -“Well,” said Routt, “there’s something in that. There might be a -way....” - -Kite leaned toward him intently. “What is it?” - -Routt waved his hand. “Nothing definite. Might develop. Hold off a -while.” - -“I can’t hold off,” said Kite. “I won’t hold off. Something’s got to be -done.” - -“Then you do it,” Routt told him carelessly; and Kite pleaded with him. - -“No, no. You do your own way. I’ll try mine. We’ll both work at this, -Routt. Something ... I.... See what you can do. That’s all. I’ll see -what I can do.” - -Routt got up. “Don’t forget,” he said, “that Amos is back of this.” - -Kite shook his head. “I don’t think so. We’ll hit Wint first. I don’t -want to buck Amos.” - -“You’ll find,” said Routt, “that you’ll have to buck Amos.” - - * * * * * - -After Routt left him, Kite sat for a while, fingers tapping nervously on -his desk, wondering what to do next. And he wondered if it could be that -Routt was right, that Amos was back of this move on Wint’s part. Routt -had said Amos would do this; so, Kite remembered, had the elder Chase. -Chase had come to him, shortly after the election, to warn Kite that -this was sure to happen. Were Routt and Chase right; was it possible -that Amos had betrayed him? - -Kite would not believe it. Not because he had any doubt of Amos’s -willingness to betray him, but because he did not dare believe that this -was Amos’s doing. If Wint had made the move on his own account, there -was some hope of swaying him, or frightening him. But if Amos had -prompted it and were backing Wint now, the situation was almost -hopeless. - -Therefore Kite refused to believe that Amos was responsible; he clung to -the idea that the whole thing was Wint’s own idea. Wint, then, he must -fight. - -He thought of Wint; and he thought of Wint’s father again. There might -be a chance to move Wint through his father. “If the boy has any sense -of duty,” Kite thought, “he’ll do what his father says.” He forgot that -the elder Chase had always been a “dry” man. Politics takes little -account of convictions; and Kite clutched at the hope that the elder -Chase could change Wint’s mind. Chase had offered him alliance, once; -had offered him an alliance against Amos. He should be willing to show -his friendliness now. Kite’s eyes lighted with a faintly optimistic -glint at the thought; and he took his hat and started forthwith down the -street toward the furnace where Chase was to be found during the day. - -He met a number of men; and he thought they all grinned at him with -derision in their eyes. They must know what had happened; must be amused -at this plight in which he found himself. The thought roused the anger -in Kite, and strengthened him. He went on his way more boldly. By and -by, at the end of the street, the smoky black bulk of the furnace loomed -before him. - -Kite did not like the looks of the furnace; there was such an atmosphere -of harnessed power about it, and Kite was always a little afraid the -power would break its harness. To reach the office, he had to go through -the very heart of the monstrous thing. At the beginning of the way, a -ten-foot flame hissed out of the very earth itself, at his right hand, -so that he shrank past it timidly. Then he must pick his way through a -corridor between structures like squat, brick ovens, below which living -flame roared in a stream like a racing torrent. He could see this stream -of flame. There was nothing to hold it, between the ovens. He trembled -with fear that this stream would leap out at him. - -When he passed under the stacks, pulsing with the rhythmic beat of life -which stirred them, he could hear the roar of the fires inside, and the -hiss of the air from the tuyères, and the sounds were like the ravenings -of beasts to him. Kite felt immensely small, immensely insignificant. -Toward the end of his way he was almost running, and he came out with -vast relief upon the other side, and approached the iron-sheeted -building which housed the furnace office and the chemist’s laboratory. -He might have come here by circling around the furnace, but even Kite -had pride enough to face dangers, rather than avoid them. - -He found the elder Chase at his desk; and Chase dismissed the -stenographer to whom he had been dictating, and offered Kite a cigar. -Kite refused it. He was by personal habit an abstemious man. “I never -smoke,” he said. - -Chase nodded, a little ill at ease. He had tried to make an alliance -with Kite, but he did not like the little man, and never would. He did -not like Kite, and he was self-conscious about it, and felt that he -ought to make up for his dislike by treating Kite with extreme courtesy. -So now he asked: “Well, Mr. Kite,” and Kite responded with a sharp -question: - -“What’s this Wint’s doing?” - -There had been a time when such an inquiry frightened Chase; because, -when people asked him such a question, he knew they meant that Wint was -in trouble again. But he was coming to have a certain faith in Wint; so -he was puzzled by Kite’s question, and said so. - -“I don’t know what you mean,” he told the little man. - -Kite was surprised. “Good God! You must know. Didn’t he tell you?” - -“He’s told me nothing in particular. What do you mean?” - -“The young fool has given Radabaugh orders against any more liquor -selling.” - -Chase’s first reaction to this information was a leap of delighted -pride. It was what he would have wished Wint to do; it was what he -himself would have done in Wint’s place. It was a decent, strong thing -to do, and Chase was glad. Kite saw this in the other man’s eyes; and he -exclaimed challengingly: - -“You look as though you were tickled, man. Don’t you know this thing -will ruin Hardiston?” - -Chase knew it would not ruin Hardiston; nevertheless he was willing to -humor Kite. So he asked: “Do you know the details? Tell me about it.” - -Kite laughed harshly. “You hadn’t heard of it, then. He didn’t tell you. -It was Amos put him up to it, I guess, after all. But it looks as though -he’d have told you, anyway.” Kite was shrewd enough in his way; he -understood that Chase, as a father, must be jealous of Amos’s influence -with Wint. And Chase reacted as Kite expected. His eyes clouded with -hurt. Wint might have told him; should have told him. Instead, his son -had laid him open to this new humiliation, the humiliation of hearing -important news from a third person. And--Wint had had supper with Amos -last night. - -Chase struck back, in the instinct to defend himself. “You remember, I -warned you Congressman Caretall would do just this.” - -“Sure I remember,” Kite agreed. “That’s why I’ve come to you. Want to -get together with you. That was our understanding. I’m going to skin -Amos Caretall. Are you with me? That’s the question.” He was shrewd -enough to rouse Chase against Amos, not against Chase’s own son. And -Chase considered the matter, inwardly hurt and sorry because Wint had -not confided in him, and boiling with jealous hostility toward Amos. - -“All right,” he said at last. “You see I was right. What are we going to -do?” - -“Do?” Kite snapped. “We’re going to make Amos run to cover. That’s what -we’re going to do.” - -“After all,” Chase reminded him, “I’m a dry man. I can’t fight Amos on -that issue.” - -“Dry?” Kite demanded. “What of it? What’s that got to do with it? This -is politics. Amos is no more dry than I am; but he plays the dry game -because that’s politics, and there are votes in it. He’s trying to steal -your thunder, Chase. If Amos grabs the dry vote, where do you come in? I -tell you, we’ve got to lick him, man.” - -“How?” Chase asked at last. “What are we going to do?” - -“First thing,” Kite said, “is to get after Wint.” He had been ready with -the answer to this question. “Caretall is using Wint. Making a tool of -him. A scapegoat. Wint doesn’t know his own mind. Caretall’s using him. -We’ve got to get him out of Caretall’s hands. Get him to work with you. -You’re his father. He ought to want to work with you. Oughtn’t he?” - -“He and I--understand each other,” Chase said. He was not at all sure -this was true, but he could not confess to Kite that he and Wint were -less than confidants. - -“Sure,” Kite agreed. “Naturally. So the first thing to do is for you to -go to Wint and tell him what he’s up against. How he’s being -manipulated. Get him to rescind the order. Then we’ll go after Amos, -with Wint helping us, and clean him up.” - -“I don’t know,” said Chase reluctantly. - -“Good God, man,” Kite snapped, “can’t you handle your own son?” - -Chase got up and walked to the window, his back to Kite. His lips set -firmly. Kite was right; he ought to be able to handle his own son, -unless the world were all awry. After all, the dry question was only a -pretext. Wint ought to train with him rather than with Amos. He would -tell the boy so. - -When at last he turned toward Kite again, the other man saw that he had -won. “I’ll see,” said Chase. “I’ll talk to Wint and see.” - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -CHASE CHANGES SIDES - - -Winthrop Chase, Senior, was thoughtful all that day; he went home in the -evening still undecided as to what he should do. He was unhappy, hurt at -Wint’s reticence, disturbed as to his own course of action, and fiercely -resentful of Amos’s influence over his son. - -His conscience was troubling him; and he was trying to quiet it with -Kite’s more or less specious argument that this was politics, not -morality. If Chase had been asked to come out, point-blank, and champion -the nonenforcement of the liquor law, he would have refused; and he -would have refused with indignation at the suggestion. But the issue was -not so clear as that. It was clouded by his dislike for Amos. It was not -merely a question of enforcing the law; it was a question of balking -Amos Caretall. And Chase was prepared to go a long way to put a spoke in -Amos’s wheel. - -Wint had not yet come, when he reached his home; and he was glad of -that. It gave him some leeway, gave him some further time to think. But -his thoughts ran in an endless circle; his convictions countered his -enmity toward Amos. It was only by small degrees that his attitude -toward Amos crowded other considerations out of his mind. He was -gradually coming to the point of decision when he heard Wint at the -door. Mrs. Chase met Wint in the front hall, and told him hurriedly: - -“Now, Wint, you’re late again. You run right upstairs and wash your face -and hands. Supper’s all ready, and Hetty wants to go out, and I don’t -want to keep her waiting any--” - -Wint laughed, and kissed her, and told her he would hurry, and he was -gone up the stairs, two steps at a time, while his mother still talked -to him. When he came down, his father and mother had already gone into -the dining room. He followed them, answered his father’s “Good evening, -Wint,” in an abstracted way, and sat down hurriedly. He did not look -toward his father; he was conscious he had not done the fair thing in -failing to tell the older man of his orders to Radabaugh. He felt -guilty. - -Mrs. Chase never allowed any gaps in the conversation to go unplugged; -and since Wint and his father were both normal men, with normal -appetites, she did most of the talking during the early part of the -meal, while they ate. It was only when Hetty brought on a thick rhubarb -pie and Mrs. Chase began to cut it that Chase said casually to his son: - -“Well, Wint, I hear you’ve set out to clean up Hardiston.” - -Wint gulped what was in his mouth, and uneasily admitted that this was -true. Mrs. Chase was talking to Hetty about the pie and did not hear -what they said. Chase asked: - -“What does Amos think of that?” - -Wint looked for an instant at his father. “Thinks it’s all right,” he -said. - -Mrs. Chase came back into the conversation then. She had the aggravating -habit of catching the tail end of a story or a remark and demanding that -the whole be repeated for her benefit. “What’s all right?” she asked. -“What’s all right, Wint? Who thinks it’s all right? It keeps me so busy -looking after things here that it seems like I never hear what’s going -on. What is it that--” - -Chase told her quietly: “Wint has given Marshal Radabaugh orders not to -allow any more selling of liquor in Hardiston.” - -Mrs. Chase was astonished. She said so. “Well, I never,” she exclaimed. -“You know, Wint, I never thought you’d do that. I think it’s time, -though, something was done. I told Mrs. Hullis ... I was saying to Mrs. -Hullis here only yesterday that it was a shame, the way men were getting -drunk. That Ote Runns, that beats my carpets, came here yesterday to do -some work for me, and I paid him; and Mrs. Hullis saw him coming home -from town that afternoon, and he couldn’t even stay on the sidewalk, he -was staggering so. I declare, it makes you feel like not paying a man -like that for working for you, when he can go right off and spend his -money on whisky, and his wife and children at home--” - -Wint said, with a glance at his father: “Ote’s not married, mother. He -hasn’t any wife; and as far as I know, he hasn’t any children.” - -“Well, suppose he had,” she demanded, “wouldn’t it be just the same? I -declare, Wint, you’re always contradicting me. But I said to Mrs. Hullis -I thought it was a shame, and she said she thought so too, and it is. -You’ve done just right, Wint. I didn’t think anybody could ever do that, -or I’d have told you to do it before. I didn’t know the Mayor had the -say of that, Wint. I thought the Mayor was the man you went to when your -dogs got into the pound. I remember Mrs. Hullis’s dog got taken to the -pound, three years ago, and she went to Mayor Johnson, he was then, and -he got him out for her. And I told her--” - -Wint had been watching his father. He had expected the older man to be -proud of him, and had rather dreaded this pride. He had prepared himself -to disclaim any praise that might come. But--Chase was not offering to -praise him. There was no pride in his father’s face; there was rather an -uneasy regret, and it fired the antagonism in Wint, and made him feel -like defending himself. He asked, interrupting Mrs. Chase, whether the -elder Chase thought the orders should be enforced. - -“I suppose so,” Chase said, and Mrs. Chase lapsed into a momentary -silence, pouring fresh tea into her cup. - -“Don’t you think it’s a good thing?” Wint demanded challengingly. “Don’t -you--aren’t you glad?” - -Mrs. Chase said: “Of course it’s a good thing. It ought to have been -done long ago. It’s a shame, the way things have been going on in -this--” - -Chase said to her: “Ordinarily, mother, I would think it a good thing. -But in this case, it’s a part of Amos Caretall’s political game. A part -of his--” - -Wint looked at his father sharply, a word leaping to his lips. Mrs. -Chase asked: “Congressman Caretall? Is he back here again, after the way -he treated you? Wint, I should think you’d be ashamed to do anything to -help him, after what he did to your father. I should think--” - -Wint said quickly: “He has nothing to do with this. I decided to do it, -and I gave the order, and I’m going through with it. Congressman -Caretall isn’t in this at all.” - -The elder Chase smiled and said: “You don’t understand, Wint. I’ve known -him longer. He’s absolutely without principle or scruple. You know, for -instance, that he’s a wet man; but he’s doing this for his own ends, -using you--” - -Wint protested: “He’s not doing this. I’m doing it.” - -Mrs. Chase cried: “I should think you’d be ashamed, Wint, to do anything -against your own father. He’s been a good father to you, Wint. You know -he--” - -Wint cut in, almost pleading: “But, mother, you said yourself this was a -good thing. To clean up Hardiston. And father’s always been in favor of -it.” - -“That was before I understood that Congressman Caretall was doing it to -hurt your father. I don’t think anything is good that hurts your father, -Wint. You ought not to say that. You know I--” - -“But he’s not doing it to hurt dad, mother. I told you that. I’m doing -it myself; he’s not doing it at all.” - -“Your father understands these things better than you, Wint. Didn’t he -tell you Congressman Caretall was just using you? I shouldn’t think -you’d be willing to--” - -The elder Chase said uneasily: “I know him better than you, Wint.” - -Wint pushed back his chair and looked steadily at the older man. “You -talk like V. R. Kite, dad,” he said. - -Chase confessed his guilt by the vehemence of his protestations. “That’s -not so, Wint. And in any case, Kite is an honest man compared to -Caretall. He plays square with his friends, at least. That’s more than -Amos can say.” - -Wint asked: “What makes you think Amos is playing crooked now? Not that -he has anything to do with this....” - -“I know him. He’s always crooked. A crooked, double-crossing -politician.” - -“I’m not defending Amos,” Wint said stubbornly. “He’s treated you badly. -But he’s been decent to me. I’ll not turn against him. And anyway, this -is my doing, my business. He’s not in it at all.” - -“You said he was backing you.” - -“I said he thought I was doing a good thing. I expected you to think -that, too.” - -Chase flushed uncomfortably. “Ordinarily, I would say so. If you’d done -this without prompting from him, I would say so. But it’s significant -that you didn’t; that you waited till he came home, and talked to you, -and then gave your orders.” - -“I’d been thinking about it for a long time.” - -“But you didn’t act without word from him, Wint. That’s why I--regret -it.” - -Wint asked harshly: “Listen! Do I get this straight? You’d have me let -them go on selling whisky in Hardiston just for fear I am helping Amos -by stopping them?” - -“I don’t like to see you letting Amos use you.” - -“Aside from that, isn’t it a good thing to clean up the town, no matter -what the motive?” - -“You’ll find in your law books somewhere the statement that the motive -determines the deed,” Chase told him. - -“Don’t you think it important to clean up Hardiston?” - -“I think it important not to cement Amos Caretall’s hold on this county, -and this town.” - -Wint said angrily: “Forget Amos. Forget he exists. I’m asking a flat -question. Why don’t you answer it?” - -Mrs. Chase interposed: “Don’t you talk to your father so, Wint. Don’t -you do it. He knows best what’s good for you, and for Hardiston, and for -everybody. You know he--” - -“Is whisky good for Ote Runns?” Wint demanded. - -“Well, I guess it doesn’t do him any hurt. It’s not as if he had a wife -and children, Wint, you know. You ought to do what your father says. -He--” - -Wint faced the older man. “Well,” he asked, “what is it you say I should -do, dad? In plain language. Just what do you claim I ought to do?” - -“Refuse to let Amos Caretall make you his tool,” Chase said steadily. - -“Let Hardiston wallow in booze?” - -“That’s beside the point. Amos is the point.” - -Wint got up swiftly. “Amos is not the point,” he said. “Hardiston’s the -point. Hardiston’s the point, and I’m the point, too. If whisky is good -for Hardiston, the town ought to have it. If lawbreaking is good for -Hardiston, the lawbreaking ought to be permitted to go on. But if it’s -right and decent to keep the law, then I’m right. And if it’s right to -leave booze alone, then I’m right. And if I think what I’m doing is -right, I ought to go on with it; and if I think it’s wrong, I ought to -drop it. Amos has nothing to do with it. Anyway, a bad man doing good -things is a good man. If Amos were doing this, the fact that he’s a -crook wouldn’t make it crooked. The whole thing works the other way. If -Amos is doing this, and it’s a good thing to do, then so far as this is -concerned, Amos is a good man.” - -He flung up his hand. “I don’t mean to hurt you, dad. I think you’re -wrong on this. I can’t believe you want me to back down.” - -Chase had his share of stubbornness, of the pride which had been a -pitfall before Wint’s feet. He was too stubborn to admit himself in the -wrong. He said swiftly: - -“I do want you to back down. Call off Radabaugh. Tell Amos he can’t make -a monkey out of you. Can’t get you to pull his chestnuts out of the -fire.... Stand on your own feet. That’s what I advise you to do, Wint.” - -Wint looked his father in the eye for a moment; then he shook his head -as though to brush away a veil. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I mean to fight -it out on this line. Stick to it.” - -Chase said nothing. Mrs. Chase, silenced by the tension in the -atmosphere, looked from father to son with wide eyes, and she was -trembling. After a little, Wint asked gently: - -“Does this mean--a break, father? Does it mean for me to get out of -here?” - -Chase got to his feet in swift protest. “No, no, Wint, not that.” For a -moment, he had an overpowering impulse to open his heart, promise Wint -his support, offer the boy his hand. But he could not bring himself to -do it. The stubborn, prideful streak was strong in him. He fought down -the impulse, said simply: “We can disagree without fighting, I guess. -That’s all.” - -“You mean we’re on opposite sides of the fence in this, dad? You really -mean that?” - -“Yes.” - -Wint’s voice was wistful. “I--counted on you.” - -Chase flung toward the door. “I can’t help it, Wint,” he said harshly. -“I can’t link up with Amos Caretall. Not for any man.” - -When the door shut behind him, Wint stood still for a little, thinking -hard. Then his mother touched his arm, and he looked down and saw that -she was crying with fright. - -“Wint,” she pleaded, “don’t you go quarreling with your father again. -Don’t you, Wint. Please.... He couldn’t stand it. Not again, Wint. I -told Mrs. Hullis when you were gone before--” - -He put his arm around her affectionately; and he smiled. “There, mother, -it’s all right,” he said. “Dad and I are all right. Don’t you worry. We -understand each other.” - -“I told Mrs. Hullis he couldn’t stand it to have you go away again--” - -“I’m not going away,” Wint promised. - -“Don’t you....” she begged. “Don’t you go, any more.” - - - - -CHAPTER V - -THE TRIUMVIRATE - - -A consciousness of having acted unworthily does not make for a man’s -peace of mind. The plain truth of the matter is that after his talk with -Wint at supper that night, Winthrop Chase, Senior, was ashamed of -himself. Not that he admitted it, even in his thoughts; but it was -obvious enough in his uneasiness, his inability to sit still, his -restless movements here and there about the sitting room. Wint was not -blind. He guessed something of what was passing in his father’s mind, -and wished there were some way for them to come together. But there -seemed no move he could make to that end. - -The older man at last announced that he was going to walk downtown for -the mail. Wint said: “Good idea. I’ll go along.” But Chase said: - -“I’ve got to see a man,” and Wint understood that his father did not -want his company, so he stayed at home when the older man departed. - -Chase wanted to see Kite. He had no definite idea why he wanted to see -Kite, but he felt the need of reassurance from some one, and he knew -Kite would reassure him as to what he had done. So he went downtown to -find Kite and talk to him. The Bazaar was closed. He telephoned Kite’s -home, and the old woman who kept house for him said Mr. Kite had gone -uptown to see Mr. Routt. So Chase went to the building on the second -floor of which Routt had his office, and saw a light behind the drawn -blind in Routt’s window and went up. He heard their voices inside, -Kite’s and Routt’s, before he tried the door. The door was locked; and -when he touched the knob, silence fell inside. Routt called: “Hello, -who’s there?” - -Chase told him, and Routt said: “In a minute,” and unlocked the door -and let him in. Chase saw Kite sitting by the desk, his side whiskers -bristling angrily. - -There are no modern office buildings in Hardiston. Routt’s office was on -the second floor of the three-story building at the corner of Main and -Broad streets. There was a hardware store on the first floor, and a -lodge room on the floor above Routt’s office. Routt and three or four -others had quarters on the second floor. Routt’s office faced the -street; a single room with a hot-air register in the wall near the door. -There were shelves around the wall, with a meager library of brand-new -and little-used law books. Routt’s desk was shiny, yellow oak. A -diploma, or perhaps a certificate of admission to the bar, framed in -mission oak, hung on the wall above the desk. There was an electric -light in the middle of the ceiling, and it shed a bald and naked light -over the three men who faced each other in the room. - -Kite said: “Hello, Chase,” and Chase responded to the greeting. Routt -asked: - -“How’d you happen to drop in? Glad to see you.” - -“I was looking for Kite,” Chase said. “Heard he was with you.” - -Kite asked eagerly: “Looking for me, Chase? Good news? What’s happened?” - -Chase looked at Routt, with a curious, dull inquiry. The man was moving -in something like a daze; he had not yet found himself in this new -alliance. He was hating himself for opposing Wint, and he was flogging -his courage to the venture. He wondered what Kite and Jack Routt were -doing together. Routt was a Caretall man in politics; also he was a -friend of Wint. Chase tried to puzzle this out, and Kite asked again: - -“What’s happened?” - -“I--spoke to Wint,” Chase said slowly. - -Routt asked: “About withdrawing his orders to Radabaugh? He’ll never do -it.” - -“No,” said Chase. “He’ll never do it.” - -Kite cried fiercely: “He’s got to. He doesn’t understand. Didn’t you -tell him, Chase? Didn’t you make him see?” - -“I couldn’t make him see anything. He would not change.” - -“He’ll never change unless he’s forced to,” Routt said; and Chase looked -at the young man and asked slowly: - -“I thought you and Wint were friends, Routt?” - -“We are,” Routt declared. “He’s the best friend I’ve got. That’s why I -don’t want to see him made a fool of. That’s why I don’t want to see -Amos make a fool of him. You’re his father, but you feel the same as I -do, that he’s wrong, that he’s got to be made change his mind.” - -“I thought you were with Amos,” Chase insisted mildly. - -“Amos and I have broken,” said Routt hotly. “He tried to trick me as he -tricks every one, and I wouldn’t stand for it. That’s all. I’m out to -even things with him.” - -Chase looked around for a chair and sat down. Routt sat on the desk. -Kite had not risen when Chase came in. The little man asked Chase now: -“What did you say to Wint anyway? I should think he’d take your advice -before he’d take Caretall’s.” - -“I told him Caretall was using him, that he was being used to play -politics.” - -“Well, what did he say?” - -“Said this wasn’t Amos’s doing at all. Said it was his own idea, that he -had given the orders, that he meant to carry them through. Said, even if -it were Caretall’s move, it was a good thing, and he was for it.” - -Kite snarled: “He’s damnably moral, all of a sudden.” And Chase felt a -surge of resentment at the other’s tone, and countered: - -“He’s right, you know. Booze is dirty business.” - -“It’s my business,” Kite snapped, stamping to his feet; and if Routt had -not intervened, the old feud between Kite and Chase might have been -revived, then and there. But Routt had no notion of permitting a break -between these strange allies. He said cheerfully: - -“Sit down, Kite. We’re not talking about booze. We’re talking about Amos -Caretall. We’re not trying to settle the moral issue. We’re trying to -settle Amos Caretall’s hash. Question is, how are we going to do it?” - -“That’s right,” Chase agreed. Caretall’s name was like an anchor, to -which he could make fast his disturbed thoughts. So long as he was -opposing Amos, he could not go wrong. - -Kite sat down, thinking; and he asked: “You say Wint told you Amos had -nothing to do with this, Chase?” - -“Yes. He probably thinks that’s true. Caretall got around him, somehow.” - -Routt said: “Caretall’s a shrewd man, he can get around other men. He -knows the trick of it.” Kite said nothing. He was thinking over what -Chase had said. Routt continued: “What we want to do is to go out and -get him.” - -Chase suddenly found the atmosphere of this room unbearable; he wanted -to get out in the air. So he got up, and said harshly: “I’m with you on -that. I’ll do anything I can against Amos. Let me know what you decide.” - -Routt said: “Don’t run away. Let’s talk things over.” But Chase told him -he had business elsewhere; and Kite made no objection to his going. When -he was gone, Routt told Kite: - -“He’ll have to be handled carefully. He’s naturally a dry man, you -know.” - -Kite said thoughtfully, as though he were considering another matter: -“Yes, that’s so.” - -“I’ve been figuring on what you suggested--getting a handle to control -Wint,” Routt told him. “You know, I think there’s a way.” - -“To get something on Wint?” - -“Yes. He’s not such a terribly upright young man. Any one’s foot is apt -to slip.” - -“You mean his has slipped?” Kite asked eagerly. Routt only grinned. - -“I’ll let you know what I mean, in good time,” he said. - -Kite grunted. It was evident that his mind was busy with another angle -of the situation. A little later, still abstracted, he took himself -away. - -While he walked home, he turned over and over in his thoughts his new -idea. - - - - -CHAPTER VI - -EVERY MAN HAS HIS PRICE - - -Kite’s new idea was one that appealed to the mean heart of the man. -There had been a time when Kite was bold as a lion in evil-doing; but as -he grew old, he was becoming timorous. He had, now, no stomach for a -fight, talk as ferociously as he pleased. He wanted life to move easily -and smoothly; and fighting jarred on him. He thought, with a -self-pitying regret, that things had been going so comfortably. It was a -shame that Wint had come along and started all this trouble. He was an -old man, not made for trouble. - -There was very little pride in Kite, and a good deal of the -shamelessness of the miser. If he was a miser, his illicit business was -his hoarded gold. He was ready to go to any lengths of self-humiliation -to protect this treasure. He would fight if he had to; but he had no -stomach for it. There must be some other way. - -The suggestion of that other way had come from Chase. When Chase first -warned him that Amos would turn Hardiston dry, Kite had refused to -believe; when Routt repeated the warning, he was still doubtful. When -Wint actually gave the orders he had dreaded, Kite was half forced to -agree that Amos had tricked him, but even in the face of the fact, he -had still clung in his heart to the hope that this was none of -Caretall’s doing, and that the two who had warned him were wrong. - -He had hoped desperately that they were wrong, because if they were -mistaken there was a chance to save himself without a fight. What Chase -had told him this night strengthened his hope. Wint, Chase said, -declared Amos had nothing to do with the case, that Amos had neither -advised nor prompted his orders to Radabaugh, and that the whole crusade -was his own idea and his own battle. - -If this were true, if Wint were actually standing on his own feet, then -there was a chance of coming at him through Amos. That was the thought -from which Kite took hope. He and Amos were, on the surface, allies -still. Amos would not willingly antagonize him. And if this move of -Wint’s were not Amos’s doing, then Amos might be willing to take a hand -on Kite’s behalf, call Wint off, return things to their original -condition, smooth Kite’s existence into tranquillity again. - -When he first conceived the idea, Kite cast it aside as grotesque and -impossible. But it returned to his thoughts, and his hopes fought for -it, until he convinced himself there was something in it; better than an -even chance in his favor; worth trying, certainly. When he made up his -mind to this--it was after he had undressed and got into bed that -night--he dropped off into a restless sleep; and when he woke, as his -habit was, at daylight, he began at once to consider what he should say -to Amos. - -He telephoned Caretall before breakfast and asked him when he could see -him to talk things over. Amos told him good-naturedly that he could come -right after breakfast. “I’m taking my ease, these few days,” he said. -“Staying at home in my carpet slippers, and smoking my pipe. Drop in any -time.” - -“I’ll be there in an hour,” Kite told him. And Amos said that was all -right, and hung up the receiver. Immediately, he telephoned Peter Gergue -to come right over, and Peter joined him at breakfast in ten minutes. It -was not even necessary for old Maria to set an extra plate for Peter. -Agnes had overslept--she nearly always did oversleep--and Amos was -breakfasting alone, with Agnes’s empty place across the table from him. - -Peter sat down there, and Amos helped him to fried eggs and bacon, and -Maria gave him a cup of coffee. Amos said at once: “Kite just called up, -Peter. He’s coming over.” - -Gergue swallowed a gulp of coffee. “Guessed he would,” he assented. -“Guessed he’d have things to say to you.” - -“What do you guess he’s got to say to me, Peter?” Amos asked. - -“He’ll want you to call Wint off, I’d say.” - -Amos looked politely regretful, as though he were talking to Kite. “Why, -now, you know, Wint’s his own boss. He does what he wants to do. I never -saw any one that could run Wint, did you?” - -“Not if Wint knew it, I never did.” - -“What have you heard, Peter?” Amos asked. “What did Kite do yest’day, -when he heard the sad news?” - -“Lutcher told him,” said Peter. “Lutcher says he was wild. But when Jim -Radabaugh saw him, he kept his head, and said it didn’t concern him. I -hear he had some talk with Jack Routt; and then he posted off down to -the furnace to see Chase.” - -“To see Chase, eh?” - -“What I hear.” - -“What about, Peter?” - -“I sh’d guess he wanted Chase to call Wint off. Kite don’t like a fight, -you know.” - -Amos nodded. “V. R. Kite,” he said pleasantly, “is a lick-spittle, -Peter. That’s what V. R. Kite is. I don’t like to see Chase mixing with -him.” - -“You know,” said Peter, “Chase has changed some, since you put the laugh -on him.” - -“Chase is all right,” said Amos surprisingly. “He’s had the foolishness -knocked out of him. Peter, he’ll make a good man, before he’s done.” - -Peter looked at Amos sidewise and said he wouldn’t be a bit surprised. - -“But he makes a mistake to tie up to Kite,” said Amos. - -“Him and Kite had a talk with Routt, in Jack’s office, last night,” said -Peter. - -Amos chuckled. “Pete, it beats me how you find out things.” - -“I don’t find ’em out,” said Peter. “People tell me.” He rummaged -through the tangle at the back of his neck. “Looks like people aim to -make mischief, so they tell me things to tell you that’ll start a fight, -and the likes of that. That’s the way of it.” - -“This won’t start a fight,” said Amos. “I’m home for a rest.” - -Peter looked at him intently. “You backing Wint?” - -“No.” - -“What?” - -“Pete,” said Amos thoughtfully, “this was Wint’s idea. He figured it -out, the right thing to do. He’s started it. It won’t hurt him a bit to -fight it out. I’m going to stand by and yell: ‘Go it, wife; go it, -b’ar.’ That’s me in this, Peter.” - -“What are you going to tell Kite?” - -“Going to tell him just that,” said Amos. - -They had finished breakfast and moved into the sitting room and filled -their pipes. Agnes came downstairs in her kimono, hair flying, and -kissed Amos and pretended to be embarrassed at appearing before Peter in -her attractive disarray. Then she went out to her breakfast. The two men -smoked without speaking. Amos had looked after his daughter with a -certain trouble in his eyes; and Peter saw it. Peter did not like Agnes. - -Peter had gone before Kite arrived. Old Maria let Kite in, and Amos -called from the sitting room: - -“Right in here, Kite. I’m too darned lazy to come and meet you. Leave -your hat in the hall.” - -Kite obeyed the summons, and Amos said lazily: “Take a chair, Kite. Any -chair.” And when the little man had sat down: “Fine day, Kite. I tell -you, there isn’t any place that can beat Hardiston in May that I know -of.” - -Kite said: “That’s right, Amos.” - -“Yes, sir,” Amos repeated. “They can’t beat old Hardiston.” He lapsed -into one of those characteristic silences, head on one side, squinting -idly straight before him, his pipe hissing in his mouth. You might have -thought there were no words in the man. Kite said impatiently: - -“Amos, I want to talk to you.” - -Amos looked at him, and said amiably: “Well, Kite, you’ll never have a -likelier chance. I don’t aim to move out of this chair.” - -“Well,” said Kite uneasily, “I want to talk to you about young Chase.” - -“Mayor Chase?” - -“Yes. Wint.” - -“Oh!” said Amos, without any curiosity. - -“I mean to say,” Kite explained, “I want to talk about this move of his. -You’ve heard about it.” - -“I hadn’t heard he’d moved,” said Amos. “Thought he was living with his -paw. Where’s he gone to now?” - -“Damn it, Amos!” Kite protested, “don’t fool with me. You know what I -mean.” - -“Kite,” said Amos, “nobody ever knows what you mean, even when you say -it. You’re such an excitable man.” - -“Well, who wouldn’t get excited? I tell you, this is a--” - -“What is?” Amos asked, interrupting without seeming to do so. - -“This damned idea of enforcing a fool liquor law.” - -“Oh, that,” said Amos. - -Kite leaned forward. “Is it your doing, Amos? Did you get him to do -this? Because if you did--” - -“Why, man,” said Amos, “I’m not Wint’s boss.” - -“You elected him.” - -“You elected him as much as me, Kite. And I heard how he called you a -buzzard. If he calls you a buzzard, what do you think he’d call me?” - -“I hold no grudge for that,” Kite explained. “He was drunk. Fact -remains, he’s friendly with you. I ask you, I’m asking you flatly: Did -you prompt him to do this, or tell him to, or advise him to in any way?” - -“Well,” said Amos, “if you ask me, I’ll say: No.” - -Kite slapped his knee. “I knew it,” he exclaimed. - -“Who says I did?” Amos asked. “Wint say I did?” - -“No. He says you didn’t. Chase and Routt claim you did it.” - -“Chase? And Jack Routt? Why, now, I take that unkind,” Amos protested, -in a hurt voice, and Kite realized that he had blundered, and hurried -past the danger point. - -“Well, if you didn’t advise Wint to do this, what are you going to do -now? Back him in his fight?” - -“You know,” said Amos, “Pete Gergue asked me just that. Ever hear the -story about the lady and the bear, Kite? Bear chased the lady around -the tree, and the lady’s husband was up the tree. Lady yells to him to -come down and kill the bear; but husband just sets on his branch, out of -reach, and yells: ‘Go it, wife; go it, b’ar.’ Ever hear that story, -Kite?” - -Kite chuckled without any mirth in his dry old eyes. “No,” he said. - -“That man didn’t figure to play any favorites,” Amos explained. “And -neither do I. Ain’t often I get a chance to set back and watch a fight. -This time, I’m going to. On the sidelines. That’s me, Kite.” - -Kite protested instantly. “That’s not the fair thing, Amos. You and I -worked together to put him in there, with the understanding he’d let the -liquor business alone.” - -Amos lifted his hand. “Understanding was that Wint weren’t likely to -monkey with it. You thought so. That’s why you was willing to help me. I -didn’t make any promises, nor any predictions, Kite.” - -“But, damn it,” Kite insisted, “you ought to be willing to help me out. -I helped you out.” - -“It would hurt me, Kite, to know I sanctioned nonenforcement.” - -“Nobody would know.” - -“They’d find out. Things like that do get out, you know, Kite.” - -The little man tugged at his side whiskers feverishly. “Amos,” he -pleaded, “isn’t there anything you can do for me? This is bad business. -I can’t stand it. I won’t stand it. Isn’t there anything you can do?” - -Amos considered, then he sighed, and said good-naturedly: “Kite, you’re -an awful pest, stirring me up when I’m comfortable.” - -“You’ve got to do something.” - -“We-ell, I’ll tell you. I’ll take you to see Wint. You can put it up to -him. That’s the best.” - -“You’ll back me up?” - -Amos shook his head. “You and him can have it out. I’ll not yell for -either of you.” - -Kite protested: “A lot of good that will do.” - -Amos shrugged his big shoulders. “Well....” Kite got up hurriedly. - -“All right,” he agreed, before Amos could withdraw his offer. “All -right, come on.” - -Amos looked ruefully at his feet, and wiggled his toes in his -comfortable slippers. “I declare, Kite, I hate to put on shoes.” - -“Damn it, man, it’s your own offer,” Kite protested; and Amos admitted -it, and groaned: - -“All right, I’ll come.” - - * * * * * - -Wint was in a cheerful humor, that morning. He had been depressed by his -father’s attitude, disappointed that the elder Chase chose to oppose -him. But at the same time, the opposition exhilarated him. After his -father left the house, he went to see Joan for an hour; and without -over-applauding the step he had taken, she spoke of the trouble and the -opposition he would face, and the prospect pleased Wint. He took a -cheerful delight in opposing people. He was never so good-natured as -when he was fighting. - -So Amos and Kite found Wint amiably glad to see them both. Amos sat on -the broad window ledge, his back to the light, his face somewhat -shadowed. Wint made Kite sit down near his desk; he himself tilted his -chair back against one of the leaves of the desk, and put his feet on an -open drawer, and asked what their errand was. - -“Kite wanted to see you,” said Amos. “Asked me to come along.” - -“No need of that, Kite.” Wint said good-naturedly. “I don’t keep an -office boy. Anybody can see me any time.” - -Kite shifted uneasily in his seat, not quite sure what he meant to say. -Amos prompted him from the window. “Kite don’t think you ought to shut -down on him,” he said. - -Wint looked surprised. “Shut down on him? What’s the idea, Kite?” - -Kite said, in a flustered way: “It’s not so personal as that. You know, -I’m by conviction a believer in the sale of liquor. I believe the people -of Hardiston agree with me. I’m sorry to hear you’ve taken steps to stop -the sale.” - -“Why, no,” said Wint cheerfully, “the town voted against it. I had -nothing to do with that. I’m just enforcing the law.” - -Kite smiled weakly. “There are laws, and laws,” he said. “Some laws are -not meant to be enforced. The people of Hardiston objected to the open -saloon; they did not object to the unobtrusive and inoffensive sale.” - -“Oh!” said Wint. - -“You didn’t object to it yourself,” Kite reminded him. “Isn’t that so?” - -He expected Wint to be confused; but Wint only laughed. “I should say I -didn’t,” he admitted. “I liked it as well as any one. Same time, this -isn’t a question of liking; it’s a question of the law.” He leaned -forward with a certain jeering earnestness in his voice. “Why, Mr. Kite, -if I didn’t enforce the law, Hardiston people could remove me for -misfeasance in office, or something like that.” - -Kite said: “Bosh!” impatiently. And Wint asked him suddenly: - -“What’s your interest in this?” - -“That of a citizen.” - -“Oh, I know you don’t sell it yourself,” said Wint, meaning just the -contrary. “But, Mr. Kite, if you have any friends in the business, tell -them to get out of it. It’s dead, in Hardiston. Dead and gone.” - -Kite said weakly: “Amos and I came here to try and make you change your -mind about that.” - -Wint looked at Amos. “That so?” he asked. “You think I ought to back -down?” - -“‘Go it, wife; go it, b’ar,’” said Amos cheerfully. “That’s me.” - -“Not taking sides?” - -“No.” - -Kite explained: “Amos and I worked together to elect you, you know.” - -Wint eyed him blandly. “Well, I’m much obliged. But I don’t see what -that has to do--” - -“You owe us some gratitude.” - -“I’m grateful.” - -“There’s a moral obligation.” - -Wint grinned. “Kite, I’m afraid you’re an Indian giver. I’m afraid you -elected me, thinking you could use me. But I didn’t ask to be elected, -so I don’t see--” - -Hopelessness was settling down on V. R. Kite; hopelessness, and the -desperate energy of a cornered rat. There was no shame in him, and no -scruple. Also, there was very little wisdom in the buzzard-like man. He -was to prove this before their eyes. - -“Wint,” he said, “Amos and I are practical men. You’re practical, too, -aren’t you? There’s no place for dreams in this world, Wint. It’s a hard -world. You understand that.” - -“You find it a hard world? Why, Kite, I think the world is a pretty good -sort of a place. That’s the way it strikes me.” - -“I--” - -“Maybe it’s your own fault you find it hard.” - -Kite brushed the suggestion away. He was obsessed with a new idea, a -last hope. He said: “Wint, if you drop this, Amos and I can do a lot for -you.” - -“You and Amos?” Wint looked at Amos again. “How about it, Congressman?” - -“‘Go it, wife; go it, b’ar,’” Amos repeated imperturbably. - -“What I mean,” said Kite, “is that we can send you to the legislature, -or anything.” - -“Why, I’m not looking for anything,” said Wint mildly. - -Kite snapped: “Every man has his price.” And when he met Wint’s level -eyes, and knew he was committed, he went on hurriedly: “I know that. If -politics isn’t yours, something else is. Speak out, man. What do you--” - -Wint asked curiously, and without anger: “What’s the idea, Kite?” - -“I could give you a start in business. Help you.... I’m a business man, -you understand. Anything....” - -Wint laughed. “You’re too vague.” - -Kite looked at Amos. He looked at him so steadily that Amos got down -from the window seat, and whistled softly under his breath, and walked -out of the office into the council chamber above the fire-engine house. -He shut the door behind him. Kite leaned toward Wint. “Five hundred?” he -asked huskily. - -Wint chuckled. “I say,” he exclaimed, “I had no idea there was any money -in this job.” - -“A thousand....” - -“I’ve always wanted to know what it felt like to be bribed.” - -“A thousand, Wint? For God’s sake....” - -Wint shook his head, still perfectly good-humored. “There’s no question -about it, Kite,” he said. “You surely are an old buzzard. Get out of my -nest, you evil bird!” - -Kite protested: “Wint, listen to--” - -“Damn you!” said Wint, still without heat, “do you want me to throw you -out the window?” - -Kite got up. Wint had not even taken his feet down from their perch. -Kite said: “You’ll change your--” - -Wint’s feet banged the floor; and Kite stopped, and he went swiftly to -the door. In the doorway, he turned and looked back, his dry old face -working. He seemed to want to speak. But without a word, he turned and -went away. - -Amos strolled back in. Wint looked up at him and chuckled. But Amos -looked serious. - -“Went away all rumpled up, didn’t he?” Wint commented. “But he didn’t -have a word to say.” - -Amos nodded. “Not a word to say,” he agreed. “But, Wint,” he added, -“knowing Kite like I do, I wish he had.” - -“Wish he had had a word?” - -“I never was much afraid of a barking dog,” said the Congressman. - - - - -CHAPTER VII - -ANOTHER WORD AS TO HETTY - - -If Wint had expected immediate conflict, he was to be disappointed. For -after Kite left his office that day, nothing happened; neither that day, -nor the next, nor the next. Amos told Wint that Kite would strike, in -his own time, and strike below the belt. Wint laughed and said he was -ready to fight, foul or fair. But--neither foul blow nor fair was -struck. Radabaugh reported that his orders had been obeyed. Lutcher had -left town, temporarily, it was said. His rooms off the alley were -locked, and he had gone so far as to give Radabaugh a key, so that the -marshal might make sure, now and then, that Lutcher’s store of -drinkables was not disturbed. One shipment did come in for Mrs. Moody. -It was labeled “Canned Goods”; but Jim Radabaugh made it his business to -inspect all sorts of goods consigned to Mrs. Moody, and he found this -particular box contained goods in bottles instead of cans. He emptied -the bottles into the creek, across the railroad tracks from the station, -and told Mrs. Moody about it. She threw a stick of firewood at him, then -wept with rage because he dodged it successfully. - -For the rest, Hardiston was quiet. The lunch-cart man whom Radabaugh had -suspected took his cart and left town. Kite met Wint on the street and -greeted him as pleasantly as usual. Jack Routt cultivated him, and joked -him about his ideas of morality. One night, at Routt’s home, he offered -Wint a drink. Wint looked thoughtfully through the smoke of his pipe as -though he had not heard. When Routt repeated the offer, Wint declined -politely. - -The business of being Mayor occupied very little of Wint’s time. Early -in June, Foster, the city solicitor, brought a stranger to see Wint -about a street carnival which wanted to come to Hardiston the last week -in June. Wint agreed to grant the permits necessary. - -“You understand,” he told the man, “that this is a dry town.” - -The stranger winked, and said he understood. Wint shook his head -gravely. “I’m afraid you don’t understand,” he said. “This is a dry -town. There’s no booze sold here. Last summer, I remember, there was -some selling in connection with your carnival, here. If you try that -this time, I’ll have to close you up.” - -The man looked surprised and disgusted. “What is this, a Sunday school?” -he demanded. - -“No,” said Wint. “Just a dry town.” - -“How about the games?” - -Wint smiled good-naturedly. “Oh, don’t make them too raw. I’ve no -objection to ‘The cane you ring, that cane you get.’” - -“Hell!” said the man. “We won’t make chicken feed.” - -“You don’t have to come.” - -But the stranger said they would come, all right. After he had gone, -Wint told Foster the carnival would bear watching. Foster agreed, but -said the merchants wanted it. “Brings the farmers to town every day, -instead of just Saturday, you know.” - -“I know,” said Wint. “Well, let them come.” - -After a week of quiet, Wint decided that Kite and his allies had put the -lid on. “But they’re just waiting,” Amos warned him. “Waiting till they -get a toe hold on you, somehow. Watch your step, Wint.” - -Wint said he was watching. “I wish they’d start something,” he said. -“Hot weather’s dull, with no excitement.” - -“There’ll be enough excitement,” Amos assured him. - -Routt walked home with Wint one afternoon, talking over a proposition -that he had brought up a day or two before. Since Wint was going to be a -lawyer, he said, they ought to go in together. Wint was already so well -advanced in his reading that Routt thought in another year or eighteen -months he could take the examinations. “There’s a big practice waiting -for the right people down here,” he told Wint enthusiastically. “Dick -Hoover and I are going to get together when his father dies. The old man -is pretty feeble. You come in with us. We’ll do things, Wint.” - -Wint was pleased and somewhat flattered by the suggestion, and thought -well of Routt for it. But he only said, good-naturedly, that it was -still a long way off, and that there would be times enough to talk about -the matter when he was admitted to the bar. Nevertheless, Routt dwelt on -it insistently, so insistently that instead of turning aside toward his -own home at the usual place, he came on toward Wint’s father’s house, -still talking. It did not occur to Wint that there was any purpose in -Routt’s thus accompanying him. He had heard that Routt and Kite had been -seen together, and asked Jack about it. Routt explained that he had to -keep in touch with all sorts. A mixture of business and politics, he -said, and Wint was satisfied. - -When they came in sight of the house, it was still an hour before supper -time; and Hetty Morfee was sweeping down the front steps and the walk to -the gate. They saw her while they were still half a block away, and -Routt said casually: - -“Hetty still working for your mother, I see.” - -Wint nodded. “Yes; I guess she’s pretty good.” - -Routt agreed. “If she’d only keep straight. But....” - -“I don’t think she’s that kind,” said Wint. - -“I hope not,” Routt assented. “Hope she doesn’t--get into trouble. If -she ever did, in this town....” - -Wint said nothing; and Routt added: “She’d need a friend, all right.” -And again: “She’d need some one to take her part. But he’d be in Dutch, -whoever he was.” - -He looked at Wint sidewise. They were near the gate now, and Wint said: -“Come in and have supper.” - -Routt shook his head. “Not to-night.” - -Hetty looked up, at their approach, and Wint called: “Hello, Hetty.” - -She said: “Hello, Wint.” Routt repeated Wint’s greeting, and the girl -looked at him with curiously steady eyes, and said: - -“Hello, Jack.” - -Wint thought, vaguely, that there was some repressed feeling in her -tone; but he forgot the matter in bidding Routt good-by, and went -inside, leaving Hetty at her task, while Routt went back by the way they -had come. Hetty watched him go. He did not look toward her, did not turn -his head. She watched him out of sight. - - * * * * * - -Jack Routt took Agnes Caretall to the moving pictures that night. Wint -saw them there. He was with Joan. Afterward, Routt and Agnes walked home -together. - -Routt did most of the talking, on that homeward walk. Now and then Agnes -seemed to protest, weakly, at something he was urging her to do. One -near enough might have heard him speak of Wint. But there was no one -near. - -When they reached her home, there was a light in the sitting-room -window. That meant Amos was there; and Routt said he would not go in. -“But you’ll remember, won’t you, Agnes,” he asked, “if you want to do -something for me?” - -She said softly: “I do want to do anything for you.” - -He laughed at her gently. “How about him?” - -“I hate him,” she said, with a sudden intensity that was not pretty to -see. “I hate him. Hate him, I say.” - -“What’s he ever done to you?” Routt teased; and she said: - -“Nothing,” as though that one word were an accusation. - -Routt put his arm around her; and she clung to him with a swift, -terrified sort of passion, as though afraid to let him go. It seemed to -embarrass him; he freed himself a little roughly. - -He left her standing there when he hurried away. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - -AGNES TAKES A HAND - - -If Jack Routt had meant to force Hetty into Wint’s thoughts, he had -succeeded. Wint was not conscious of this when he left Jack at his gate; -he was thinking of other things. But during supper, an hour later, when -Hetty came into the dining room, Wint remembered what Jack had said; and -he looked at the girl with a keen scrutiny. He studied her, without -seeming to do so. - -He was surprised to discover in how many ways Hetty had changed, since -she came to work for his mother. The changes were slight, they had been -gradual. But they were appallingly obvious, under Wint’s cool appraisal -now. He tallied them in his thoughts. Her laughter had been gayly and -merrily defiant; it was sullen, now, and mirthless. Her eyes had -twinkled with a pleasant impudence; they were overcast, these days, with -a troubling shadow. There was a shadow, too, upon the clear, milky skin -of her cheeks; it was a blemish that could neither be analyzed nor -defined. Yet it was there. - -Hetty had slackened, too. Her hair was no longer so smoothly brushed, so -crisply drawn back above her ears. It was, at times, untidy. Her waists -were no longer so immaculate; her aprons needed pressing, needed soap -and water, too, at times. She had been fresh and clean and good to look -upon; she was, in these days, indefinably soiled. - -After supper that night, Wint went out into the kitchen where Hetty was -washing dishes. He went on the pretext of getting a drink of water. -There had been a time, a few months ago, when Hetty would have turned to -greet him laughingly, and she would have drawn a glass of water and -given it to him. But she did neither of those things now. Instead, she -moved aside without looking at him, while he held the glass under the -faucet; and when he stepped back to drink, she went on with her work, -shoulders bent, eyes down. - -Wint finished the glass of water, and put the glass back in its place. -Then he hesitated, started to go, came back. At last he asked -pleasantly: “Well, Hetty, how are things going?” - -She looked at him sideways, with a swift, furtive glance. And she -laughed in the mirthless way that was becoming habitual. “Oh, great,” -she said, and her tone was ironical. - -“What’s the matter?” Wint asked. “Anything wrong?” - -“Of course not. Don’t be a kid. Can’t I have a grouch if I want to?” - -“Sure,” he agreed amiably. “I have ’em, myself. Anything I can do to -bring you out of your grouch?” - -“No.” - -“If there is,” he said, so seriously she knew he meant his offer. “If -there is, let me know. Maybe I can help.” - -“I’m not asking help,” she told him sullenly. - -“Is there anything definite? Anything wrong?” - -She said, with a hot flash of her dark eyes in his direction: “I told -you no, didn’t I? What do you have to butt in for?” - -Wint considered that, and he filled his pipe and lighted it; and at last -he turned to the door. From the doorway he called to her: “If anything -turns up, Hetty, count on me.” - -She nodded, without speaking; and he left her. He was more troubled than -he would have cared to admit; and he was convinced, in spite of what -Hetty had said, that there was something wrong. - -The third or fourth day after, Hardiston meanwhile moving along the even -tenor of its way, Wint decided, after supper at home, that he wanted to -see Amos. He telephoned the Congressman’s home, and Agnes answered. He -asked if Amos was at home. - -“He went uptown for the mail,” Agnes told him. “But he said he’d be -right back. He’ll be here in a few minutes.” - -“Tell him I’m coming down, will you?” Wint suggested, and Agnes promised -to do so. Wint took his hat and started for Amos’s home. He thought of -going through town on the chance of picking Amos up at the Post Office; -but the mail had been in for an hour, and he decided Amos would have -reached his home before he got there, so he went on. Wint and Amos lived -on the same street, but at different ends of the town. The better part -of a mile lay between the two houses. The stores and business houses -were the third point of a triangle of which the Chase home and Amos’s -formed the other angles. - -The night was warm and moonlit; a night in June. The street along which -Wint’s route lay was shaded on either side by spreading trees, and lined -with the attractive, comfortable homes of Hardiston folks who knew what -homes should be. Wint met a few people: A young fellow with a flower in -his buttonhole, in a great deal of a hurry; a boy and a girl with linked -arms; a man, a woman here and there. At one corner, in the circle of -radiance from a sputtering electric light, a dozen boys were playing -“Throw the Stick.” Wint heard their cries while he was still a block or -two away; he saw their shadowy figures scurrying in the dust, or -crouching behind bushes and houses in the adjoining yards. As he passed -the light, a woman came to the door of one of the houses and called -shrilly: - -“Oh-h-h, Willie-e-e-e-e!” - -One of the boys answered, in reluctant and protesting tones; and the -woman called: - -“Bedti-i-ime.” Wint heard the boy’s querulous complaint; heard his -fellows jeer at him under their breath, so that his mother might not -hear. The youngsters trained laggingly homeward; and the woman at the -door, as Wint passed, said implacably to her son: - -“You go around to the pump and wash your feet before you come in the -house, Willie.” - -The boy went, still complaining. And Wint grinned as he passed by. His -own days of playing, barefoot, under the corner lights were still so -short a time behind him that he could sympathize with Willie. Is there -any sharper humiliation than to be forced to come home to bed while the -other boys are still abroad? Is there any keener discomfort than to take -your two dusty feet, with the bruises and the cuts and the scratches -all crudely cauterized with grime, and stick them under a stream of -cold water, and scrub them till they are raw, and wipe the damp dirt off -on a towel?... Wint was half minded to turn back and join that game of -“Throw the Stick.” The bewildering moonlight, the warm air of the night -had somewhat turned his head. It required an effort of will to keep on -his way. - -Agnes opened the door for him when he came to Caretall’s home. “Dad’ll -be here in a minute or two,” she said. “Come right in.” - -Wint hesitated. “Oh, isn’t he home yet?” - -“No, but he will be.” She laughed at him, in a pretty, inviting way she -had. “I won’t bite, you know.” - -“I guess not,” he agreed good-naturedly. “But it’s a shame to go in the -house, a night like this.” - -She said: “Wait till I get a scarf. Sit down. The hammock, or the -chairs. I’ll be right out.” - -So Wint sat down, where the moonlight struck through the vines about the -porch and mottled the floor with silver. Agnes came out with something -indescribably flimsy about her fair head; and Wint laughed and said: “I -never could make out why girls think a thing like that keeps them warm.” - -“Oh, but it does,” she insisted. “You’ve no idea how much warmth there -is in it.” - -He shook his head, laughing at her. “That wouldn’t keep a butterfly warm -on the Sahara Desert.” - -She protested: “Now you just see....” And she moved lightly around -behind him and wrapped the film of silken stuff about his head. “There,” -she said, and looked at him, and laughed gayly. “You’re the -funniest-looking thing.” - -Wint unwound the scarf gingerly. “It feels like cobwebs,” he said. “I -don’t see how you can wear it. Sticky stuff.” - -“Men are always afraid of things like cobwebs. Always afraid of little -things.” - -Wint chuckled. “What’s this? New philosophy of life?” - -“Can’t I say anything serious?” - -“Why, sure. I don’t know but what you’re right, too.” - -He had taken one of the chairs. She sat down in the hammock. “Come sit -here with me,” she invited. “That chair’s not comfortable.” - -“Oh, it’s all right.” - -She stamped her foot. “I should think you’d do what I say when you come -to see me.” - -“Matter of fact, you know, I came to see your father.” - -“Well, you’re staying to see me. If you don’t sit in the hammock, I’m -going in the house and leave you.” - -Wint held up his hands in mock consternation. “Heaven forbid.” He sat -down beside her, as uncomfortable as a man must always be in a hammock; -and she leaned away from him, half reclining, enjoying his discomfort. -He could see her laughing at him in the moonlight. She pointed one -forefinger at him, stroked it with the other as one strops a razor. - -“‘Fraid to sit in the hammock with a girl,” she taunted. - -She was very pretty and provoking in the silver light; and Wint -understood that he could kiss her if he chose. He had kissed Agnes -before this. “Wink” and “Post Office” and kindred games were popular -when he and Agnes were in high school together. But--he had no notion of -kissing Agnes, moonlight or no moonlight. He had come to see Amos. -Amos’s daughter was another matter. - -“When is Amos coming home?” he asked. “Has he called up? Maybe I’d -better walk uptown.” - -“He called and said he was starting,” she assured him. “You stay right -here. He’ll be here, unless he gets to talking some of your old -politics. I suppose that’s what you came to see him for.” - -“Oh, I just happened down this way....” - -She sat up straight. “Good gracious. You act as though it were a secret. -Tell me, this minute.” - -“Why, as a matter of fact,” said Wint good-naturedly, “I want to talk to -him about a sewer the city’s going to put in through some land he owns. -I guess you’re not interested in sewers.” - -She grimaced, and said she should say not. “I thought maybe it was -something about the bootleggers,” she said. “Everybody’s talking about -them. What are you going to do to them?” - -Wint laughed. “That’s like the instructions for destroying potato bugs,” -he said. “First, catch your potato bug.” - -“You mean you haven’t caught any?” - -“Not yet.” - -“Are you trying to?” - -“Why, we’ve got our eyes open.” - -“I love to hear about criminals and everything,” she said. “What will -you do to them when you get them? Send them to jail?” - -“Well, I’ll do that, if I can’t do anything worse.” - -She asked: “You’re really going to--you really mean to get after them?” -He nodded, and she laughed. He asked: - -“What’s the joke?” - -“Oh, it seems funny for you to be so moral about whisky and things.” - -He grinned. “It is funny, isn’t it?” - -“I should think they’d just laugh at you.” - -“Well, maybe they do.” - -“I suppose you’re just going to give them a lesson, and then--sort of -let things go, aren’t you?” - -Wint shook his head. “No, I sha’n’t let things go. Not as long as -I’m--in charge.” - -“But lots of people will be awfully mad at you. Why, even your father -buys whisky and things, doesn’t he?” - -“Yes, I suppose so. But he doesn’t sell them.” - -“Well, some one’s got to sell them to him.” - -“They’ll not sell in Hardiston,” said Wint. He was a little tired of -this. “Looks to me as though Amos has stopped to talk politics, after -all. Did you tell him I was coming?” - -“Oh, yes,” she assured him. “He’ll be right home.” She got up abruptly. -“There’s some lemonade in the dining room,” she said. “Would you like -some?” - -“Every time,” he said. “It’s warm enough to make it taste pretty fine, -to-night.” - -She came out with a tall pitcher and two glasses, and filled his glass -and her own. They lifted the glasses together, and Wint touched his to -his lips. Then he took it down, and looked at it, and said: - -“Hello!” - -“What’s the matter?” she asked. - -“There’s a stick in this, isn’t there?” - -“Yes. I always put a little in. Peach brandy. I love it.” - -“Peach brandy, eh?” - -“Yes. Don’t you like it?” - -“Well, I’ve been letting it alone lately I guess I’ll not.” - -“Oh, don’t be silly, Wint,” she protested, and stamped her foot at him. -“I guess a little brandy won’t hurt you!” - -“No, probably not,” Wint agreed. “But I’m on the wagon, you see.” - -“You make me feel as though I’d done something wrong to offer it to -you.” - -“Why, no. Only, I....” - -They were so interested that neither of them had heard Amos, and neither -of them had seen him stop by the gate for a moment, listening to what -they said. But when the gate opened, Agnes saw him, and the sight -silenced her. Amos came heavily toward the house, and Agnes called to -him: - -“Wint’s here, dad.” - -Amos said: “Oh! Hello, Wint!” - -Wint said “Good evening.” Amos was up on the porch by this time, and -seemed to discover the lemonade. - -“Hello, there,” he exclaimed. “That looks pretty good. I’m hot. Pour me -a glass, Agnes.” - -She hesitated; and Wint said: “Take mine.” - -“What’s the matter with it?” Amos asked good-naturedly. “Poisoned?” He -lifted the glass to his nose. “Oh, brandy, eh? Well, got anything -against that?” - -“Oh, I’m on the wagon, myself, that’s all.” - -Amos nodded. “Well, I never touch it. Not lately. Take it away, Agnes.” - -His voice was gentle enough; but Wint thought the girl seemed very -white and frightened as she faced her father. She took pitcher and -glasses and went swiftly into the house. Amos turned to Wint, and sat -down, and asked cheerfully: - -“Well, young fellow, what’s on your mind?” - - * * * * * - -When their business was done, and Wint had gone, Amos sat quietly upon -the porch for a while. Then, without moving from his chair, he turned -his head and called toward the open door: - -“Agnes!” - -She answered, from inside. He said: “Come here.” And she appeared in the -doorway. He bade her come out and sit down. She chose the hammock, lay -back indolently. - -Amos filled his pipe with slow care and lighted it. His head was on one -side, his eyes squinted thoughtfully. If there had been more light, -Agnes could have seen that he was sorely troubled. But she could not -see. So she thought him merely angry; and grew angry herself at the -thought. - -He asked at last: “You offered Wint booze?” - -“Just some lemonade,” she said stiffly. - -“Booze in it,” he reminded her. “Don’t you do that any more, Agnes.” - -“I guess a little brandy won’t hurt Wint Chase,” she told him. - -“Don’t you do it any more,” he repeated, finality in his tones. She said -nothing; and after a little he asked, looking toward her wistfully in -the shadows of the porch: “What did you do it for, Agnes? What did you -do it for, anyway?” - -She shrugged impatiently. “Oh, I don’t know.” - -“What did you do it for?” he insisted. There was an implacable strength -in Amos; she knew she could not escape answering. Nevertheless, she -evaded again. - -“Oh, no reason.” - -“What did you do it for?” he asked, mildly, for the third time; and -Agnes stamped to her feet. When she answered, her voice was harsh and -hard and indescribably bitter. - -“Because I wanted to get him drunk,” she said. “He’s so funny when he’s -that way. That’s why.” - -She stared down at him defiantly; and Amos saw hard lines form about her -mouth. Before he could speak, she was gone indoors. - -Amos sat there for a long while, after that, thinking.... His thoughts -ran back; he remembered Agnes as a baby, as a schoolgirl. She was a -young woman, now. - -He thought to himself, a curiously helpless feeling oppressing him: “I -wish her mother hadn’t’ve died.” - - - - -CHAPTER IX - -A WORD FROM JOAN - - -Wint found himself unable to put Hetty out of his mind, next day. He had -overslept, was late for breakfast, and ate it alone with Hetty serving -him. When she came into the dining room, he said: - -“Good morning.” - -Hetty nodded, without answering. And he asked cheerfully: “Well, how’s -the world this morning?” - -She said the world was all right; and she went out into the kitchen -again before he could ask her anything more. Wint, over his toast and -coffee, wondered. He was beginning to have some suspicion as to what was -wrong with Hetty. But--he could not believe it. It wasn’t possible. It -couldn’t be. - -A certain burden of work shut down on him that day and the next, so that -he forgot her in his affairs. He saw her every day, of course; but they -were never alone together. His mother was always about. And there were -other matters on Wint’s mind. He was glad to be able to forget her. -Wint, like most men, was willing to forget a perplexity if forgetting -were possible. And Hetty kept out of his way, and seemed to resent his -interest. - -He met Agnes on the street one morning, and she stopped him and talked -with him. She was very gay and vivacious about it, touching his arm in a -friendly way now and then to emphasize some meaningless word. Her hand -was on his arm thus when he saw Joan coming, a little way off. He did -not know that Agnes had seen her some time before, without seeming to do -so. Agnes discovered Joan now with a start of surprise, and she took her -hand off Wint’s arm in a quick, furtive way, as though she did not want -Joan to see. Yet Joan must have seen. Wint was uncomfortably conscious -that he had been put in an awkward light; but he supposed the whole -thing was chance. Nothing more. - -Agnes exclaimed: “Why, Joan, we didn’t see you coming.” Her words -conveyed, subtly enough, the impression that if they had seen Joan -coming, matters would have been different; and Wint scowled, and looked -at Joan, and wondered if she was going to be so foolish as to mind. Then -Agnes turned to him and said: - -“Run along, Wint, I’ve something to say to Joan.” And he looked at Joan, -and thought there was pique in her eyes; and he went away in such a mood -of sullen resentment as had not possessed him for months. It stayed with -him all that day: he reverted into the prototype of the old, sulky, -stubborn Wint who had made all the trouble. - -Agnes and Joan walked uptown together, and Agnes chattered gayly enough. -Agnes had always a ready tongue, while Joan was of a more silent habit. -Agnes said Wint had come down to see her, a few days before. - -“That is, of course,” she explained, “he pretended he came to see dad. -But he telephoned, and I told him dad wasn’t at home, but he came -anyway. We sat on the porch and drank lemonade. That night the moon was -full. Wasn’t it the most beautiful night, Joan? I think Wint’s a peach. -I always did. I never could see why you and he quarreled. Seems to me -you were awfully foolish. I’ll never have a fuss with him, I can tell -you.” - -There was too much sincerity in Joan for this sort of thing; she was -almost helpless in Agnes’s hands. That is, she did not know how to -counter the other girl’s shafts. She did say: “Wint and I haven’t really -quarreled. We’re very good friends.” - -Agnes nodded wisely, and said: “Oh, I know.” She looked up at Joan. “Was -it about that Hetty Morfee, Joan? I know it’s none of my business, but I -can’t help wondering. I shouldn’t think you’d mind that. Men are that -way. I know it doesn’t make a bit of difference to me. Not if--Well, I -sha’n’t quarrel with Wint over Hetty, I can tell you.” - -Joan had turned white. She could not help it; and Agnes saw, and added -cheerfully: - -“Of course, you can’t believe half you hear, anyway. But they do say -that she.... No, I’m not going to.... I never was one to tell nasty -stories about people, Joan.” - -Joan could not say anything to save her life. She had to get away from -Agnes, and she managed it as quickly as she could. She was profoundly -troubled, profoundly unhappy. She had not realized how much Wint meant -to her. The things which Agnes intimated made her physically sick with -unhappiness at their very possibility. She finished her errands as -quickly as she could, and hurried home. On the way, she passed Agnes and -Jack Routt together, and they spoke to her, and she responded, holding -her voice steady. She was miserably hurt and unhappy. - -At home, she shut herself in her room to think. There was a picture of -Wint on her bureau, a snapshot she had taken two or three years before. -Wint had changed since then. The pictured face was boyish and round and -good-natured; Wint’s face now had a strength which this boy in the -picture lacked. Wint was a man now, for good or ill. - -She had, suddenly, a surge of loyal certainly that it was for good, and -not for ill, that Wint was become a man. There was an infinite fund of -natural loyalty in Joan; she had been prodded by Agnes into a panic of -doubt, but when she was alone, this panic passed. A slow fire of anger -at Agnes began to burn in her; anger because Agnes had meant to injure -Wint, not because Agnes had hurt her. In Wint’s behalf she took up arms; -she considered Agnes; she questioned the girl’s motives, she went over -and over the incident, trying to read a meaning into it. - -There is an instinctive wisdom in woman which passes anything in man. In -that long day alone, thinking and wondering and questioning, Joan came -very near hitting upon the whole truth of the matter. Nearer than she -knew. She came so near that before Wint appeared that evening--he had -arranged, a day or two before, to come and see her--she had begun to -hate Jack Routt. - -She did not know why this was so. She had never particularly liked Jack -Routt; yet he had always been cheerful, an amiable companion, a good -fellow. Also, he was Wint’s friend, and Joan was loyal to Wint’s -friends as she was to Wint. But--All that day, she had thought, again -and again, of Jack’s eyes when she saw him with Agnes. She told herself -there had been something hidden in them, something she could not define, -something meanly triumphant. She mistrusted him; and before Wint came to -her, she hated Routt. And feared him. - -Nevertheless, she and Wint talked of matters perfectly commonplace for -most of that evening together. They were apt to talk of commonplace -things in these days; because safety lay in the commonplace. There was a -strange balance of emotions between Wint and Joan. A little thing might -have tipped it either way. At times, Wint wished to bring matters to an -issue; he wished to cry out to Joan that he loved her. But he was -restrained by a desperate fear that she was not ready to hear him say -this. He was afraid she would cast him out once more. And--he could not -bear the thought of that. It was something to be able to see her, talk -with her, be near her. He dared not risk losing this much. - -Thus they talked of ordinary matters, till Wint got up to go at last. -Joan went out on the porch with him; he stopped, on one of the steps, a -little below her. He had said good-by before Joan found courage. She -asked, then: - -“Wint! Will you let me?... There’s something I want to ask you.” - -He was surprised; his heart began to pound in his throat. “To ask me?” -he repeated. “Why--all right, Joan. What is it?” - -“Are you and Routt pretty good friends, Wint?” - -“Yes,” he said, at once. “Jack’s the best friend I’ve got.” - -“Are you sure?” - -“Of course. What’s the idea, Joan?” - -She said reluctantly: “I don’t know. Only--I don’t seem to trust him. I -don’t like him. I’m afraid of him.” - -He laughed. “Good Lord! Jack’s harmless; he’s a prince.” - -“I don’t think he’s as loyal to you as you are to him,” she said. - -Wint exclaimed impatiently: “The way you girls get down on a fellow! -Jack’s all right.” - -Wint’s impatience made Joan quieter and more sure of herself. “I’m not -sure,” she repeated, and smiled a little wistfully. “Just--don’t trust -him too far, Wint.” - -“I’d trust him with all I’ve got,” Wint said flatly. “I think -you’re--I’m surprised at you, Joan.” The stubborn anger roused in the -morning when Joan came upon him with Agnes reawoke in Wint. His jaw set, -and his eyes were hard. - -Joan was troubled; she wanted to say more, but she did not know how. -And--she could not forget Hetty. She had not meant to speak to Wint of -Hetty; but Joan was woman enough to be unable to hold her tongue. Also, -Wint’s loyalty to Routt had angered her; she was willing to hurt him--as -men and women are always willing to hurt the thing they love. She said -slowly: - -“Did you know people are beginning to talk about Hetty Morfee, Wint? You -and Hetty!” - -Wint’s anger flamed; he flung up his hand disgustedly. “You women. -You’re always ready to jump on each other. Why can’t this town let Hetty -alone?” - -“I only meant--” Joan began. - -“I don’t care what you meant,” Wint told her. “You ought not to pass -gossip on, Joan. I hate it.” - -“I don’t see why you have to defend her,” she protested; and he said -hotly: - -“I’m not defending her. She doesn’t need defending. If she did, I would, -though. Hetty’s all right.” - -Joan drew back a little into the shadow of the porch. After a moment, -she said: - -“Good night, Wint.” - -He said harshly: “Good night. And for Heaven’s sake, forget this -foolishness. Routt and Hetty.... They’re all right.” - -She did not answer. He said again: “Good night,” and he turned and went -down to the gate, and away. - -Joan watched him go. She thought she ought to be angry with him, and -hurt. She was surprised to discover that she was rather proud of Wint, -instead; proud of him for being angry, even at her, for the sake of his -friend, and for the sake of Hetty. - -She was troubled, because she thought he was wrong; but she was -infinitely proud, too, because he had stuck by his guns. - - - - -CHAPTER X - -THE STREET CARNIVAL - - -Joan’s warning as to Jack Routt, her word as to Hetty, and Wint’s -rejection of both warning and advice did not lead to a break between -them. They met next day, and Wint had the grace to say to her: - -“I’m sorry I talked as I did yesterday, last night. I was tired, -and--all that. I’m sorry.” - -“It’s all right,” Joan told him. “It’s natural for you to stick by your -friends.” - -“I needn’t have talked so to you, though.” - -She laughed, and said he had been all right. “I guess you’ve been -imagining you were worse than you really were,” she told him. “It’s -quite all right, really.” - -“But I’m sorry you--dislike Jack,” he said. “He’s an awfully decent -sort.” - -“Is he?” she asked. “Then I’m glad you and he are friends.” - -“That’s the stuff,” Wint told her. “That’s the way to talk.” - -Thereafter, for a week or so, life in Hardiston went quietly. V. R. Kite -still bided his time; there was no liquor being sold; Ote Runns went -home sober, day after day, with a look of desperate longing in his eyes. -That sodden man who had embraced Wint in the Weaver House so long, whom -Wint had jailed more than once for his drinking, suffered as much as -Ote, or more. He came to Wint and unbraided him for what he had done. -“It ain’t the way to treat a fellow,” he told Wint, pleading huskily. -“You know how it is. I just gotta have a drink, Mister Mayor. I just -gotta. I told Mrs. Moody she’s gotta give me a drink, and she told me -you wouldn’t let her. You ain’t got a thing against me, now, have you?” -The miserable man’s fingers were twitching, his lips twisted and -writhed. “If I don’t get a drink, I’m a-going to kill some-buddy, I am.” - -Wint did not know what to do. He could see at a glance that the man was -suffering a very real torment. He had himself never become so soaked -with alcohol that his system cried out for it when he abstained; but he -knew what torture this might be. He had an idea that candy would -alleviate the man’s distress; but the idea seemed to him ridiculous, and -he put it aside. Yet there was an obligation upon him to do something. - -He did, in the end, a characteristic thing, an impulsive thing; and yet -it was sensible, too. There was no saving this man. Highest mercy to him -was to let him drink himself to death. Wint told him to come to the -house that night; and he gave the poor fellow a quart bottle from his -father’s store. The derelict wandered away, calling Wint blessed. They -found him under a tree in the yard next door, in the morning, blissfully -sleeping. - -The story got around, as it was sure to do. The man told it himself; he -boasted that Wint was a good fellow. V. R. Kite heard of it, and waved -his clenched fists and swore at Wint by every saint in the calendar. -Also, he sent for Jack Routt. “We’ve got him,” he cried. “He can’t put -over a thing like this on me, Routt. I’ll not stand for it. I’ll run him -out of town. Or get out myself. Damn it, Routt, he’s a hypocrite! He’s a -whited sepulcher. I’ll--” - -Routt laughed good-naturedly, and held up a quieting hand. “Hold on,” he -said. “We’ll have better than this on Wint before long. Good enough so -that I--I’ll tell you a secret, Kite.” - -Kite looked suspicious, and asked what the secret was; but Routt decided -not to tell. Not just yet. “Wait till the time comes,” he told Kite. “A -little later on.” - -So Kite waited. - -Toward the end of June, the street carnival came to town for a week’s -stay. These carnivals are indigenous to such towns as Hardiston. They -resemble nothing so much as an aggregation of the added attractions -which usually go with a circus, broken loose from the circus and -wandering about the country alone. A merry-go-round reared its tent and -set up it clanking organ at Main and Pearl streets. Down the hill below -the tent, the snake-eating wild man had his lair; and below him, again, -there was an “Ocean Wave.” Along Pearl Street in the other direction the -Museum of Freaks and the Galaxy of Beauty were located. Main Street -itself was given over to venders of popcorn, candy, hot dogs, ice-cream -sandwiches, lemonade, ginger pop, and every other indigestible on the -calendar. There also, you might, for the matter of a nickel, have three -tries at ringing a cane worth six cents, or a knife worth three. Or you -might take a chance in the great lottery, where every entrant drew some -prize, even if it were only a packet of hairpins. The arts and crafts -were represented by a man who would twist a bit of gilded wire into -likeness of your signature for half a dollar. - -The first tents of the carnival began to rise one Saturday morning; and -all that day and the next, the boys of the town and the grown-ups, too, -watched the show take shape. It was almost as good as a circus. At noon -on Monday, the carnival opened for business, with the ballyhoo men in -full voice before every tent. The moderate afternoon crowd grew into a -throng in the evening, when the kerosene torches flared and smoked on -every pole, and the normal things of daylight took on a dusky glamour in -the jerky illumination of the flares. - -Every one went uptown to the carnival that first evening. Wint was -there, and Jack Routt, Agnes, Joan, V. R. Kite--every one. In -mid-evening, the quieter folk drifted home, but Wint stayed to watch -what passed. A little after eleven, he bumped into a drunken man. - -In spite of his warning to the advance agent of this carnival, Wint had -been expecting to see drunken men. It was the nature of the carnival -breed. He wandered back and forth till he came upon Jim Radabaugh, and -called the marshal aside. - -“Jim,” he said, “they’re selling booze.” - -Radabaugh shifted that lump in his cheek, and spat. “So?” he asked -mildly. - -“I want it stopped,” said Wint. “If you pin it on the carnival bunch, -I’ll shut them up.” - -“I’ll see,” Radabaugh promised. - -“Come along, first, and let’s talk to the boss,” Wint suggested; and -they sought out that man. He was running the merry-go-round; a hard -little fellow with a cold blue eye. Wint introduced himself; and the man -shook hands effusively. - -“My name’s Rand,” he said. “Mike Rand. Glad t’ meet you, Mister Mayor.” - -Wint said: “That’s all right,” and he asked: “Did your advance man give -you my orders?” - -“What orders?” - -“I told him I didn’t want any booze peddling.” - -“Sure, he told me.” - -Wint jerked his head backward toward Main Street. “I ran into a drunk up -there,” he said. - -Rand grinned. “Can’t help that. We’re not selling any.” - -“I’m holding you responsible,” said Wint. “If there’s any sold, I’ll -cancel your permits.” - -The little man stared at him bleakly. “You’ve got a nerve. You can’t pin -anything on us.” - -“I can’t help that,” Wint told him. “In fact, I don’t care. If there’s -booze sold, you get out. If I pin in on any man, he goes to jail. Is -that clear?” - -“What is this town, anyway--a damned Sunday school?” - -“If you like,” said Wint sweetly; and he and Radabaugh turned away. -Rand’s engine man left his throttle to approach his chief and ask: - -“What’s up? Who was that?” - -“Mayor of this burg and the marshal. Say we’ve got to shut down on the -booze.” - -“Like hell!” - -Rand grinned. “Sure. He can’t run a whoozer on me.” - -When he left Radabaugh, Wint ran into Jack Routt, and they strolled -about together through the crowd. Once they saw Hetty, and Wint thought -she was unnaturally cheerful and gay. He wondered if it were possible -she had been drinking again; and he stared after her so long that Routt -asked: - -“Takes your eye, does she?’ - -“I was wondering,” said Wint. - -Routt touched his arm. “You take it from me, Wint, you want to keep -clear of her. I’d get her out of the house, if I were you. They’re -beginning to talk.” - -Wint asked angrily: “Who’s beginning to talk? What about?” - -“Everybody. About Hetty--and you, naturally.” - -“I wish they--I wish people in this town would mind their own business.” - -Routt grinned and said: “You act as though there was something in it.” - -“Don’t be a darned fool.” - -“Well, I’m telling you what people say. If I were you--you’re a public -official, you know, in the public eye--I’d be careful. Tell your mother -to get rid of her. Safest thing to do.” - -“I’m not looking for safe things to do.” Wint liked the defiant sound of -that. - -Routt nodded. “I’d be worried, if it was me. That’s all.” - -“I’m not worried,” said Wint. “Hetty’s all right. And if she weren’t--I -don’t propose to be scared.” - -“We-ell, it’s your funeral,” Routt told him. - -Wint laughed. “I guess it’s not as bad as that. It’s almost twelve. I’m -going home.” - - - - -CHAPTER XI - -FIRST BLOOD - - -It was upon the carnival that Wint was to score first blood in his fight -to clean up Hardiston. Mike Rand, carnival boss, was a hard man, willing -to take a chance, afraid only of being bluffed. So he took Wint’s -warning as a challenge. Nevertheless, for the sake of making things as -sure as might be, he went to see V. R. Kite. He and Kite had known and -understood each other for a good many years. - -He dropped in to see Kite Tuesday morning; and the little man remembered -his church connections and his outward respectability, and worried for -fear some one had seen Rand come in. His worry took the form of -resentment at Rand’s imprudence. “Ought to be more careful,” he -protested. “Have more sense, man. I have to watch myself in this town. -Don’t you know that? I have a position to keep up. You’re all right, of -course.” This as Rand’s eyes hardened in a stare that made Kite wince. -“But I can’t afford to be hitched up with you openly. It wouldn’t do -either of us any good.” - -Rand said dryly: “You don’t need to worry about me. I can stand it.” - -“I can be useful to you now, whereas my usefulness would be gone if I -were less respected.” - -“Respected, hell!” said Rand without emotion. “Don’t they call you ‘The -Buzzard’ around here? I’ve heard so. That don’t sound respectful.” - -“That’s a jest,” said Kite. “Nothing more.” - -“Pinned on you by this shrimp Mayor, wasn’t it?” - -“Yes. Good-naturedly. He was drunk.” - -“Drunk? Him?” Rand lifted his hands in pious horror. “I thought he was -one of these ‘lips-that-touch-liquor-shall-never-touch-mine’ guys, to -hear him talk.” - -“He’s not drinking now; not openly. He was a sot, a few months ago. -Dead drunk in the Weaver House, the night he was elected Mayor. I saw -him there.” - -Rand drawled: “I’ll say this is some town.” He leaned forward. “What I -want to know is: how about this booze? He serves notice on me that I’m -responsible if any’s sold. How about it? Will he go through? Or is it a -bluff?” - -Kite considered. “I don’t know,” he said. - -“Has he shut you down?” - -“He gave us orders not to sell; and we’re not selling. But we’re not -idle. We’re preparing to spring a mine under that man.” - -“He’s got you bluffed.” - -Kite’s face twisted with a sudden rush of fury. “I tell you, we’re going -to destroy him--blast him!--in our own good time.” - -Rand studied the little man; then he nodded. “Well, that’s all right. -Just the same, he’s got you shut down.” - -“Yes.” - -“Has he pulled any one yet for selling?” - -“No.” - -“How about the marshal? Is he reasonable?” - -“I believe he will obey the Mayor’s orders.” - -“Only question is the Mayor’s nerve, then?” - -“Yes.” - -“And you haven’t tried it out?” - -“No; we’re waiting to strike when we’re sure of winning.” - -“Hell!” said Rand disgustedly. “He’s got you bluffed. I don’t believe -he’s got the nerve to go through with it; but one thing’s sure. He’s got -your number, you old skate.” - -Kite answered hotly: “If you’re so brave, why don’t you go ahead and -fight him?” - -“Are you with me?” - -“I’m not ready to fight.” - -Rand got up. “Well, I am. I never dodged a fight yet. You watch, old -man; you’ll see the fur fly yet.” - -He stalked out, head back and shoulders squared aggressively. Kite -watched him go, and nodded to himself with a measure of satisfaction. He -was perfectly willing to see Wint forced to fight--provided some one -besides himself did the forcing. Rand looked like a fighter. - - * * * * * - -Wint and Jack Routt met, on the way uptown after supper that day. Routt -asked if Wint were going to the carnival again, and Wint nodded. -“Keeping an eye on it,” he said. - -They went to the Post Office first; and Routt stopped at his office. -“Come up,” he said. “I’ll only be a minute.” - -Wint went up with him. Routt dropped a letter or two on his desk; then -from a lower drawer produced a bottle. “Don’t mind if I mix myself a -highball, do you, Wint?” he asked cheerfully. “I don’t suppose you’ll -feel called on to arrest me.” - -“Go ahead,” Wint said. Routt poured some whisky into a glass, filled it -from a siphon. - -“You’re wise to leave the stuff alone,” he said, between the first and -second sips from the glass. “It’s bad stuff unless a fellow can handle -it.” - -Wint nodded uneasily. There was no physical craving in him; nevertheless -there was an acute desire to drink for the sake of drinking, for the -sake of being like other men, for the sake of defying the danger. -“That’s right,” he said. “I’m off it.” - -“At that,” Routt remarked, the highball half gone, “I guess you’ve shown -you can take it or let it alone. I lay off of it myself, once in a -while, just to be sure I can.” - -“Oh, I don’t miss it,” Wint said brazenly. - -“Sure you don’t,” Routt agreed. “You’re no toper. Never were. Any one -likes to drink for the sake of being a good fellow. That’s all I drink -for.” He finished the glass, poured in a little more whisky. “Long as -I’m sure I can stop when I want to, the way you have done, I go ahead -and drink whenever I feel like it.” - -Wint nodded. Routt looked at him with a curious intentness. “Another -glass here, if you’d like,” he said. - -“I guess not.” - -Routt laughed. “All right. You know best. If you can’t let it alone when -you get started--” - -“Oh, I can take a drink and quit.” - -“Want one?” - -“No, I don’t think so.” - -Routt chuckled. “Funny to see you afraid of anything,” he said. “I never -expected to see it.” - -Wint got up abruptly. The old Wint would have reached for the bottle; -this was the new Wint’s impulse. But he fought it down, steadied his -voice. “Jack,” he said, a little huskily, “you’re a friend of mine. I -don’t want to drink, never. Don’t offer it to me. Some day I might -accept. Don’t ever offer me a drink, Jack. Please.” - -Routt was ashamed of himself, and angry at Wint for making him ashamed. -“Hell, all right,” he said, and dropped the bottle into its place. “Come -on, let’s take the air.” - -At a little after eleven that night, Mike Rand sought out Wint. Wint was -standing before the cane booth, watching the ring-tossers. Rand pushed -up beside him and touched his arm, and Wint looked around. The carnival -boss said harshly: - -“Hey, you!” - -Wint looked around at him, and said quietly: “Evening. What’s the -matter?” - -“Your damned hick marshal has pulled one of my men. I want to bail him -out.” - -Wint took a minute to consider this, get his bearings. He had not seen -Radabaugh all evening. He asked Rand: “You mean he’s made an arrest? -What’s the charge?” - -“Claims the man was selling booze to a bum.” - -“Was he?” Wint inquired gently. - -“Was he” Rand growled. “No, of course not. You must think we’re bad men, -coming here to dirty your pretty little town. He was selling liver -pills, or pink tea. What the hell of it? I want to bail him out.” - -“No bail accepted,” said Wint quietly. “He’ll have to stay in the -calaboose over night.” - -Rand exploded, as though he had been half expecting this. He said some -harsh things about Hardiston, and some harsher things about Wint, none -of which will bear repeating. In the midst of them, Wint stirred a -little and struck the man heavily in the mouth with his right fist; at -the same time, his left started and landed in the other’s throat, and -the right went home again on Rand’s hard little jaw. Rand fell in a -snoring heap. - -Wint was curiously elated. He looked around. A crowd had gathered, and -some of the carnival men were pushing through the crowd. There was a -belligerent look about them. Then he saw Marshal Jim Radabaugh elbowing -through the circle, and Wint was glad to see Jim. He called him: - -“Marshal, here’s a man I’ve arrested.” - -That halted Rand’s underlings. Rand himself was groaning back to -consciousness. Wint pointed down at him. “Take him to jail,” he said. - -One of the carnival men protested. Wint turned to him. “Close up your -shows, all of you,” he told the man. “Your permit’s cancelled. Get out -of town to-morrow.” - -Radabaugh had Rand on his feet; he gripped the man, his left hand -twisted in the other’s collar. Two or three of Rand’s men surged toward -them, and Radabaugh’s gun flickered into sight. It had a steadying -effect; no one pressed closer. - -All the fighting blood had flowed out of Rand’s smashed lips. He was -whining now: “Come, old man, what’s the idea?” Wint and Radabaugh -marched him between them through the crowd. Two or three score curious, -cheering or cursing spectators followed them to the cells behind the -fire-engine house. Rand submitted to being locked up there with no more -than querulous protests. He seemed thoroughly tamed. He asked for a -lawyer, but Wint said there was no need of a lawyer that night. Two of -the fire department, on duty, had come out to see the business of -locking up this second prisoner. Radabaugh bade them keep an eye on the -cells, and they agreed to do so. Then the marshal scattered the crowd. -Wint washed his bruised hands in the engine house. After a little, -Radabaugh came in; and Wint asked: - -“Is it true you got a man selling?” - -“Yes. The capper at the lottery.” - -“How’d you get him?” - -Radabaugh chuckled, and shifted the lump in his cheek. - -“Saw Ote Runns,” he said. “Figured Ote would nose out any loose booze, -so I kind of kept an eye on Ote. He talked to two or three men, and -finally to this fellow. They went in behind the billboard by the hotel, -and I saw him slip Ote the bottle and take Ote’s money. So I nabbed -him.” - -“Ote? Get him too?” - -“Yes; him and his half pint. I let him keep it. He was pretty shaky. -Needed it, I guess.” - -Wint nodded. “Be around in the morning?” he asked. “I’ll be down early.” - -Radabaugh assented. Wint hesitated, then he said: “Good work, Jim.” - -The marshal grinned. “Well,” he told Wint, “from the looks of Rand’s -face, you did some good work, too.” - -They shook hands. There was a distinctly mutual liking and admiration in -their grip. Then Wint started for home, and Radabaugh went back to keep -an eye on his prisoners. - - * * * * * - -One of Rand’s men went to V. R. Kite with the news of the trouble; and -Kite, uncertain what to do, sent for Jack Routt and told him what had -happened. This was at midnight. “I’ve got to stand by Rand,” Kite said. -“The question is, are we ready to get after Wint?” - -Routt shook his head. “Time for that. Hold off,” he advised. - -Kite asked impatiently: “How long? What makes you think you can get -anything on him?” - -“It’s ripe,” said Routt. “Apt to break any time. I’ve been working on -it.” - -In the end, he persuaded Kite to wait. “Well, then,” Kite asked, “what -are we going to do about Rand?” - -“He’s got to take his medicine.” - -“He won’t. He’ll fight.” - -“I’ll tell you,” said Routt. “I’ll go see him. Fix it up with him.” - -“Can you do it without Wint’s finding out?” - -Routt laughed. “I’m a lawyer. I’ve a right to have clients, even in the -Mayor’s court. I’ll take their case.” - -Kite, in the end, agreed to that. When Routt left the little man, he -intended to go direct to the jail; but on the way, he changed his mind. -As well to let the men cool their heels. It would make Rand more ready -to listen to reason. - -He went up Main Street toward the carnival, and found that the tents -were coming down, one of Radabaugh’s officers keeping a watchful eye on -the proceedings. Wint’s orders that the shows be closed could not be -evaded. This much, at least, he had scored. Routt went home and did some -thinking. - -He appeared at the jail half an hour before Wint came to hold court; and -Radabaugh let him talk with Rand and with the other man. When Wint -appeared, the two were brought into court, with Ote Runns as a witness, -for good measure. Wint was surprised to see Routt. Jack nodded to him, -and came up to Wint’s desk, and said: “Rand sent for me. Wanted me to -take his case. He knows he’s licked, I think. He’ll take his medicine, -if you don’t make it too stiff.” - -“I’m charging him with assault and with using profane language,” said -Wint. - -“Assault?” Routt laughed. “Thought it was you that did the assaulting.” - -“He made threats. Threats constitute an assault. You know that as well -as I do.” - -Routt nodded. “Oh, sure.” He added: “You know, the carnival’s shut up. -It’s costing Rand money. You might go as light as you can.” - -“I’m going to give the other man the limit,” said Wint. - -“That’s all right,” Routt agreed. “Rand’s sore at him for getting -caught. He’ll let the poor gink take his medicine.” - -Wint nodded abstractedly. Foster, the city solicitor, had just come in, -and Wint beckoned to him, and asked: “What’s the worst I can do on a -charge of illegal liquor selling?” - -“Two hundred dollars’ fine on the first offense,” Foster told him. - -Three minutes later, the offender was protesting that he could not pay -such a fine; he was appealing desperately to Rand. Wint bade the -carnival boss stand up. Rand got to his feet. - -“I’m sorry for this business,” he said humbly. “I thought you were just -trying to save your face. Running a bluff.” - -“Are you paying his fine for your friend?” Wint asked coldly. - -Rand said: “No, blast him! If he wants to get caught by a hick -constable, let him take his medicine. Work it out.” - -“I wouldn’t call Radabaugh a hick to his face,” Wint suggested in a mild -voice, and Rand apologized. - -“I didn’t mean a thing,” he said. - -Wint, in a swift hurry to be done, told him: “You’re fined ten for -assault, and five for profanity. And costs.” - -“That’s all right,” Rand cheerfully agreed. “I’ll pay.” - -Wint nodded, disgusted at the man because he submitted so tamely. He sat -back in his chair, listening idly to what Routt was saying, paying no -apparent heed. Rand settled his fines and costs with the clerk, shook -hands with Routt, and departed. When he was gone, Wint sat up with new -energy. - -“I hope we’re rid of him for good,” he said. - -“You are, I’ll say,” Routt told him. “He’s had all he wants.” - -The carnival got out of town that day; but before he departed, Rand had -a word with Kite, and Kite comforted him. “Don’t worry,” Kite said. -“This won’t last. You’ll make a harvest here, next summer.” - -Rand said ruefully: “I’m not making any harvest now. And they tell me -you helped elect this guy.” - -“He was a common drunk, then. How could I know?” - -Rand fingered his swollen face gingerly. “I’ll say he’s got a punch.” - -“He won’t have any punch left when we’re done with him,” Kite promised. -“Wait and see.” - -“I’m waiting,” said Rand. And a little later, he and his cohorts went -their way. - - - - -CHAPTER XII - -POOR HETTY - - -In mid-July, Wint at last found out the truth about Hetty. That is to -say, he found out a part of the truth; enough to make him heartsick and -sorry. - -His eventual enlightenment was inevitable as to-morrow morning’s -sunrise. A more sophisticated young man--Jack Routt, for example--would -not have remained in the dark so long. But Wint, aside from noticing -that Hetty looked badly, and aside from some casual consideration of -Routt’s repeated warnings, gave very little thought to his mother’s -handmaiden. There were too many other and more important things to -occupy him. His work as Mayor, his studies, his Joan. Joan was bulking -very large in his life in those days. He found understanding, and -sympathy, in her. They were better than sweethearts; they were friends. -The other--this thought must have been lying, unspoken, in the mind of -each--the other could wait and must wait till Wint had proved himself -for good and all. Then.... Once in a while, Wint allowed himself to look -forward, and to dream. But not often. The present was too engrossing to -give much time for dreaming of the future. - -So, though he saw Hetty daily, when she served the meals at home, or -when he went into the kitchen, or when he encountered her at her -cleaning in the front part of the house, Wint gave her very little -consideration. His mother protested, once in a while, that Hetty was -growing lazy. “She slacks things,” the voluble little woman said. “She -leaves dust about; and she’s not so neat as she used to be. I declare, -you just can’t get a girl that will keep up her work. They all get so -lazy after a while, but I did think that Hetty was going to be--” - -Wint’s father said, tolerantly, that Hetty was all right; that she was a -good cook, and did her work well enough, so far as he could see. The -elder Chase had always been a good-natured man; but a new generosity in -his appraisal of others was developing in the man now. He had been in -some trouble of mind since that day in May when Amos Caretall came home. -Chase was oppressed by the conviction that he had acted unworthily in -that matter; yet he could not admit as much. His hostility toward Amos -would not let him. The result was that he felt at odds with his son; -that they avoided discussions of the town’s affairs; that they lived -together in a polite neutrality. It was working changes in Chase. He was -becoming, in some fashion, a sympathetic, rather likable figure. You -felt he was unhappy, needed comforting. - -So, on this day, he spoke well of Hetty; and because Mrs. Chase was -always the loyal mirror of her husband’s opinions, she also ceased to -criticize the girl. Wint had heard the conversation, but it made little -impression on him. He was thinking of other things; wondering, for -example, when Kite would make the first move in the conflict that was -sure to come. He had heard, that day--Gergue told him--that Routt was -thinking of running for Mayor against him in the fall. Wint was having -difficulty in understanding that. He knew Routt was his friend; and, of -course, political opponents might still be personal friends. -Nevertheless.... The thing puzzled him. It did not jibe with his opinion -of Routt. - -After supper that night, the elder Chase went downtown. Wint had some -writing to do, and went upstairs to his room to do it. Mrs. Chase had a -caller, Mrs. Hullis, from next door. They were sewing and talking -together in the sitting room. Wint could hear the murmur of his mother’s -voice, steady and persistent. Mrs. Hullis was a good listener. - -About an hour after supper, Wint realized that he wanted a drink of -water. There was water in the bathroom; but there was a filter on the -faucet in the kitchen, and Hardiston water needed filtering. It was pure -enough, clean enough, but there was a proportion of iron in it that -sometimes gave the water a slightly rusty color. So Wint went down by -the back stairs, in order not to disturb his mother, into the kitchen. - -He found Hetty sitting in a kitchen chair with her arms hanging limply -and her feet outstretched before her. The girl’s whole body was slumped -down, as though she had fainted; and at first Wint thought this was what -had happened, for Hetty’s eyes were closed. He cried out: - -“Why, Hetty? What’s the matter? Are you sick?” - -And he went quickly toward her across the kitchen. - -But when he spoke, Hetty opened her eyes and looked at him, and shook -her head. “No,” she said, in the sullen tone that had become habitual to -her. “No, I’m all right.” - -“You are not,” Wint protested. “You’re as white as a rag.” He saw the -dishes piled in the sink. “You’ve not cleaned up after supper. How long -have you been this way?” - -Hetty closed her eyes wearily, and opened them again, and managed a -smile. “Oh, I’m all right, Wint,” she said. “You’re a nice boy. Run -along. Don’t bother about me.” - -Wint laughed. “I’m not bothering. I want to help. What happened?” - -“I--just felt terribly tired--all of a sudden,” she said. There was a -suggestion of surrender in her voice; as though the barriers of reserve -were breaking down. “That’s all, Wint; I’m just tired.” - -“You need a rest,” Wint agreed. “You’ve been plugging away, taking care -of us, for a long time, now. Come in and lie down on the couch in the -dining room.” - -Hetty shook her head in a frightened little way; the bravado was going -out of her. She seemed very helpless and feminine. “No, no,” she -protested. “I’ll be all right as soon as I rest a little. Do run along, -Wint.” - -Wint put his hand on her forehead. “There’s more than just being tired -the matter with you. You’re sick, Hetty. Your head’s hot. I’ll tell you, -you go up and go to bed, and I’ll clean up down here. I’m a champion -dish washer.” - -Hetty laughed wearily. “You’re a champion decent boy, Wint,” she said. -“But you’ll just have to let me alone. There’s nothing you can do for -me.” - -“I can see that you go up to bed.” - -“No, no; I’m all right. Nearly.” - -Wint started for the door. “I’m going to telephone for a doctor,” he -declared. “You’re sick, Hetty. That’s the plain English of it. I’m going -to telephone.” - -She had moved so swiftly that she startled him; moved after him, caught -his arm, shook it fiercely. “You’ll not telephone for any one, do you -hear?” she told him hotly. “You let me alone, Wint. What do I want with -a doctor!” - -Wint was honestly uneasy about her. He said: “Then let me call mother. -She’s a good hand to make sick people well. She--” - -“No, no, not your mother,” Hetty protested. And half to herself she -added: “Not your mother. She would know.” - -The little phrase was profoundly revealing. “She would know.” It struck -Wint like a splash of cold water in the face. “She would know.” It told -so old a story. Wint understood, at last; and Hetty saw understanding in -his eyes, and braced herself to defy him. But Wint only said softly: - -“Hetty? That.... You poor kid! I’m so sorry.” - -Hetty laughed harshly; and her face began to twist and work and assume -strange contortions, and abruptly she began to cry. She turned and -groped her way to the chair again, and sat down with her head pillowed -on her arms on the table, and sobbed as though her heart was broken. -Wint stood very still, stunned and miserable, watching her. There was no -sound at all in the kitchen except the sound of Hetty’s racking, choking -sobs. In the stillness, Wint could hear the even murmur of his mother’s -voice, three rooms away, as she talked to Mrs. Hullis. He could almost -hear the words she said. And Hetty sobbed, with her head on her arms. - -Wint went across to her and touched her head with his hand; and she -brushed it away with an angry gesture, as a hurt dog snarls at the hand -that comes to heal its hurt. She was like a hurt animal, he thought; she -was quite alone in the world. Worse than alone, for she was here in -Hardiston, where every one would make her business their business. For -that is the way of small towns. Wint was terribly sorry for her, -terribly anxious to help her. He had no thought, in this moment, of Jack -Routt’s warnings; and if he had remembered them, they would only have -hardened his determination to help her. Which may have been what Jack -intended. - -He said: “Cry it out, Hetty. Then I want to talk to you.” - -She said thickly: “Go away. Let me alone.” But Wint did not move, while -she cried and cried. - -He stood just beside her. Hetty at last shifted her position, so that -she could look down between her arms and see his feet where he waited. -She said again: - -“Go away.” - -Wint chuckled comfortingly. “I’m not going away,” he said. “This is the -time your friends will stick by you. I’m going to stick by you.” - -“I don’t want you to,” she said. “I don’t want any one to. Go away. Let -me alone. Let me do what I want to.” - -Wint said: “You mustn’t think this is too desperately hopeless, Hetty. -I’m going to do anything I can; and mother will take care of you.” - -She lifted her head at that and looked at him and laughed in a hard, -disillusioned way. “A lot you know about women, Wint,” she said. - -“I know that you think things are darker than they are,” he assured her. -“You’ll see. We’ll manage. Mother and I.” - -“Your mother’ll order me out of the house, minute she knows,” said Hetty -unemotionally. - -Wint protested. “No; you don’t know her. Mother couldn’t hurt any one. -You’ll see. She’ll do everything.” - -Hetty got up and went to work on the dishes like an automaton. She had -to busy herself with something, or she would have screamed. She was -trembling, hysterically astir. Wint watched her for a little; then he -said: - -“You’re going to let us help you.” - -“All the help I’ll get will be a kick,” she said. “Your mother won’t -want the like of me in her house.” - -“You don’t know her,” he insisted. “Mother’s fine, underneath. She’s -always doing things for people. You’ll see.” - -Hetty looked at him sideways, smiling a little. “You never would believe -anything was so till you’d tried it, Wint,” she told him. “But you’re -pretty decent, just the same.” - -He said, studying her: “You’re looking better already. Feeling better?” - -She nodded. “It helps some--just to tell some one,” she admitted. “And -the spell is over, anyway.” - -“Having friends always helps,” he told her. “You’ll find it so.” She -smiled wistfully; and he went on: “I’m going to speak to mother -to-night.” - -Hetty said: “Well, she’s got a right to know. I’ll pack up my things.” - -“After Mrs. Hullis goes.” - -“Why not tell her, too? Your mother will, first thing in the morning.” - -Wint laughed. “You like to look at the black side, don’t you? I tell -you, it’s going to be all right.” - -She whirled to face him, and said, under her breath, with a terrible -earnestness: “All right? All right? If you say that again, I’ll yell at -you. You poor, nice, straight fool of a kid. You talk like I was a baby -that had stubbed its toe. And all the time, I’d better be dead, dead. -This is no stubbed toe, Wint. Wake up. Don’t be a--” - -And abruptly she collapsed again, weeping, into the chair. - -Wint said insistently: “Just the same, Hetty, you’ll see I know what I’m -talking about. Things will come out better than you think.” - -She cried: “Oh, get out of here. Get out of here. You poor little fool.” - -Wint went up to his room. Mrs. Hullis was still with his mother. He -would wait till Mrs. Hullis was gone. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - -THE MERCY OF THE COURT - - -Mrs. Hullis stayed late, and Wint had time to do some thinking before -she finally departed. But he did very little. He was in no mood for -thinking. It was characteristic of Wint that when his sympathies were -aroused, he was an unfaltering partisan; and there was no question that -his sympathies had been aroused in behalf of Hetty. - -It was equally characteristic of him that he wasted very little time -wondering who was to blame for what had happened; and that he wasted no -time at all in considering what Hardiston would say about it all. He was -going to help the girl; he had made up his mind to that. The rest did -not matter at all. - -He counted on his mother’s sympathy and understanding; and when, after a -time, he heard her showing Mrs. Hullis to the door, and heard their two -voices upraised in a last babel as they cleaned up the tag ends of -conversation and said good-by, he went out into the upper hall, to be -ready to descend. Hetty had gone upstairs a little earlier; he could -hear her now, moving about in her room. - -His mother went out on the front steps with Mrs. Hullis, to be sure no -word had been forgotten; and when she came in after her visitor had -gone, Wint was waiting for her. She said: “Why, Wint, I thought you’d -gone to bed long ago. I told Mrs. Hullis you were studying the law books -up in your room. Mr. Hullis is a lawyer, you know. She says he brings -his books home and sits up half the night, but I told her you were -always one to go early to bed, ever since you was a boy. And she said -she--” - -Wint took her arm good-naturedly. “There, mother,” he interrupted. “I -don’t care what Mrs. Hullis said. I want to talk to you about something -that has just come up. Come in and sit down.” - -Mrs. Chase, like most talkative women, was habitually so absorbed in her -own conversation and her own thoughts that it was hard to surprise her. -She took Wint’s announcement as a matter of course; and they went into -the sitting room arm in arm, and she picked up her sewing basket and sat -down in the chair she had occupied all evening, and began to rock primly -back and forth while she stretched a sock on her fingers to discover any -holes it might have acquired. “...do get such a comfort out of talking -to Mrs. Hullis,” she was saying, as she sat down. “She’s such a nice -woman, Wint. I never could see why you didn’t like her more. She and -I--” - -Wint said: “I don’t want to talk to you about Mrs. Hullis, mother. I -want to talk to you about Hetty.” - -Mrs. Chase did drop her work in her lap at that. “About Hetty?” she -echoed. “Why should you want to talk about Hetty? Wint! You’re never -going to marry her, are you? I--” - -Wint laughed. “No, no. Not that Hetty isn’t a nice girl; and she’ll make -some fellow a mighty fine wife. But I want to--” - -“There,” said Mrs. Chase, immensely reassured. “I knew it couldn’t be -that. I always knew you and Joan.... I said to Mrs. Hullis to-night that -you and Joan were friendly as ever. She’s a nice girl, Wint. I don’t see -why you don’t get married right away. Your father and I were married -before--” - -Wint said, persistently bringing her back to the point: “I don’t want to -talk about Joan, either, mother. It’s Hetty.” - -“Well, I should think you would want to talk about Joan,” Mrs. Chase -declared. “She’s worth talking about. I’m sure she wouldn’t like it very -much to know you didn’t want to talk about her, Wint. She--” - -“Mother,” Wint insisted. “Hetty needs our help. I want you to--” - -Mrs. Chase looked at him with a face that had suddenly turned white and -cold. She put one trembling hand to her throat. “Wint?” she asked, in a -husky whisper. “What’s the matter with Hetty? What are you talking -about? What is the--” - -“Hetty’s going to have a little baby,” said Wint gently. - -Mrs. Chase exclaimed: “Wint! You’re not.... You haven’t.... It isn’t -you?” - -“No, no,” Wint said impatiently. “Of course not. I--” - -“The shameless girl!” his mother cried, all her alarm turning into -anger. “The shameless hussy. In my house. I declare--” - -“Please,” her son protested. His mother got up. - -“She sha’n’t sleep another night under my roof,” she declared. “I never -thought to live to--” - -“Mother,” said Wint, so sternly that his mother stopped in the doorway. -“Come back,” he told her. And she obeyed him, protesting weakly. “Sit -down,” he said. “Hetty needs our help. Don’t you understand?” - -When a wolf is injured, his own pack pulls him down; when a crow is -hurt, his fellows of the flock peck him to death relentlessly; but wolf -and crow are merciful compared to womankind. There is no deeper instinct -in woman than that which condemns the sister who has strayed. It is true -that, in many women, the compassion overpowers the cruelty of wrath. But -Mrs. Chase was a very simple person, elemental, a woman and nothing -more. She sat down at Wint’s command; but she said implacably: - -“I won’t have her in the house, Wint. A girl like that. I should think -you’d be ashamed to stand up for her. A shameless, worthless thing.... -You can talk all you’re a mind to, but I’m going to send her packing. -You and your father have your own way, most of the time, but this is -once that I’m going to have mine. I always knew she was too pretty for -any good. Pretty, and impudent, and all. I won’t have her--” - -Wint asked: “Hasn’t she worked hard enough for you? Done her work well? -Tried to do what you wanted?” - -“Course she’s done her work, or I wouldn’t have kept her. That hasn’t a -thing to do with it, Wint. I’m surprised at you, standing up for her. I -told Mrs. Hullis, only the other day, that she was too pretty for her -own good. I might have known she would get into trouble. The nasty -little--” - -“Mother,” Wint cried sharply, “I won’t let you talk like that. I told -Hetty we’d help her; and she said you’d be against her; and I wouldn’t -believe it. I can’t believe it. A poor girl without a friend anywhere, -in the worst kind of trouble, and you--” - -“Wint, I don’t see why you stand up for her if you aren’t--” - -“You know I’m not. Don’t be ridiculous, mother. But I’ve known her all -our lives. Grew up with her. And I’m going to--” - -His mother shook her head positively: “I’m not going to have her in the -house, Wint. You don’t need to talk any more. That’s all there is to it. -I won’t!” - -“I counted on you.” - -“Well, you needn’t to count on me any more. I know what’s best; and I’m -not going to have that shameless--” - -She was interrupted, this time, by the arrival of Wint’s father. They -heard the front door open, and heard him come in. Wint got up and went -to the door that led into the hall. The elder Chase was hanging up his -hat. Mrs. Chase, behind Wint, was talking steadily. Wint said to his -father: - -“Come in, will you? Mother and I are talking something over.” - -Chase nodded; but he had news of his own. “Heard uptown to-night that -Routt’s going to run against you in the fall,” he said. “Did you know -that, Wint?” - -Wint nodded. “I’d heard so.” - -“I thought you and he were good friends.” - -“We are,” Wint said good-naturedly. “But that doesn’t prevent our being -political enemies. He’s had some break with Amos. Come in, dad. I want -you to hear--” - -But the older man heard it first from Mrs. Chase. She came across the -room to meet them, pouring it out indignantly. “And Wint wants me to -keep her,” she concluded. “Wants me to keep that girl in the house after -this. I told him--” - -Chase asked: “What’s that? Wint, what is this? Hetty--in trouble?” - -“Yes, sir,” said Wint. “I found it out to-night; and I promised her we’d -stand by her. Help her.” - -Chase demanded sharply: “What right had you to commit us? If she chooses -to destroy herself, how does that concern us? I’m surprised at you, -Wint. It’s impossible.” - -Wint said, in a steady voice: “She needs friends badly. She hasn’t any -one to turn to. And Hetty’s a good sort, underneath. I told her--” - -“Why doesn’t she turn to the man?” Chase interjected. “He’s the one that -ought to--” - -“As a matter of fact, I haven’t thought of him,” said Wint. “But if he -were likely to help her, it seems to me he would have taken a hand -before this. Don’t you think so?” - -“Don’t I think so?” Wint’s father was outraged and angry. “I don’t think -anything about it. It’s no concern of ours, so long as she packs herself -out of here. Let her get out of her own mess.” - -“I’m going to make it a concern of mine,” said Wint, his jaw stiffening. -“I’m not going to see her turned adrift. I’m going to help her.” - -Chase looked at him keenly. “By God, Wint, is this your doing? Are -you--” - -Wint said, a little wearily: “That was the first thing mother asked. You -people don’t think very highly of me, do you?” - -“Isn’t it the natural question to ask?” his father demanded. “Isn’t it -the only possible explanation of this attitude on your part? Is it true, -young man? That you--” - -“Have it any way you want,” Wint exclaimed, too angry to deny again. “I -don’t care. The point is this. Hetty is in trouble; she needs friends. -I’ve promised that we would help her. I’ve promised you and mother would -back me up. I counted on you.” - -Chase lifted his hand in a terrible, silent rage. “You want to shame us, -your mother and me, in the face of all Hardiston. I tell you, Wint, -whether it’s your doing or not, you’re crazy. If it’s you--then we’ll -give her some money and get rid of her. If it’s not, then she gets out -of here to-night. Inside the hour.” - -Wint said, half to himself: “We’d have to send her away, in any case. -Somewhere. For a while.” - -Chase laughed bitterly. “All right. If this is a new scrape you’ve got -yourself into, I’ll buy you out of it. How much does the girl want?” - -Wint flamed at him: “It’s not my concern, I tell you. You ought not to -need to be told.” - -“Then get her out of the house,” Chase exclaimed; “as quick as you can. -Or I will. Where is she?” He turned toward the door. - -But Wint was before him; blocked the doorway. “Father,” he said. “You -and mother.... I’ve promised her help. Promised you would be good to -her.” - -“The more fool you. She goes out to-night.” - -“If she goes,” Wint cried, “I go with her. You can do as you please.” - -For a little after that, there was silence in the room. Wint stood in -the doorway, head high and eyes hot. His father faced him. His mother -stood by her chair, across the room, her lips moving soundlessly. It was -she who first found voice. She came toward Wint in a clumsy, stumbling -little run; and she caught his arms, and she pleaded with him. - -“Don’t you do that, Wint. Don’t you. Don’t go away and leave us again. -We’re getting old, sonny. Your father and I. Your old mother. Don’t you -go away. We’d.... We couldn’t ever stand it again. We--” - -Wint said gently: “I don’t want to go. I want to stay at home here with -you both, and be proud of you, and love you.” - -“You shall stay,” she told him. “You shall. Anything you want, Wint, -sonny. I don’t care whether you did it or not. I’ll be good to her. I -will, Wint. If you’ll stay--” - -The boy said, half abashed: “I don’t want to seem to drive you to it. -Only--I’ve promised her. I can’t break my word to her. Please, can’t you -see?” - -“It’s all right,” his mother protested. “I’ll do anything.” She clutched -her husband’s arm. “Tell him to stay, Winthrop,” she begged. “Don’t let -him go away. We’ll take care of Hetty.” - -Chase said: “You’re making lots of trouble for us, Wint.” He smiled a -little unsteadily. “We’re too old for so much excitement. You’ll have to -remember that. Remember to take care of us--as well as Hetty.” - -Wint could not hold out. He said: “All right. I won’t go away. Do as you -think best about Hetty. I hope you’ll let her--” - -“I’ll keep her,” his mother cried. “I’ll be as good as I know to her.” - -And his father echoed: “We’ll take care of her, Wint.” - -“You’re doing it because you want to,” Wint pleaded. “You don’t have to. -I’ll stay anyway. But I--hope you’ll want to help her, anyway.” - -“Yes,” Chase said. “We’ll keep her--because we want to. Do what we can.” - - * * * * * - -But they were not to keep her very long, for Hetty’s time was near. It -was decided that she should go to Columbus for a little while, returning -to them in the fall. Wint wrote a check to cover her expenses. Hetty’s -old sullenness had returned to her. She took the check without thanks, -and tucked it away in her pocketbook. She was to go to the train alone, -to avoid talk. - -The night of her going, Jack Routt met V. R. Kite, and took Kite to his -office. And he told him certain things, an evil elation in his eyes. -Told him in detail that which he had planned. - -Kite listened with eyes shining; and at the end he said: “He’ll deny it. -What can you prove?” - -“This proves the whole thing,” said Routt triumphantly, and slid a slip -of paper across the desk to Kite. Kite looked at it. A check, drawn by -Winthrop Chase, Junior, to the order of Henrietta Morfee. - -The buzzard of a man banged his hard old fist upon the table. “By God, -Routt!” he cried, “we win. We’ll skin that cub. We’ll hang his hide on -the barn!” - -Routt reached into the drawer of his desk. “And that means,” he said, -“that it’s time to have a drink. Say when?” - -END OF BOOK IV - - - - -BOOK V - -DEFEAT - - - - -CHAPTER I - -SUNNY SKIES - - -At this time, and for a long while afterward, it seemed to Wint that all -was well with the world. He had some reason to think so. He kept his -promise to Hetty; and that matter, which had threatened to cause a -difference between him and his father and mother, had resulted in the -end in a closer understanding between them. They had let him see their -dependence on him; they had let him see something of the depths of -affection in their hearts for him. The Chases were not a demonstrative -family; not given to much talk of these matters, and Wint found their -attitude in some sort a happy revelation. His father began, in an -uncertain way, to defer to Wint; the elder Chase began to ask his son’s -advice, now and then; he seemed to have recognized the fact of Wint’s -manhood; he seemed to have discovered that Wint was no longer a boy. -There was a new respect in his bearing toward his son. - -Wint’s mother had changed, too; she was, perhaps, a little less -loquacious. She and the elder Chase were beginning to be proud of Wint; -and this pride forced them to see him in a new light. Not as their boy, -their son, their child; but as a man whom other men respected. - -For Wint was respected. That was one of the things that made the world -look bright to him. He was surprised to find, as the days passed, and as -it was seen that his orders to clean up the town were being enforced, -that good citizens rallied to him. Hardiston was normally a law-abiding, -decent place; its people were normally decent and law-abiding people. -They would not have condemned Wint for failure to enforce the law. In -fact, with his antecedents, they had expected him to fail. They were the -more pleased when he did enforce it; and they took occasion to let him -see it. Also, they took occasion to tell the elder Chase that his son -was doing well; and Winthrop Chase, Senior, took a diffident pride in -these assurances. Chase was never a hypocrite, even with himself; he -could not forget that he had urged Wint to rescind those orders to -Radabaugh. - -Wint found a surprising number and variety of people rallying to his -support, in those days after his clash with the carnival men and his -victory in that matter. Dick Hoover’s father, for example; a solid man, -a lawyer of the old school, and one who spoke little and to the point. -Hoover told Wint he had done well. - -Wint said he had tried to do well. - -“You understand, young man,” Hoover drawled in the slow, whimsical -fashion that was characteristic of him. “You understand, I’m no -teetotaller, myself. I’ve been accustomed to a drink, when I chose, for -a good many years. This--crusade--of yours has made it damned -inconvenient for me, too. But it’s a good cause. I’ve no complaint. More -power to your elbow!” - -Wint laughed, and said: “I guess there would be no kick at anything you -might do, sir.” - -Hoover nodded. “Oh, of course, I could bring the stuff in if I chose. -But a man can’t afford to be on the wrong side in these matters, you -know; not if he wants to keep his self-respect. And I can do without it. -I can do without it. Stick to your guns, young man.” - -“I’m going to,” Wint told him, flushed and proud at the older man’s -praise. “I’m going to, sir.” - -Peter Gergue came to Wint, scratching the back of his head and grinning -a sly and knowing grin, and told Wint he was making votes by what he had -done. “That’s a funny thing, too,” said Gergue. “Man’d think you’d make -a pile of enemies. But I could name two or three of the worst soaks in -town that say you’re all right; got good stuff in you; all that.” Gergue -scratched his head again. “Yes, sir, men are funny things, Wint.” - -Wint had never particularly liked Gergue, because he had never seen -under the surface of the man. He was coming to have a quite genuine -respect and affection for Amos’s lieutenant. “I’m not doing it to make -votes,” he said good-naturedly. - -“That’s the reason you’re making votes by it,” Gergue assured him. “And -that’s the way politics goes. Take James T. Hollow now; he’s always -trying to do what is right. He says so hisself. But it don’t get him -anywhere; and I reckon that’s because he does what’s right because he -thinks there’s votes in it. You go ahead and do it anyway. Maybe you do -it because you think it’ll start a fight. Make some folks mad. And -instead of that, they eat out o’ your hand.” - -Wint nodded. “Even Kite,” he said. “He made some fuss at first. But it -looks as though he had decided to take it lying down.” - -Gergue shook his head. “Don’t you make any mistake about V. R. Kite,” he -warned Wint. “He don’t like a fight, much. Getting too old. But he’ll -fight when he’s got a gun in both hands. He’ll play poker when he holds -four aces and the joker. V. R. will start something when he’s ready. I -wasn’t talking about him.” - -“I’m ready when he is,” Wint declared. - -“He won’t be ready till he thinks you ain’t,” Gergue insisted. - -But Wint was in no mood to be depressed by a possibility of future -trouble. In fact, he rather looked forward to this potential clash with -V. R. Kite. It added to the zest of life. - -Old Mrs. Mueller, who ran the bakery, whispered to Wint when he stopped -for a loaf of bread one night that he was a fine boy. “My Hans,” she -said gratefully. “He is working now; and that he would never do when he -could get his beer regular, every second day a case of it. And there is -more money in the drawer all the time, too.” - -And Davy Morgan, the foreman of his father’s furnace, told Wint that -save for one or two irreconcilables, the men at the furnace were with -him. “And the men that kick the most, they are the ones who are the -better off for it,” he explained, in the careful English of an old -Welshman to whom the language must always be an acquired and unfamiliar -instrument. “William Ryan has never been fit for work on Mondays until -now.” - -Murchie, Attorney General of the state, who lived up the creek, and who -had been a speaker at the elder Chase’s rallies in the last mayoral -campaign, happened into town one day and told Wint he had heard of the -matter at Columbus and that people were talking about him, Wint Chase, -up there. “They knew old Kite, you see,” he told Wint. “He comes up -there to lobby on every liquor bill; and they like to see him get a kick -in the slats, as you might say. But you’ll have to look out for him.” - -“I’m going to,” Wint assured Murchie. - -“If you can down Kite, there’ll be a place for you at Columbus, some -day,” Murchie predicted. “They don’t like Kite, up there.” - -Sam O’Brien, the fat restaurant man, stopped laughing long enough to -tell Wint he was all right, had good stuff in him, was a comer. “The -Greek next door,” he explained. “He thinks you’re a tin god. He runs the -candy store, you know. Says there never was so much candy sold. He’ll -vote for you, my boy. If he ever gets his papers. And learns to read. -And if you live that long.” - -Wint got most pleasure, perhaps, out of the attitude of B. B. Beecham. -He had an honest respect for the editor’s opinion on most matters. Every -one had. Beecham was habitually right. In his editorial capacity, he -took no notice of what had come to pass in Hardiston. When the carnival -men were arrested, he printed the fact without comment. “Michael Rand -was fined for assault and improper language,” the _Journal_ said. The -other man for “illegal sales of liquor.” And the “permit of the carnival -for the use of the streets was canceled.” Thus the news was recorded, -and every man might draw his own deductions. B. B. was never one to -force his opinions on any man, which may have been the reason why people -went out of their way to discover them. - -Wint stopped in at the _Journal_ office one hot day in July. B. B. was -in his shirt sleeves, and collarless. He wore, habitually, stiff-bosomed -shirts of the kind usually associated with evening dress. On this -particular day, he had been working over the press--his foreman was -ill--and there were inky smears on the white bosom. Nevertheless, B. -B.’s pink countenance above the shirt was as clean as a baby’s. There -was always this refreshing atmosphere of cleanliness about the editor. -Wint came into the office and sat down in one of the chairs and took off -his hat and fanned himself. The afternoon sun was beginning to strike in -through the open door and the big window; but there was a pleasantly -cool breath from the dark regions behind the office where the press and -the apparatus that goes to make a small-town printing shop were housed. -Wint said: - -“This is one hot day.” - -“Hottest day of the summer,” B. B. agreed. - -“How hot is it? Happen to know?” - -“Ninety-four in the shade at one o’clock,” said B. B. “Mr. Waters -telephoned to me, half an hour ago.” - -“J. B. Waters? He keeps a weather record, doesn’t he?” - -“Yes. Has, for a good many years. We print his record every week. -Perhaps you haven’t noticed it.” - -Wint nodded. “Yes. I suppose every one likes to read about the weather. -Even on a hot day.” - -B. B. smiled. “That’s because every one likes to read about things they -have experienced. You won’t find a big daily in the country without its -paragraph or its temperature tables devoted to the weather, every day in -the year. And a day like this is worth a front-page story any time.” - -“You know what a day like this always makes me think of?” Wint asked; -and B. B. looked interested. “A glass of beer,” said Wint. “Cool and -brown, with beads on the outside of the glass.” - -The editor smiled. “The beads on the outside of the glass won’t cool you -off half as much as the beads on the outside of your head,” he said. -“Did you ever stop to think of that?” - -“Sweat, you mean?” - -“Exactly. You know, when troops go into a hot country, they get -flannel-covered canteens; and when they want to cool off the water in -the canteens, they wet the flannel and let it dry. The evaporation of -your own perspiration is the finest cooling agency in the world.” - -“May be,” Wint agreed. “But it doesn’t stop your thirst.” - -B. B. said good-naturedly: “A thirst is one of the handicaps of the -smoker. I quit smoking a good many years ago. A non-smoker can satisfy -his own thirst by swallowing his own spittle. I don’t suppose you ever -thought of that?” - -“Is that straight?” - -“Yes, indeed.” - -Wint asked amiably: “Mean to say you wouldn’t have to take a barrel of -water to cross the Sahara.” - -“Oh, when the bodily juices are exhausted, of course....” - -Wint grinned. “I’ll stick to my beer.” - -B. B. laughed and said: “I expect a good many Hardiston men are cussing -you to-day because they can’t get beer.” - -“I suppose so. I’ve a notion to cuss myself.” He added, a moment later: -“You know, B. B., it’s surprising to me how little fuss has been made -over that.” - -“You mean--the--enforcing the law?” - -“Yes. I looked for a row.” - -“Oh, you’ll find most people are on your side. You know, most people are -for the decent thing, in the long run. That’s what makes the world go -around.” - -“Think so?” - -“Yes, indeed. If that weren’t so, where would be the virtue in -democracy?” - -“Well,” Wint said good-naturedly, “I’ve always had an idea that a -democracy was a poor way to run things, anyway. About all you can say -for it is that a man has a right to make a fool of himself.” - -“Well, that’s about all you can say against slavery, isn’t it?” - -Wint considered. “I don’t get you.” - -“There were good men in the South before the war, owning slaves,” said -B. B. “And the slaves were better off than their descendants are now. -Materially; perhaps morally, too. But that doesn’t prove slavery was -right.” He added: “The darkies had a right to make fools of themselves -if they chose, you see. Their masters--even the good masters--prevented -them.” - -“I suppose that’s what a benevolent despot does?” - -“Exactly.” - -“If it wasn’t so hot, I’d give three cheers for democracy.” He -considered thoughtfully, fanning himself with his hat. “But that’s what -I’m doing, B. B. I’m refusing to let some that would like to, make fools -of themselves with booze.” - -B. B. shook his head. “Not at all. It’s not your doing. The people are -doing it themselves. They voted dry; they elected you to enforce their -vote. See the distinction?” - -“Think I’ve done right, then?” Wint asked. - -And B. B. said: “Yes, indeed.” Wint got a surprising amount of -satisfaction out of that. Because, as has been said, he valued B. B.’s -opinion. - -So, on the whole, that month of July was a cheerful one for Wint. Things -were going his way; the world was bright; the skies were sunny. - -The first cloud upon them came on the second of August. It was a very -little cloud; but it was a forerunner of bigger ones to come. Wint did -not, in the beginning, appreciate its full significance. In fact, he was -not sure it had any significance at all. It merely puzzled him. - -His month’s statement from the bank came in. When it first came, he -tossed the long envelope aside without opening it; and it was not till -that night that he compared the bank statement with the balance in his -check book. - -He discovered, then, that there was a mistake somewhere. The bank -credited him with more money than he should have had. He said to -himself, good-naturedly, that he ought not to kick about that. -Nevertheless, he ran through his canceled checks, comparing them with -his stubs, to see where the difference lay. - -He located the discrepancy almost at once; and when he discovered it, he -sat back and considered its significance with a puzzled look in his -eyes. - -The trouble was that his check to Hetty, for her expenses in Columbus, -had never been cashed; and Wint could not understand that at all. - - - - -CHAPTER II - -A FRIENDLY RIVALRY - - -This matter of the check that he had given Hetty stuck in Wint’s mind, -disquieting him. This in spite of the fact that he tried to forget it, -told himself it had no significance, that it meant nothing at all. - -He gathered up the other canceled checks and put them back in the bank’s -long, yellow envelope, and stuck the envelope in a drawer of his desk. -Hetty had not yet cashed the check; that was all. She would cash it when -she needed the money. He tried to believe this was the key to the -puzzle. - -But it was not a satisfactory key; and this was proved by the fact that -his thoughts kept harking back to the matter during the next day or two. -When he gave Hetty the check, he had expected her to cash it before she -left town. In fact, his first thought had been to draw the money -himself, and give it to her; but this had been slightly less convenient -than to write the check. So he had written the check, and given it to -her, and now Hetty had not cashed it. - -It was characteristic of Wint that he saw no threat against himself in -this circumstance. Wint was never of a suspicious turn of mind. He was -loyal to his friends and to those who seemed to be his friends; he took -them, and he took the world at large, at face value. So in this case, he -was not uneasy on his own account, but on Hetty’s. For Hetty had needed -this money; yet she had not cashed the check. - -He knew she needed the money. Her wage from his mother left no great -margin for saving, if a girl liked to spend money as well at Hetty did. -She could not have saved more than a few dollars; twenty, or perhaps -thirty.... Besides, she had told him she needed money. When he told her -she had better go away, she had said: “A fat chance of that. Where -would I get the money, anyway?” It was this that had led him to write a -check for her. - -She had needed the money; she had accepted it. That is to say, she had -accepted the check, but had not cashed it. Not yet, at least. Why not? -What was the explanation? - -His uneasiness, all on Hetty’s account, began to take shape. He -remembered the girl’s sullen hopelessness, her friendlessness. She had -been ready to give up, to submit to whatever misfortunes might come upon -her. There had always been a defiant, reckless, fatalistic streak in -Hetty. And Wint, remembering, was afraid it had taken the ascendant in -the girl. He was afraid. - -He did not put into words, even in his thoughts, the truth of this fear. -But he did write to a college classmate, who was working at the time on -one of the Columbus papers, and asked him to try to locate Hetty at one -of the hospitals. He told the circumstances. And two or three days -later, the man wrote to say that there was no such person as Hetty in -any hospital in Columbus under her own name; and that as far as he could -learn, there was no one approximating her description. - -When this letter came, it tended to clinch Wint’s fears. He was not yet -convinced that Hetty had chosen to--do that which writes “Finis” as the -bottom of life’s last page. But he was almost convinced, almost ready to -believe. - -It made Wint distinctly unhappy. He had an honest liking and respect for -Hetty, an old friendship for the girl. - -He did not tell either his father or mother of the matter of the check; -nor did he tell them what he feared had come to pass. There was no need, -he thought, of worrying them. There was nothing that could be done. - -The long, lazy summer dragged slowly past, and nothing happened. Which -is the way of Hardiston. That is to say, nothing happened that was in -any way extraordinary. The Baptist Sunday school held its annual picnic -in the G. A. R. grove, south of town; and every one went, Baptist or -not, Sunday school scholar or not. Everybody went, and took his dinner. -Fried chicken, and sandwiches, and deviled eggs, and bananas; and there -were vast freezers of ice cream. And some played baseball, and some -idled in the swings, and there were the sports that go with such an -occasion. Cracker-eating, shoe-lacing, egg-and-spoon race, greased pole, -and so on and so on, to the tune of a great deal of laughter and general -good nature. And the Hardiston baseball team played a game every week, -sometimes away from home, sometimes on the baseball field down by the -creek, where the muddy waters over-flowed every spring. And Lint Blood, -the hard-throwing left fielder who was fully as good as any big leaguer -in the country, if he could only get his chance, had his regular season -as hero of the town. And there were a few dances, where the men appeared -in white trousers and soft shirts and took off their coats to dance; and -there were hay rides, on moonlight nights; and Ed Skinner’s -nine-year-old boy almost got drowned in the swimming hole at Smith’s -Bridge; and Jim Radabaugh and two or three others went fishing down on -Big Raccoon, thirty miles away; and the tennis court in Walter Roberts’s -back yard was busy every fine afternoon; and Ringling Brothers and -Buffalo Bill paid Hardiston their regular summer visits. It rained so -hard, for three days before Ringling Brothers came, that the big show -had to be canceled, which made it hard for every father in town. And Sam -O’Brien’s brother caught a thirty-five-pound catfish in the river, and -sent it up to Sam, who kept it alive in a tub in his restaurant for two -days, and killed and fried it for his customers only when it began to -pine away in captivity. And Ed Howe’s boy fell off a home-made acting -bar and broke his arm; and the Welsh held their County Eisteddfod in a -tent on the old fair grounds, and John Morgan won the first prize in the -male solo competition. Hardiston boys thought that was rather a joke, -because John was the only entry in this particular event; and they -reminded him of this fact for a good many years to come, in their -tormenting moments. And the hot days and the warm days and the wet days -came and went, and the summer dragged away. - -In September, Joan suggested a picnic at Gallop Caves, a dozen miles -from Hardiston; and Wint liked the idea, so they discussed who should -go, and how, and in due time the affair took place. Joan and Agnes and -two or three other girls made the domestic arrangements, with Wint and -Dick Hoover and Jack Routt and one or two besides to look after the -financial end, and the transportation. In the old days, they would have -hired one of the big barges from the livery stable, with a long seat -running the length of each side; and they would have crowded into that -and ridden the dozen jolting miles, with a good deal of singing and -laughing and talking as they went; but there were automobiles in -Hardiston now, and no one thought of the barge. - -They started early; that is to say, at eight o’clock in the morning, or -thereabouts. There were three automobiles full of them, with hampers and -boxes and freezers full of things to eat in every car. And they made the -trip at a breakneck and break-axle speed over the rough road, and came -to the Caves by nine, and unloaded the edibles and got buckets of water -from the well behind the house at the entrance to the Caves. The farmer -who lived in this house had an eye to business; and a year or two before -he had put up a pavilion in the grove by the Caves, and had begun to -charge admission. Besides the pavilion, there were swings, and there was -a seesaw; and there were always the Caves themselves, and the winding, -clear-watered little stream that came down over the rocks in a feathery -cascade and wound away among the trees. - -This day, they danced a little, in the pavilion--Joan had brought a -graphophone--and when it grew too warm to dance, some of them went to -climb about on the cool, wet rocks of the Caves; and some took off shoes -and stockings, or shoes and socks as the case might be, and waded in the -brook; and some sprawled on the sand at the base of the rocky wall and -called doodle bugs. A pleasant, idle sport. The doodle bug is more -scientifically known as an ant lion. He digs himself a hole in the sand -like an inverted cone, and hides himself in the loose sand at the bottom -of the hole. The theory of the thing is that an ant tumbles in, slides -down the sloping sides, and falls a prey to the ingenious monster at the -bottom. To call a doodle bug, you simply chant over and over: - -“Doodle up, doodle up, doodle up....” - -And at the same time, you stir the sand on the sides of the trap with a -twig. Either the song or the sliding sand causes the bug to emerge from -his ambush at the bottom of the pit, when you may see him for an -instant; a misshapen, powerful little thing. If you happen to be an ant, -he looks to you as formidable as a behemoth, bursting out of the sand -and tumbling it from his shoulders as a mammoth bursts out of the -primeval forest. If you happen to be a human, you laugh at his awkward -movements, and find another pit, and call another doodle bug. - -Routt and Agnes, Wint and Joan, all four together, investigated doodle -bugs this day. They had a good-natured time of it till Jack Routt caught -an ant and dropped it into one of the pits to see the monster at the -bottom in action. The sight of the ant’s swift end was not pleasant to -Joan; and she looked at Routt in a critical way. He and Agnes seemed to -think it rather a joke on the ant. Wint and Joan moved away and left -them there and went clambering up among the rocks, and picked -wintergreen and chewed it, and came out at last on the upper level, on -top of the Caves. They looked down from there and shouted to the others -below. And when they tired of that, they sat down and talked to each -other for a while. That was one pursuit they never tired of. - -Wint had been meaning to ask Joan something. It concerned that letter -which he had received the day after his election as Mayor. The letter -had been anonymous; a friendly, loyal, sympathetic little note. He had -torn it up angrily, as soon as he read it, because he was in no mood for -good advice that day, and the letter had given good advice. He could -remember, even now, snatches of it. He had wondered who wrote it; and -this wonder had revived, during the last few days, and he had considered -the matter, and asked a question or two. - -Now he asked Joan whether she had written it; and Joan hesitated, and -flushed a little, and then said, looking at him bravely: “Yes, I wrote -it, Wint.” - -He said in an embarrassed way: “But that was when you had told me you -would have no more to do with me.” - -She nodded. - -“I tore it up,” he said. - -“I thought you would.” She smiled a little. “But I hoped you--would -remember it, too.” - -“I do,” Wint told her. “You said I had ‘the finest chance a man ever had -to retrieve his mistakes,’ and you told me to buckle down.” - -“Yes, I remember,” she agreed. - -Wint looked at her, and his heart was pounding softly. “You said there -were some who would watch me--lovingly,” he reminded her. - -For a minute she did not speak; then she nodded her head slowly; and she -said: “Yes.” Her eyes met his honestly. - -Wint had been very sure, before he asked her, that she had written the -letter; he had meant to remind her of this word, and if she confessed -it, to go on. But now that he had come thus far, he found that he could -go no farther. It was not that she forbade him; not that there was any -prohibition in her eyes. It was something within himself that restrained -him. Something that held his tongue, bade him not risk his -fortune--lest, perchance, he lose it. - -Any one but a blind man would have seen there was no danger of his -losing it; but Wint, in this matter, was blind--for the immemorial -reason. So all the courage that had brought him thus far deserted him, -and he only said: - -“Oh!” - -That did not seem to Joan to call for any answer, so she said nothing; -and after a moment Wint got hurriedly to his feet and exclaimed: - -“Well, I’m getting hungry. Better be getting back, hadn’t we?” - -Joan looked, perhaps, a little disappointed. But she said she guessed -so; and they made their way down to join the others. - -After every one had eaten till there was no more eat in them, there was -a general tendency to take things easy. The dishes had to be washed in -the brook; and the girls undertook to do that. Dick Hoover found some -horseshoes, and started a game of quoits. Wint would have taken a hand; -but Jack Routt drew him aside and said: - -“I’d like a little talk with you, Wint. Mind?” - -Wint was surprised; but he didn’t say so. “All right,” he agreed. -“Shoot.” - -Routt offered him a cigar, and Wint took it, and they walked slowly away -from the others, back toward the Caves. Routt came to the point without -preliminaries. “It’s like this, Wint,” he said frankly. “A good many -people have been telling me I ought to get into politics.” - -Wint had ears to hear; and he had heard something of this. But he -pretended ignorance, and only said: “I thought you were in politics. -Thought you were linked up with Amos.” - -“I have been, in the past,” Routt agreed. “But the trouble with that is, -if you tie up with a big man, you get only what he chooses to give you. -I’ve been advised to strike out for myself.” - -Wint said: “I think that’s good advice. It ought to help your law -practice, too.” - -“Matter of fact,” said Routt. “They’re telling me I ought to run against -you.” - -“Against me?” Wint seemed only mildly interested. “For Mayor?” - -“Yes. On the wet issue. You know my ideas on that. I’m not on your side -of the fence there at all.” - -“Well, I don’t find fault with any man’s ideas, Jack.” - -“The trouble is this,” Routt explained. “You and I are pretty good -friends. Always have been. I don’t want to start anything that will -spoil that friendship.” - -Wint laughed and said: “Good Lord, Jack; I guess there’s no fear of -that.” - -“By God, I knew you’d say so!” Routt exclaimed. “Just the same. I was -leary. You know what kind of a fellow I am. When I go into a thing, I go -in with both feet. If I run against you, Wint, I’ll give you a fight.” - -“Go to it. We’ll show Hardiston some action.” - -“I’ll lam it into you, Wint.” - -“Well, I can give as good as you send,” Wint promised cheerfully. - -“The only thing is,” Routt explained, “I just want an understanding with -you first; that is, I want you to know there’s nothing personal in -anything I may say. It’s politics, Wint; and if I go in, it will be hot -politics. If you’ll promise to take it as that and nothing else.” - -Wint said easily: “I don’t suppose you can tell Hardiston anything about -me that it doesn’t already know.” - -Routt grasped his hand. “Attaboy, Wint,” he exclaimed. “You’re a good -sport. By God, I believe I’ll go into it!” - -“Come ahead. It’s no private fight,” Wint assured him. - -“The only thing is, I wanted to know first. I want you to know I’m on -the level with you personally.” - -“Well, I should say I know that, Jack.” - -Routt thrust out his hand. “Shake on it, Wint.” - -Wint laughed. “You’re dramatic enough.” But he shook hands. - -They rejoined the others after a while, and Wint was glad of it. He had -hidden his feelings from Routt; but as a matter of fact he was a good -deal surprised and chagrined at Jack’s news. He had heard rumors; but he -had not believed Routt would come out against him. It was a thing he, -Wint, would not have done.... It smacked, he felt, of disloyalty to a -friend. He had even, for a moment, a thought of withdrawing and leaving -the field free to Routt. But he put it away. After all, he was first in -the fight; it was Routt who had brought about this situation, not he. He -could not well avoid the issue. - -Nevertheless, he was troubled. The world that had seemed so bright and -fair a month ago had a less cheerful aspect now. His fears for Hetty, -his anxiety over her, were always with him, faintly oppressive. Now -Routt’s desertion, his projected opposition. Try as he would to shake it -off, Wint could not rid himself of the feeling that there were rough -places on the road that lay ahead. - -His anxiety over Hetty was relieved--though only to take a new turn--in -the last week of September. For Hetty came back to Hardiston. - -Wint met her on the street one day. He was immensely surprised; and he -was immensely pleased to see her, safe and sound. He cried: “Why, Hetty, -where did you come from?” - -She looked around furtively, as though she would have avoided him if it -had been possible to do so. “Didn’t you expect me to come back?” she -asked sullenly. - -“Of course. But.... How are you? All right? Where have you been?” - -“Summering in New England,” she said ironically. “Where’d you think?” - -“Mother’s been wondering when you’d come back. She needs you.” - -“She’ll have to go on needing me.” - -“Aren’t you--” - -“I’ve got a job in the shoe factory.” - -Wint said: “Oh!” He was disturbed and uncertain, puzzled by Hetty’s -attitude. He asked: “Is the.... Did you....” - -“The baby?” said Hetty listlessly. “Oh, he died.” There was dead agony -in her tone, so that Wint ached for her. - -“I’m sorry,” he told her. - -“That’s all right. I can stand it.” - -He asked: “Did you need any money? The check I gave you never came -through the bank.” - -“I lost it,” she said. - -“Why, you must have had trouble. You didn’t have enough.” - -“I went in as a charity-ward patient.” - -“Columbus?” - -“No. Cincinnati. I didn’t want any one knowing.” - -Wint smiled in a friendly way and said: “I was worried about you.” - -Hetty laughed. “You’d better worry about yourself. Do you know people -are looking at you, while you’re talking to me? It won’t help you any to -be seen with me.” - -Wint said “Pshaw! You’re morbid, Hetty.” - -“Besides,” she told him. “I’ve got to look out. Mind my p’s and q’s. If -I want to hold my job.” - -Wint flushed uncomfortably. “Why.... All right,” he said. “But if -there’s ever anything....” - -“Oh, I’ll let you know,” Hetty said impatiently, and turned away. - -He had been afraid that she had killed herself; that her body was dead. -He was afraid now, as he watched her move down the street, that -something more important was dead in the girl. - -It was at this moment that he realized for the first time that a man had -been responsible for what had come to Hetty. He wondered who the man -was; and he thought it would be satisfying to say a word or two to the -fellow. - - - - -CHAPTER III - -POLITICS - - -Jack Routt was as good as his word to Wint. Early in October, he -announced his candidacy for Mayor; and he proceeded to push it. - -In their talk at the Caves, he had warned Wint what to expect. But in -spite of that warning, Wint had looked for no more than a polite and -friendly rivalry, a congenial conflict, a good-natured tussle between -friends. - -He was to find that Routt had meant exactly what he said; that Routt as -a political opponent and Routt as a friend were two very different -personalities. On the heels of his open announcement that he was a -candidate, Jack began a canvass of the town, and a direct and virulent -assault upon Wint. - -Wint heard what Routt was doing first through his father. The elder -Chase came home to supper one evening in a fuming rage; and he said -while they were eating: - -“Wint, this Routt is a fine friend of yours!” - -Wint looked at his father in some surprise. “Why, Jack’s all right,” he -declared. - -“All right?” Chase demanded. “Do you know what he’s doing?” - -“I know he’s out for Mayor. That’s all right. I’ve no string on the job. -I want to be re-elected, just as a sort of a--testimonial that I’ve made -good. And I intend to be re-elected. But at the same time, any one has a -right to run against me.” - -“Nobody denies that,” his father exclaimed. “But no one has a right to -hark back a year for mud to throw at you.” - -Wint said: “Pshaw, there’s always mud-throwing in politics.” - -Chase challenged: “Do you mean to say you think Routt has a right to do -as he is doing?” - -“Well, just what is he doing?” Wint asked good-naturedly. - -“What is he doing? He’s saying you’re a common drunkard; that you always -have been; that you are still, in secret.” - -Wint flushed with slow anger. “Well,” he said, “if any one believes -that, they’re welcome to.” - -“But damn it, son, you’re not!” Chase exclaimed; and there was such a -fierce rush of pride in his father’s voice that Wint was startled, and -he was suddenly very happy about nothing; and he said: - -“I’m glad you know it, anyway, dad.” - -“Damn it!” Chase repeated. “Don’t you suppose I can see? Don’t you -suppose I have a right to be proud of my own son, when he does something -to be proud of? Your mother and I have.... Well, Wint, we’re--we’re a -good deal happier than we were a year ago.” - -Wint said gently: “I’m only sorry I didn’t make you happy a year ago.” - -“That’s all right,” his father declared. “You were a headstrong -youngster; and I didn’t know how to control you. An unruly colt takes -careful handling. I’m not a--tactful man. But I’ll be damned if I can -see how you can take this from the man you call your friend.” - -Wint smiled slowly, and he said: “That’s three times in two minutes -you’ve said ‘damn,’ dad. Cut it out. Don’t get profane in your -excitement. Routt’s all right, really. Don’t swear at him.” - -“Do you realize that he’s saying you’re drinking as regularly as ever, -while you pretend to keep this a dry town?” - -“Well, no one will believe him.” - -“You can find men to believe anything; and there are plenty in Hardiston -that want to believe anything against you.” - -“Let them,” said Wint confidently. “There are plenty who will stand back -of me.” - -“But what are you going to do about it?” - -“I’m not going to call names,” Wint told him cheerfully. “I’ll fight it -out quietly and decently; and I’ll win. That’s what I mean to do.” - -“You act as though you had expected this.” - -“Well, as a matter of fact, Jack came to me and told me, before he told -any one else, that he was going to run. And he warned me he was going to -make it a real fight.” - -“A real fight? This is assassination!” - -Wint laughed. “You’re taking it too hard. I know it’s just because -you’re--proud of me. Are you going to back me in this?” - -Chase frowned. “As a matter of fact, Wint, I’m in a hard position. I -want to back you--of course. But I can’t stomach Caretall. If you -weren’t tied up with him.” - -“He’s been a pretty good friend to me. Can’t you take him on that -ground?” - -“If I tied up with him, I’d be called a bootlicker, and justly. After -what he did to me, I can’t cater to him and keep my self-respect.” - -“Pshaw, dad! The world has a short memory. That’s all forgotten.” - -“I’ve not forgotten.” - -“Every one else has.” - -“I’m not talking about every one else. I’m talking about my own -self-respect.” - -They had finished supper; and they got up and went into the other room. -Mrs. Chase--she was doing her own work since Hetty had left her--began -to clear away the dishes. In the sitting room, Wint said: “I’ve been -counting on you, dad.” - -Chase said: “I’ll do what I can--quietly. But I can not come out in the -open and side with Amos. If he’d turn against you....” - -Wint laughed. “I might kick up a row with him.” - -“You’ll never regret breaking with Caretall. He’s a crooked politician -of the worst type, without honor. A traitor to his own friends. He’ll be -a traitor to you when it pleases him.” - -His son said quickly: “Don’t. Please don’t talk against him to me. Let’s -just not talk about him. After all, he’s been square to me.” - -Chase flung up his hand. “All right. But how about Routt? Are you going -to sit still and take the mud he’s throwing?” - -“Jack will be too busy to throw mud, pretty soon,” Wint promised -cheerfully. “Mud is trimmings. I’ll bring him down to brass tacks.” - -“You ought to shut his lying--” - -“Come, dad, don’t take it so seriously.” - -“Well, then, you take it more seriously.” - -Wint laughed. “All right. You wait and see.” - - * * * * * - -Nevertheless, he could not deny to himself that Routt’s move troubled -him. Not for its effect on his candidacy, but for the light in which it -showed Routt himself. For all his loyalty, Wint thought it was unworthy. -Thought Routt was hurting himself and sullying himself. He met Jack -uptown that night, and told him so in a friendly way. “Do as you like,” -he said. “But I think it hurts you more than it does me,” he suggested. - -Routt laughed, and asked: “It’s not getting under your skin, is it? I -told you I’d give you a run.” - -“Pshaw, no. Say anything you like about me. But it doesn’t get you any -votes.” - -“You’ll know better than that on the eighth of November,” Jack told him; -and Wint smiled and let it go at that. After all, it was Routt’s own -concern. - -But if Wint took Routt’s tactics equably, Hardiston did not. Hardiston -folk love politics. The great American game is the breath in their -nostrils. They have an expert’s appreciation of the tactical value of -this move and that; and they are keen spectators at such a battle as -Routt and Wint were staging. - -Wint would have liked to consult with Amos at this time; but it happened -that Amos was out of town. He had gone to Columbus for a day or two. In -lieu of Amos, Wint went to Peter Gergue, and asked Gergue how things -looked to him. Gergue fumbled in his back hair in the thoughtful way he -had and said he guessed Routt was making a lively fight of it, anyway. - -“Do you think he’s making votes?” Wint asked. - -“We-ell,” said Peter, “you can’t always tell what folks will do. I’d say -he’s persuading every enemy you’ve got to vote against you.” - -Wint said: “They would, anyway.” - -“Sure.” - -“The question is, is he persuading any of my friends?” - -“I’d say not.” - -“Then I don’t need to worry.” - -Gergue spat at the curb. “Can’t say. You see, Wint, there’s about sixty -per cent. of this town--or any town--that’s neither enemy nor friend. -Just neutral. Them’s the votes you got to get.” - -“I don’t believe Routt will get many of those votes by lies.” - -“Not if they’re knowed to be lies.” - -“Every one knows they are lies.” - -“It’s a funny thing,” Gergue ruminated. “But lots of folks take a kind -of pleasure out of believing lies about other folks.” - -Wint shook his head. “I don’t believe Routt is accomplishing a thing.” - -“We-ell,” said Gergue, “matter of fact, I’m thinking you may be right. -Thing is, he’s laying a foundation, like.” - -“What do you mean?” - -“I mean he’s laying the tracks. He’s doing a lot of talk that won’t be -believed much now; but he might bring on something later along that -would make folks say: ‘Well, maybe that other was true, too.’” - -“What can he bring?” Wint challenged. - -“Has he got anything on you?” - -“Every one knows all there is to know about me, I suppose.” - -Gergue scratched his head. “We-ell, I dunno,” he said. “Anyway, that’s -what I was kind of thinking.” - -Wint met V. R. Kite one day, and the little man spoke to him so affably -that Wint asked: “Well, how are things, Mr. Kite?” - -“Excellent. First class, young man.” - -“I suppose you’ll vote for me for Mayor?” Wint asked, grinning -good-naturedly; and Kite chuckled and said he guessed not. - -“Routt’s more my style,” he said. - -“Don’t waste your vote on a loser,” Wint told him; but Kite said Routt -might be a loser and might not. He left Wint with an unpleasant feeling -that there had been a secretly triumphant note in the little old -buzzard’s voice. - -Jim Radabaugh met James T. Hollow at the Post Office one morning, and -said cheerfully: “Well, James T., how’s it happen you’re not out for -Mayor again?” - -“I try to do what is right,” Hollow said earnestly. “But I really don’t -know what to do, Mr. Marshal. I have thought of coming out, but -Congressman Caretall gives me very little encouragement.” - -“Don’t encourage you, eh?” - -“No. In fact, I might say he discouraged--” - -“Well, now,” said Radabaugh, “maybe you’d best just lie low.” - -Hollow looked doubtful and said he didn’t know. - -Thus all Hardiston talked, each man after his fashion. Ed Skinner of the -_Sun_ maintained a strict neutrality. He was closely allied with Wint’s -father; and the elder Chase held his hand. B. B. Beecham seldom let the -_Journal_ take an active part in local politics, except on broad party -lines. And Wint--since he had the patronage of Amos Caretall--was of the -same party as Routt, who had been Amos’s ally. He carried the -announcement cards of both men and let it go at that. But he went so far -as to say to Wint, and to those who dropped in at the _Journal_ office, -that Routt’s methods were not likely to be profitable. “It never pays to -open up old sores,” he said. “And it’s never a good plan to say anything -that will unjustly hurt another man’s feelings. He may be in a position -to resent it, some day.” - -Sam O’Brien, the restaurant man, told Wint that Routt would never get -his vote. “I like nerve,” he said, “and you’ve got it. You’ve made me -laugh sometimes, Wint. Lord, I’ve thought you’d be the death of me. But -you’ve took your nerve in your hands. You’ve got me, boy. More power to -your elbow.” - -The first two weeks of October slid swiftly by. Wint heard Routt was -planning for a rally or two; and he began to make his own arrangements -to a similar end. But in mid-October, word came to him which put the -mayoralty race out of his mind. - -The word came through Ote Runns, that hopeless drunkard whose cheerful -services were in such demand by Hardiston housewives at rug-beating -time. Wint met Ote one evening, on his way home, and Ote was bibulously -cheerful. He greeted Wint hilariously; and told him in triumphant tones -that Hardiston was itself again. - -Wint, with a suspicion of what was coming, asked Ote what he meant; and -Ote chortled: - -“‘S a good ol’ town. Good ol’ wet town! Plenny o’ booze now.” - -Wint asked Ote where he got it, but the man put his finger to his nose -and shook his head. Wint left him and went on his way. - -When he got home, he telephoned Radabaugh. “They’re selling again, Jim,” -he said. - -The marshal asked: “Who?” - -“Don’t know,” said Wint. “I met Ote Runns with a load aboard. I want you -to get after them right away.” - -“I’m started, now,” said Jim Radabaugh. “I’m on my way.” - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -A CLOUD ON THE MOON - - -Wint was rather pleased than otherwise to learn that Kite and others of -his ilk had resumed their illicit traffic in Hardiston. It gave him -something to do. He had none of the instincts of a political campaigner; -he could not for the life of him have made a really rousing speech. And -it was next to impossible for him to ask a man for his vote. The old -pride, the stubborn pride that had done him so much harm, was still -alive in Wint; and this pride made him uncomfortable when he found -himself asking favors. - -He hated campaigning. If there had been no opposition for him to fight, -if the way had been made easy before him, it is not unlikely that he -would have quit the race. But there was opposition, and strenuous -opposition. Jack Routt had kept his word; he was making a real fight out -of it. When he encountered Wint, he was friendly--profusely so--and -affable enough; but when he was canvassing, he made no bones of -attacking Wint unmercifully, striking below the belt or above it as the -moment might inspire him. He had dragged up Wint’s old drunken record -and aired it until people were beginning to ask themselves if there -wasn’t something in what he said, after all. - -Against this, up till the middle of October, Wint had made a very poor -fight indeed. He would not denounce Routt as Routt denounced him. As a -matter of fact, there was no particular charge he could bring against -Routt. Jack was no hypocrite, at least; he took an honest and -straightforward stand. The liquor issue, for example. He was a drinker, -he believed in it. And he said so. At the same time, he added that Wint -was a drinker, but pretended not to be. He said Wint was a hypocrite. - -The viciousness of Routt’s campaign stunned Wint at first; he was half -incredulous. The thing didn’t seem possible. When he was forced to -understand that it was not only possible but true, he was left at a -loss. It was in the midst of his floundering attempts to find some means -to advocate his cause that he got through Ote Runns the first word that -the lawbreakers were at work again. - -He grasped at that as though it were an opportunity. He telephoned Jim -Radabaugh that night; and he sent for Jim the first thing in the morning -and asked the marshal what he had discovered. Radabaugh shifted the knob -in his cheek, and spat, and said he had discovered nothing. - -“Did you find Ote?” Wint asked. - -“Sure. I just listened, and then went where he was. He was singing, -some.” - -“Question him?” - -“Oh, yes.” - -“What did he say? Where did he get it?” - -“He wouldn’t say,” Radabaugh explained. - -Wint nodded. “I suppose not. What then?” - -“We-ell, I scouted around.” - -“Find out anything?” - -“Skinny Marsh had a skinful, too. And there was a drunk in the Weaver -House when I drifted over there.” - -“Is it Mrs. Moody that’s selling?” - -Radabaugh shook his head. “I guess not.” - -Wint banged his desk. “Damn it, Jim! Who is it, then?” - -“I couldn’t say.” - -“Well, I want you to find out.” - -Radabaugh spat and considered. “They’s one thing,” he suggested mildly. -“You might not have thought of it.” - -Wint grinned. “You talk like B. B. Beecham. What is it, Jim?” - -“I mean to say,” said Radabaugh, “this didn’t just happen. What I mean -is, it didn’t just happen to happen. It was meant.” - -Wint studied him. “What’s in your mind?” - -“They’d have held off till after election, maybe,” Jim suggested. -“Looks to me like they’re starting this to hit the election somehow. I -can’t say just how. Don’t know. But it looks to me it was meant.” - -“You mean they’re trying to discredit me, say I don’t enforce the laws.” - -“Maybe that. Maybe something else. Just struck me it was something.” - -Wint got up abruptly. “I don’t give a hoot. This campaign business bores -me, anyhow. But I’m not going to stand for this. You get busy, Jim. If -you need help, say so. I’ll bring a man in from outside, if necessary. -But I want to grab the man that’s selling. You understand?” - -“It’s your funeral,” said Radabaugh cheerfully, shifting the bulge in -his cheek. “I’ll do my do.” - -“Go to it,” Wint told him. “I’m leaving it to you.” - - * * * * * - -But nothing happened. A week dragged past; a week in which it was -reasonably clear that Wint was losing ground to Routt. Wint himself saw -this as quickly as any man, and it troubled him. He asked Peter Gergue -for advice--Amos was still out of town--and Peter told him to get up on -his hind legs and rear and tear, but Wint shook his head. “I can’t do -that. It isn’t in me. The whole thing makes me sick.” - -“You’ve naturally got to do it,” Gergue assured him. “Routt’s telling -’em to vote for him; and he’s telling them the same thing, over and -over, till they know their lesson like a parrot. That’s advertising, -Wint. Keep a-telling them the same thing till they know what they’re to -do. You got to. Might as well come to it first as last.” - -“I can’t ask a man to vote for me.” - -“Why not?” - -Wint grinned, and flushed, and gave it up. And Gergue told him again -that he would have to make a noise if he wanted to be heard in -Hardiston; and he left Wint to think it over. - -B. B. Beecham, a day or two later, gave Wint the same advice, but to -more purpose. Wint had dropped in at the _Journal_ office casually -enough, and talked with two or three others who were there before him, -till they drifted away and left him with B. B. Wint asked: - -“Well, how do things look to you, B. B.?” - -B. B. looked doubtful. “You’re not making a very strong campaign,” he -said. - -Wint nodded. “I know it. It goes against the grain.” - -The editor was surprised. “Is that so? Just how do you mean?” - -“Oh, I hate to ask a man to vote for me. I hate to ask favors.” - -B. B. smiled. “Who are you going to vote for, on the eighth?” - -“Why, Routt, of course. I can’t vote for myself.” - -The editor looked blandly interested, and commented: “Well, if that’s -the case, of course you can’t ask any one else to vote for you?” - -“Why not?” Wint was puzzled. - -“You know yourself better than they do. If you can’t vote for -yourself--” - -“Oh, it isn’t.... Why, you naturally vote for the other fellow?” - -“This isn’t a class election at college, you know,” B. B. reminded him. -“It’s more serious. Not play. You want to remember that. But if you -don’t think enough of yourself to vote for yourself....” - -Wint laughed. “All right,” he said. “I’ll vote for myself. You’ve -persuaded me.” - -B. B. nodded. “Who do you think will make the best mayor; you, or -Routt?” he asked. - -“I don’t....” Wint flushed. “Why, I....” - -“Routt?” - -“No, by God!” Wint exclaimed angrily. “I’ve done a good job; and I’ll do -another. He’d open the town up. Let things go.” - -“Do you want to be Mayor? For your own sake?” - -“Why, yes.” - -“Like the job so well?” - -“No, not particularly. But I want--well, it would show that people think -I’ve made good.” - -“If you’re going to make a better Mayor than Routt, your election is -best for the town, isn’t it?” - -“I suppose so.” - -“Then it’s best for every man in Hardiston, isn’t it?” - -“In a way.” - -B. B. tilted back in his chair and lifted his hand in a gesture of -confirmation. “That’s what I was getting at. The fact of the matter is, -when you ask a man to vote for you, you’re not asking him to do you a -favor. You’re asking him to do himself a favor. I don’t suppose you ever -thought of that.” - -Wint grinned. “Well, no.” - -“It’s true?” - -“I guess it is.” - -B. B. leaned forward. “Then go out and say so. Start something. Keep -telling them to elect you; tell them louder and longer and oftener than -Routt does, and they will.” - -This was so like what Gergue had said that Wint told B. B. so; and the -editor nodded and said Gergue was a wise man. “But I can’t do it,” Wint -protested. “I don’t know how. I’ll never make a speaker.” - -B. B. considered that for a while: and then he said: “You know, printed -advertising was invented by the first tongue-tied man.” - -“I don’t get it,” Wint confessed. - -“He had something to sell, but he couldn’t tell people about it, so he -put an ad in the papers; and after that, every one got the habit.” - -“You mean I ought to advertise?” - -B. B. said that was exactly what he meant. And Wint was interested; he -asked some questions. He had heard of advertising rates as things of -astounding proportions; and so he was surprised to find that a full-page -advertisement in the _Journal_ would only cost him ten dollars. He -laughed and said he could stand half a dozen of those. B. B. told him to -put an advertisement in each Hardiston paper, and let them appear in -every issue till the election. “Say the same thing, over and over, in -different ways,” he advised. “Try it. You’ll be surprised.” - -In the end, Wint decided to do just this. B. B. helped him write the -advertisements. In them, Wint recited what he had done and what he meant -to do, but briefly. In each full, black-lettered page, the burden of his -song was just three words, repeated over and over: - -“Vote for Chase; vote for Chase; vote for Chase.” - - * * * * * - -Amos came home toward the end of October; and when Wint heard he was in -town, he telephoned and made arrangements to see him at his home that -night. When he got there, Amos was upstairs. He called to Wint to go -into the sitting room and wait, and Wint went in there and sat down. -After a moment, Agnes came in to restore a book to its place on the -shelves, and Wint got up and stood, talking with her. He thought she -seemed uneasy, on edge. Her eyes went now and then through the open door -toward the stairs down which Amos would come. She fumbled with her hair, -and a lock became disarranged and fell down beside her face. - -She said, abruptly, that there was something in her shoe; and she held -to his arm with one hand, and stood on one foot, and pulled off her -slipper and shook it, upside down. Then she seemed to lose her balance -and toppled toward Wint; and he caught her in his arms. She straightened -up and pushed him away with what seemed to him unnecessary force; and -then turned and went swiftly out into the hall without a word. He looked -after her, and saw Amos, halfway down the stairs, watching them with a -curiously grave countenance; and Wint, for no reason in the world, was -confused, and felt his face burning. He looked down and saw Agnes’s -slipper on the floor, where she had dropped it; and he slid it out of -sight under the bookcase before Amos came into the room. He was sorry as -soon as he had done this; but Agnes had somehow contrived to make him -feel guilty. He could hardly face Amos when the Congressman came into -the room. He had a miserable feeling that everything was going wrong; -all the trifles in the world seemed conspiring to harass him. - -But Amos seemed to have seen nothing. He was perfectly amiable, bade -Wint sit down, filled his black pipe, squinted at Wint with his head on -one side and asked how things were going. - -Wint said they were going badly; and Amos smiled. - -“Why, now, that’s too bad,” he declared. - -“I wasn’t made for a campaigner,” Wint said. “I’ll never be able to make -a speech.” - -“You write a good ad,” Amos told him; and Wint asked: - -“You’ve read them?” - -“I guess everybody’s read them.” - -“Are they all right?” - -“First rate. They’ll do.” - -Wint said impatiently: “I’m sick of the whole thing.” - -Amos studied him. “Routt getting under your skin?” - -“No. He’s playing it pretty strong, though.” - -“I’ll say he is.” - -“Of course, it’s just politics. He and I are as friendly as ever.” - -“Oh, sure,” Amos agreed indolently. “He told you so, didn’t he?” - -“Yes. He came to me, in the beginning.” - -“I heard so.” - -“I don’t know how to answer him--the line he’s taking,” Wint explained. -“That’s all.” - -“Don’t have to answer him, do you? Don’t have to answer a lie.” - -Wint laughed uneasily. “Just the same, he’s stirring people up.” - -“I never heard of anybody being permanently hurt by a lie but the liar,” -said Amos. - -Wint leaned forward. “I tell you, Amos, I want to be elected. I’ve gone -into this; and I want to win. Routt and I are friendly enough; but he -started this fight, and I want to beat him. I want to beat him to a -whisper. I’d like to see him skunked. I don’t care if he doesn’t get -two votes in Hardiston. That’s the way I feel.” His fierce enthusiasm -dropped away from him; he said hopelessly: “But I’m darned if I know how -to manage it.” - -Amos nodded slowly. “Sick of it, eh?” - -“Yes.” - -The Congressman puffed for a while in silence, thinking; and Wint waited -for the other man to speak. At last Amos looked at him and asked -curiously: “Wint, you dead set on being Mayor?” - -Something in his tone put Wint on guard. “Dead set? Why?” he asked. - -Amos lifted a hand. “Why, just this,” he explained. “I’ve been talking -around, here and there. Far as I hear, they’ve heard about you in -Columbus. The way it strikes me, right now, if you was to run for the -House, say, you could get it; and you’d have a good start up there. -That’s all.” - -Wint laughed uneasily. “That can come later. Maybe.” - -“Thing is,” said Amos, “if you was to get licked for Mayor, it’d hurt -you.” - -“I’m not going to get licked,” Wint exclaimed. “I’m going to win.” - -“Well--maybe,” Amos agreed. “Only I just want you to know that if you’d -rather try for something else, I’d back you to the limit.” - -“You mean after election? Next year?” - -“I couldn’t do much if you was licked.” - -Wint leaned toward him. “Just what do you mean?” - -“Just what I say.” - -“Are you asking me to withdraw?” Wint asked. His heart was in his mouth. -“I know you and Routt have always worked together. Do you want me to get -out and let him have it?” - -“I’m not asking you to do a thing. I’m offering you a good excuse -to--maybe--dodge a licking.” - -“I’m not going to get licked,” Wint insisted. “And if there’s a licking -waiting for me--by God, I won’t dodge!” - -Amos looked at him curiously. “Well, that’s all right. I just put the -thing up to you.” - -“But I owe you enough,” said Wint, “so that if you asked me to quit--I’d -do it.” - -“I’m not asking you.” - -“Then,” Wint declared, “I stick; and I win.” - -Amos moved a little in his chair; and he sighed. “Well,” he drawled, -“I’m watching you.” - - * * * * * - -Wint left Amos, a little later; and he walked home with a weight on his -shoulders. He had counted on the Congressman; but--this was half-hearted -support at best that Amos was offering. Wint was puzzled, he could not -understand; and he was depressed, and worried, and unhappy. He had an -impulse to get out, throw the whole matter to one side, forget it all; -but on the heels of the thought, his jaw hardened and he shook his head. - -“No,” he said. “No; I’ll stick it out to the end.” - -He would have been more concerned, and he would have been thoroughly -angry, if he could have heard Agnes Caretall talk to Amos when he had -left. She came in to retrieve her lost slipper; and she was fuming -indignantly. Old Maria Hale, setting the table for breakfast as she -always did, the last thing at night, overheard a word or two of their -talk. She heard Agnes exclaim: - -“I don’t see how you can be so calm, just because you elected him. But -that doesn’t give him any right to think he can do a thing like that -with me.” - -And she heard Amos’s slow, even voice reply: - -“No; it doesn’t give him any right.” - -“I should think you could say something,” Agnes cried. “Your own -daughter!” - -Maria heard Amos say something about “fooling.” And Agnes retorted: - -“It wasn’t fooling! It was--plain insulting!” - -“Well, we can’t let him do that,” Amos agreed drawlingly. Then Maria -departed to the kitchen and heard no more. She had paid no particular -attention. The old darky lived in a world of her own. A quiet world. A -world that was not far from coming to its end. She was very old. - -After Agnes left him and went upstairs Amos sat for a long time, very -still, before the fire. His eyes were weary, and his calm face was -troubled. - -Once he lifted his glance from the fire and saw a picture of Agnes on -the mantel; and he got up and took it in his big hands. It had been -taken two or three years ago; and it was very beautiful. A gay, happy -face; the face of a child without cares. A good face, Amos thought. An -honest one. - -He compared it in his thoughts with Agnes as she was now; and the -trouble in his countenance deepened. After a little, he said to himself -as he had said once before: “I wish her mother hadn’t ’ve died.” - -He put the picture slowly back on the mantel, and sat down and once more -became motionless, staring into the fire. To one watching him it would -have seemed in that moment that Amos, too, was very old. - - - - -CHAPTER V - -A LOST ALLY - - -Congressman Amos Caretall staged, next morning in the Post Office, one -of those dramatic incidents which had checkered his career and done a -good deal to make him what he was. These scenes were meat and drink to -Amos. He liked to hark back to them and chuckle at the memory. In -Washington, last winter, for example, he had told over and over the -story of his speech at the rally of Winthrop Chase, Senior; his pledge -to vote for a Chase, and the sequel to that pledge. The thing appealed -to his sense of humor. - -This morning he met Wint in the Post Office and snubbed him. And within -half an hour all Hardiston knew about it, and was talking about it. The -way of the thing was this. - -Wint had met Jack Routt on the way uptown; and they came up Broad Street -together, and down Main to the Post Office. Wint was thoughtful and a -little silent; Routt expansively amiable in the fashion that had become -habitual with him since the campaign opened. He asked Wint, jocularly, -whether he was downhearted, and Wint said he was not. Routt told him he -would be. “You’ll be ready to quit before I’m through with you, old -man,” he warned Wint. “You’ll be ready to crawl into your hole. Oh, I’m -laying for you.” - -“Go ahead,” Wint told him quietly. - -“All your ads in the papers won’t do you a bit of good, either. That’s -good money wasted. You have to get out and talk to the voters, Wint. -Take a tip from me. It’s the word of mouth that does the trick.” - -Wint said if this were so Routt would surely come out on top. “You’ve -used word of mouth pretty freely,” he remarked. - -“Getting into the quick, am I?” Routt chuckled. - -“Why, no. I just commented on the fact that....” - -Routt asked solicitously: “Look here. You’re not sore, are you? You -know, the understanding was that this was to be a real fight.” - -“Of course,” Wint agreed. “And I’m not sore. Go as far as you like.” - -A moment later, Routt said: “I heard Amos was going to throw you down. -Anything in that? If he does, you haven’t got a chance.” - -“Nothing in it,” Wint told him. “I had a talk with Amos last night.” - -Routt laughed and said Amos’s promises didn’t amount to anything. “Is he -backing you; or is he holding off?” he asked. “I haven’t heard that he’s -doing much.” - -“You’ll hear in due time,” Wint told him. - -He thought, afterward, that it was a curious coincidence that Routt -should have said this about Amos on this particular morning. It was -almost as though Routt had really had some foreknowledge. But at the -time, the question made no great impression on him. - -When they turned into the Post Office, the mail had not yet been -distributed, and the windows were closed. There were perhaps a dozen men -there, waiting before their boxes, talking, smoking, spitting on the -floor. Routt and Wint took their places among these men; and Routt stuck -near Wint. There was some good-natured chaffing. And after a little, -Amos and Peter Gergue came in together. Every one had a word for Amos. -It was a minute or two after he came in the door before he worked back -through the groups to where Routt and Wint stood. He looked at the two, -head on one side, and Wint said: - -“Good morning, Amos.” - -Amos squinted a little; then, without replying to Wint, he turned to -Jack Routt, at Wint’s side, and thrust out his hand. “Morning, Routt.” - -He and Routt shook hands, and Wint went a little white with surprise, -still not fully understanding. Routt said cheerfully: - -“Back in time to see the election, Amos.” - -Amos nodded cordially. “And back in time to shake hands with the next -Mayor, Routt,” he said. “You’re making a first-rate campaign. If you -need any help--” - -Routt took it all as a matter of course. Wint had stepped back a little; -he was leaning his shoulders against the wall, and it seemed to him the -world was swimming. “I’ll surely call on you,” Routt said. - -Amos turned toward his mail box and unlocked it. Gergue shook Routt by -the hand. “Morning, Mister Mayor,” he said; and then, casually, to the -other: “H’lo, Wint.” - -Every one had seen; no one had a word to say. The windows opened as sign -that the mail was all distributed. Every one bustled forward to open -their boxes; and they went out, ripping open letters and papers, talking -in low voices, glancing sidewise at Wint. Routt had gone out with Amos -and Peter. Wint pulled himself together, got his mail, and went out into -the street by himself. Hardiston seemed like a new town; it was changed, -terribly changed, by a word or two from Amos. - -Every one seemed to know what had happened, almost as soon as it had -happened. The people who spoke to him on his way to Hoover’s office--he -was planning a day with the law books--seemed to Wint to be grinning -maliciously. He was still dazed, unable to think clearly. When he was -settled in the back room with the leather-bound books, Wint tried to put -his mind on them; but he could not. He was groping for understanding. He -felt as a child feels, when it has received a blow it cannot understand. -He was incredulous. The thing could not have happened; but it had -happened. The ground was cut from under his feet. Cut from under his -feet. He was lost, helpless. He had been supported for so long by Amos; -he had felt the Congressman’s substantial strength upholding him for so -many months that it had come to seem to him as an inevitable feature of -his very life. He did not see how he could go on without it. - -Yet in the end he had to believe, had to accept the new condition. He -remembered Amos’s attitude, the night before. Amos had suggested his -withdrawing from the fight; the Congressman had almost asked him to -withdraw. He had refused; now Amos would force him. Would beat him to -his knees. At least, Amos would try to do that. A slow anger began to -grow in Wint; a slow determination not to be beaten. Or if he was to be -beaten, he would not be beaten without a fight. In simple words, Wint -got mad; and he always fought best when he was mad. His resolution -hardened; a certain fire of inspiration came to light within him. He -began to make plans to meet this new contingency. He would go to the -people of Hardiston with the facts. Appeal to them. Prove to them that -he deserved their good will; and that he deserved their votes. An hour -after the scene in the Post Office, Wint was more determined to win than -he had ever been before. Even Amos was not invincible. The man could be -beaten. Not only in this fight, but in others. Wint began to cast -forward into the future, and plan what he would do. - -Dick Hoover came in, after a while, and gripped him by the shoulder. “I -say,” he exclaimed excitedly, “they tell me Amos has thrown you down. Is -it true?” - -Wint nodded. “Yes,” he said crisply. - -Hoover swore. “The dirty, double-crossing hound. What are you going to -do?” - -“Lick him,” Wint replied. - -Hoover looked doubtful. “Lick him? You can’t, Wint.” - -Wint said nothing. - -“Can you?” Dick Hoover asked. - -“I’m going to,” said Wint. - -Hoover banged his fist on the book that lay open before Wint. “By God, -you’ll find some that are willing to help!” - -“I know it,” Wint agreed. - -“My father and I.... Whatever we can do.” - -“Thanks!” - -“Get after him, Wint,” Hoover urged. “Show him up. No one has ever gone -after Caretall the right way. Start something. The people are always -looking for fun, for a change. By God, I believe you can do it!” - -“I told you I was going to,” Wint repeated. - -That night, his father spoke to him of the matter. The elder Chase had -heard it during the day, had heard what Amos had done. And there was -fire in his eye. He had no sooner come into the house, before supper, -than he called: - -“Oh, Wint!” - -Wint was upstairs, getting ready for supper. He answered: “Hello, dad.” - -“Coming down?” - -“Right away.” - -“Well, hurry.” - -Wint was surprisingly cheerful. The elation of battle was on him. He -chuckled at the impatience in his father’s tone; but he did make haste, -and a moment later joined the other man in the sitting room. The elder -Chase was standing, stirring about, his face hot and angry. - -“Look here, Wint,” he exclaimed, without parley. “I hear Amos Caretall -turned you down, to-day.” - -“Yes.” - -“In the Post Office.” - -“Yes, this morning.” - -“Told Routt he was going to win.” - -“Just that, dad.” - -Chase threw up his hands furiously. “By God, Wint, I told you he’d cut -your throat! The dirty....” - -Wint put his hand up to his neck. “Cut my throat?” he repeated. “I seem -to be all here.” - -“You wouldn’t believe me, Wint. But I warned you.” - -“Yes, you did.” - -“What do you say now to this fine friend of yours? Damn the man!” - -“I say he’s started trouble for himself.” - -“What do you mean?” - -“I mean I’m going to prove that when he said Routt would be elected, he -was either a fool or a liar.” - -Chase banged his hand on the table beside him till the lamp jumped in -its place, and the shade tilted to one side. Mrs. Chase came bustling in -just then, and straightened it, and protested anxiously: “I declare, -Winthrop, you’re the hardest man around the house. You do disturb things -so. I don’t see--” - -“Caretall has turned against Wint,” Chase told her. - -She nodded wisely. “Well, didn’t you always say he would?” - -“Of course I did. Wint wouldn’t believe me. Now he’s done it.” - -“He ought to be ashamed of himself,” Mrs. Chase declared. “But I always -did think you were wrong, Wint, to be so friendly with a man who had -treated your father as he did. He--” - -“I know you did, mother.” - -Chase cried: “You take it almighty calmly, Wint. Isn’t there any blood -in you, son? Don’t you ever get mad? Damn it, the man ought to be kicked -out of town.” - -Wint laughed good-naturedly. “Oh, I don’t know. He has a right to -support Jack if he wants to.” - -“A right? What have his rights to do with it? By God, I’d have more -respect for you if you could get good and mad!” - -Wint chuckled. “I’ll try to work up a fever if you like. I always want -your respect, dad.” - -Chase said in a softer tone: “You always have it, Wint. You’ve earned -it. But it makes my blood boil to see Caretall do this to you. To my -son.” - -“It’s terrible,” Wint agreed whimsically; and Chase protested: - -“I believe you’re laughing at me.” - -Wint shook his head anxiously. “No. But I don’t see that it does any -good to get excited. I’m aiming to keep my head--and my job.” - -“You’re going to fight?” - -“Fight?” Wint echoed. “Why, dad, you won’t be able to see me for dust.” - -“You’ve waked up at last. You’re not going to sit back and let Routt lie -about you, and let Amos trick you.” - -“I’m going to fight,” said Wint. “Also I’m going to win.” - -Chase exclaimed: “I believe you can. If you try.” - -“You know,” said Wint, “in a way I’m glad this has happened.” - -“Glad?” Chase asked. “For God’s sake, why?” - -Wint touched his arm in a comradely way. “Because now you and I can line -up together. Fight side by side. I’d rather have you with me than Amos.” - -Chase said, with a sudden humility: “Amos might be able to help you more -than I can.” - -“I’d rather have your personal vote than all the votes Amos can swing.” - -“You’d have had that, anyway.” - -“Well, isn’t that worth being crossed by Amos?” - -Chase said: “But don’t fool yourself, Wint. Don’t imagine this is going -to be easy. Caretall is powerful.” - -Wint said with a slow energy: “I’ve done some thinking, dad. Amos is -powerful. But--I don’t know just how to say it, but what I mean is this. -I think I’ve been a good Mayor. I’ve tried to be a good one, anyway. And -if a fellow tries to do the right thing, it seems to me the world has a -habit of turning his way. I’ve done my share, straight out and out. And -I’m going to the voters on that record. If there’s anything -in--democracy--then I can beat Amos. He’s cleverer; he’s better at -tricks and contraptions. But he can’t beat the right thing, dad. -And--I’ve a hunch that the right is on my side, on our side, in this.” - -“Right or wrong,” Chase declared, “we’ll lick him if there’s any way in -the world it can be done.” His eyes lighted. “I believe I can get Kite -to line up with you.” - -Wint shook his head. “No.” - -“I think I can,” Chase urged. “He hates Amos.” - -“I don’t want him,” said Wint. “This is a clean fight.” - -“You want all the help you can get.” - -“All the decent help. There are enough decent folk in town to put this -thing through.” - -“You can’t be too squeamish, Wint.” - -“I’m too squeamish to take help from Kite,” said Wint. “That’s flat, -dad. Put it out of your head.” - -Mrs. Chase was still doing her own work. She called them to supper, just -then; and while they ate, she told them how tired she was. “I declare,” -she said, “I wish Hetty would come back here. I saw her, uptown, -yesterday; and I asked her to. But she wouldn’t. Said she had a better -job. I told Mrs. Hullis last night that the girl--” - -“Hetty never cooked a better supper than this,” her husband told her; -and the little woman smiled happily, and bridled like a girl, and said: - -“Now, Winthrop, you’re always telling me things like that, when you know -they’re not true. I’m just a--” - -Wint laughed: “Quit apologizing for yourself, mother. It’s a darned bad -habit. Tell people you’re a wonder, and they’ll believe you. I’ve found -that out. That’s the way I’m going to be re-elected.” - -“You can tell them that, but you have to back it up,” his father -reminded him. “Brag’s not so bad, if there’s something to base it on.” - -“Well, isn’t there?” Wint asked quietly; and his father’s eyes lighted, -and he cried: - -“Yes, son, by Heaven, there is!” - - * * * * * - -Wint made no move, during the next day or two; but he laid his plans. He -intended to do a great many things in the last week before election. He -would concentrate his effort in those last days, so that the effect -should not have time to disappear. He talked with Dick Hoover, and -Dick’s father; he talked with others. And he was surprised to find that -such loyal supporters of Amos as Sam O’Brien and Ed Howe and even James -T. Hollow were inclined to support him. Support him in spite of Amos. -Sam told him as much. - -He met Sam at the moving-picture show that night; that is to say, he met -Sam just outside. And Sam and Hetty Morfee were together. That surprised -Wint; he had not even known that they were friends. But it was obvious -that they were very good friends indeed. When he stopped to speak to -them, Hetty looked at him with an appealing defiance. He wondered if Sam -knew. He did not think it would matter. Sam was the sort who could, if -he chose, forgive. - -He spoke to Sam of the coming election; and Sam said: “Sure, I’m for -you. Amos’s all right in Congress. But he’d make a mighty poor Mayor. -I’m for you, Wint, m’boy. You’ve got nerve; and you’re funny, sometimes. -Lord, but I’ve thought there was times when I’d die laughing at you. But -you’re there, Wint. You can have me.” - -He and Hetty went away together, and Wint watched them, forgetting what -Sam had said in wondering about Sam and Hetty. - -He got further comfort the next day from a man as close to Amos as Peter -Gergue. Peter told him it looked as though Routt would win. “But there’s -a pile that’ll vote for you,” he added. “It ain’t hurt you much, Amos -quitting.” He looked all around furtively, and fumbled in his back hair, -and said: “Amos didn’t do you such a bad turn, even if he meant to. I -might give you a vote myself, Wint. I don’t know but I might.” - -Wint laid plans for rallies on Friday and Saturday nights of the week -before election. On Monday and Tuesday of that week, he worked all day, -preparing the words he meant to say at those rallies. It was tough work; -it was hard for him to put his own determination into words. - -Tuesday night, the first of November, there came a diversion. Jim -Radabaugh telephoned to him at midnight, summoning him out of bed. When -Wint answered the ’phone, the marshal asked: - -“That you, Wint?” - -“Yes.” - -“You r’member you told me to get after the bootleggers?” - -“Of course.” - -“Well, I’ve done that little thing.” - -Wint exclaimed: “First rate. You mean you’ve arrested some one?” - -“I should say I had.” - -“Who?” Wint asked. - -“You know Lutcher?” - -“Of course.” - -“Him,” said Radabaugh. - - - - -CHAPTER VI - -KITE TAKES A HAND - - -That Radabaugh should have arrested Lutcher was almost as though he had -arrested Kite himself; and Wint knew it. It brought matters to an issue, -direct and unavoidable. Lutcher, for all practical purposes, was Kite. -His arrest meant an open defiance to the head and front of the -opposition. Wint, characteristically, leaped at the chance. He might -have been more lenient with a lesser man. - -He asked the marshal: “Where is he?” - -“Locked up,” said Radabaugh. - -“In the calaboose?” - -“Yeah. Him and the fire horses are all little pals together.” - -“You’ve got the evidence?” - -“Sure.” - -“No doubt about it?” - -“Not a bit. I’ll tell you--” - -“That can wait till morning. What does he say?” - -“Acts like he wasn’t surprised. Acts like he expected it. Matter of -fact, he pretty near invited me to pinch him.” - -Wint nodded to himself. “That means they’re looking for trouble.” - -“I’d say so.” - -“Haven’t seen Kite, have you?” - -“Hear he’s out of town. Be back Thursday.” - -“All right. We’ll hold Lutcher till then and have it out.” - -Wint heard a gulp that told him Radabaugh was shifting that bulge in his -cheek. “He’s wanted to furnish bail,” the marshal said. - -“Nothing doing,” Wint told him. - -“We-ell--he’s got a right to want to.” - -“We’re sound sleepers here. You couldn’t raise me with the telephone,” -Wint suggested. - -“Lutcher’s all dressed up in a yellow vest and everything; and he didn’t -fetch his jail pajamas with him.” - -“He can sleep in the yellow vest.” - -“It’s your funeral,” Radabaugh decided philosophically. “Whatever you -say.” - -“That’s right.” And Wint added: “I’m glad you got him, Jim. Good work.” - -“Oh, he weren’t so much to get. I told you he put himself in the way of -it.” - -“Just the same, you had good nerve.” - -“We-ell--maybe so.” - -Wint went back to bed; but he didn’t go to sleep. He was tingling with -the pleasurable excitement of combat; and he was immensely pleased at -this chance to give evidence of the sincerity of his fight for a clean -Hardiston. Those orders to Radabaugh which had become something like a -proverb in Hardiston.... This was their test. He meant that they should -meet the test. - -He could not decide whether the incident would help him or hurt him at -the polls; it was impossible to tell. But--he did not care. Hurt or -help, his course would be the same. Unchangeable. Lutcher should get the -limit. Whatever the evidence justified. The rest was on the lap of the -gods. Let them take care of it. - -It may have been an hour or two before he was asleep again; and he woke -in the morning a little tired because of the sleep he had lost. But the -cold tub revived him; he was cheerful enough when he came down to -breakfast; and when his father appeared, Wint told him the news. - -“Something doing, dad,” he said. - -Chase looked at him in quick and surprised interest; and he asked: -“What? What do you mean, Wint?” - -“Did you hear the telephone last night, about midnight?” - -“No.” - -“I did,” said Mrs. Chase. “I thought I heard the bell; but your father -was asleep, and I wasn’t sure. I came to the head of the stairs, but you -were already down.” - -“I answered as quickly as I could. The bell only rang once or twice.” - -“Who was it?” Chase asked quickly. - -“Radabaugh. Jim. The marshal. He’s arrested Lutcher.” - -“Lutcher! What for?” - -“Bootlegging!” - -Chase uttered an involuntary exclamation. “Lutcher? He’s Kite’s -right-hand man.” - -“Absolutely.” - -“Radabaugh arrested him?” - -“Yes.” - -“Has he got a case?” - -“Jim always has a case, when he makes an arrest.” - -“But Lutcher.... He’s shrewd. Knows how to cover his tracks.” - -“He didn’t cover well enough this time.” Wint’s elation was singing in -his voice. - -“But he--” - -“As a matter of fact,” said Wint, “Radabaugh thinks Lutcher allowed -himself to be caught. Thinks he wanted to get arrested.” - -“By God, that doesn’t sound reasonable!” - -“He’ll be sorry.” - -“They’ve got something up their sleeves, Wint.” - -“So have I!” - -“You--What?” - -“My arms,” said Wint cheerfully. “With a fist on each one and a punch in -each fist.” - -Chase looked uncertain. “They’ll try some trick.” - -Wint touched the other’s arm. “Don’t worry. They’ve got to fight in the -open, now. The time’s short. And I’m not afraid of them in the open.” - -“They’re treacherous. They’ll strike behind your back.” - -“I’m not worried.” - -But the older man was worried. He said little more; nevertheless his -concern was plain. Wint was sorry, a little disappointed. His father’s -uneasiness did not affect his own confidence. He was as sure of himself -as before. But he had expected his father to be as confident as himself, -as sure. To him, the matter of Lutcher simply offered an opportunity for -a telling blow; but it was evident that to his father the incident was -rather a threat than an opportunity. - -He and his father walked downtown together; they separated when Wint -turned aside toward the fire-engine house where his office was. The -older man gave him a word of warning there. “Go carefully, Wint,” he -urged. “Watch yourself.” - -“Don’t worry.” - -“Be sure of the law, Wint. Don’t make a mistake. They would jump on it.” - -“That’s Foster’s job. And I’m no ... I’ve studied up a bit.” - -“Take care.” - -“Right, dad.” - -They separated, and Wint went on to his office. Radabaugh was not there, -but he appeared a little later. “I’ve just had Lutcher up to Sam -O’Brien’s for breakfast,” he explained. “He wanted to go to the hotel; -but I told him Sam had the contract to victual the city prisoners.” - -Wint chuckled. “Where is he now?” - -“Down in the calaboose.” - -“Does he still want to furnish bail?” - -“Says he does.” - -“Kite comes home to-morrow, doesn’t he?” - -“Yeah.” - -“Well, we’ll let Lutcher out on bail till then. I’m curious to hear what -Kite will have to say.” - -Radabaugh shifted the plug in his cheek. “Think he’ll have anything to -say?” - -“Don’t you?” - -“We-ell, he might.” - -“Bring Lutcher up, and we’ll turn him loose.” - -Lutcher came. Wint chuckled inwardly at sight of what Radabaugh had -called a yellow vest. It was an ornate affair; no doubt of it. He was -inclined to expect an outbreak from Lutcher, but the big, bald man was -cheerfully amiable. Wint said: “Sorry we had to hold you in jail. The -marshal tried to get me, but I’m a sound sleeper.” - -“Well, the bed wasn’t soft,” Lutcher admitted. “But I can stand it.” - -“I’m going to hold you till to-morrow,” Wint said. “Unless you want to -plead guilty and accept sentence now.” - -“Guilty? No, sir. You can’t pin anything on me, Wint. You ought to know -that.” - -“We’ll see,” Wint told him. “Want to stay in jail, or furnish bail?” - -“Bail, of course. I can get any one.” - -“I’d rather have money.” - -“Check any good?” - -“I’ll cash it before you leave here.” - -Lutcher said amiably that that was all right, and asked the amount. Wint -said “Four hundred.” And Lutcher whistled, and protested: “That’s pretty -hard.” - -“Harder than the bed in the calaboose?” - -Lutcher grinned, and wrote. Wint took the check and his hat and left -Lutcher with the marshal. He went to the bank, drew the money, and -deposited the cash to the city’s account. “Just so there can be no -question of stopping payment on that check,” he explained. - -Back at his office, he told Lutcher he was free to go. Lutcher, -contriving to look dapper and well-dressed in spite of his night, took -himself away. Then Wint turned to the marshal. - -“Now, Jim, how about it?” he asked. “What’s the case against him?” - -Radabaugh shifted the knob in his cheek to clear the way for speech; and -he sat down, and hitched his trousers up, and opened his coat and put -his thumbs in his armholes. “We-ell,” he said, “it was like this.” - -He had been scouting around for two weeks past, he said, according to -Wint’s orders, without discovering anything. But the afternoon before, -an automobile had come into town with some boxes in the tonneau and a -stranger driving. It made some stir on Main Street; and then it drove -openly enough to Lutcher’s place, on the alley. He had seen the boxes -carried up Lutcher’s stair. - -“First off,” he explained, “I figured it couldn’t be what it looked -like. Didn’t seem as if they’d be so open about it. Lutcher had been -lying low. I figured they might be aiming to get me excited, just to -make a fool of me. So I held off a spell. - -“But the thing stuck in my head. They might be trying a game, and they -might not. I decided to keep an eye on Lutcher’s place, and I did. All -that afternoon.” - -Wint said: “They were brazen, eh?” - -“I’d say so,” Radabaugh agreed; and he shifted his plug and went on. - -“Nothing happened, particular, all afternoon. I et my supper; and after -it was dark, I took another walk down that way. Met Jack Routt coming -out of the alley; and he stopped me and talked to me. It was on his -breath. Plain enough. He must have knowed that; must have meant me to -smell it. He was so darned open, I suspicioned there was a trick. So I -still held off. - -“But I took a walk through the alley about nine o’clock. All quiet. A -light in Lutcher’s place, that was all. Some men up there. I wondered. - -“I walked through again, after a while. Sounded like they was having a -game. Finally, about a quarter past eleven, I come along through, and -some one yelled. Sounded boozy. So I says to myself: ‘Jim, you’re the -goat. You got to bite, if it’s only to see the joke.’ So I went up the -stairs. Quiet.” - -“No search warrant?” Wint asked. - -“Why, no,” said Radabaugh innocently. “I was just dropping in for a -drink, like I’d done before. Some time back.” - -Wint grinned. “Of course. Go ahead.” - -“We-ell, the door wasn’t locked,” said Radabaugh. “So I knew I was meant -to come in. And I went in. On in where they were. Four of them. Tuttle, -and Harley, and Gates, and this Lutcher. I went in; and Tuttle throws a -five-dollar bill to Lutcher and says: ‘Here’s for that last bottle, -Lutch.’ - -“Lutcher took it. And he’d seen me before he took it. Then he got up and -says: ‘Hello, Jim. Have a drink?’ - -“So I told him to come along.” - -He stopped; it was evident that his story was done. Wint nodded. “Well, -that’s plain enough,” he agreed. - -“It’s my evidence against theirs,” Radabaugh reminded him. “But that’s -the way it’s got to be.” - -“Your evidence is good enough for me.” - -“Sure. But he’ll fight.” - -“We can’t help that,” Wint reminded him. “All we can do is--soak him.” -There was a sudden heat in his voice; and Radabaugh eyed him curiously -and asked: - -“In earnest, ain’t you?” - -“Absolutely,” said Wint. - -“Well, it never hurt any, to be in earnest. Go to it, boss.” - - * * * * * - -Hardiston talked it over that day, and wondered what Wint would do. Most -people thought he would sentence Lutcher; some declared he would wait -till after election, for fear of influencing the vote. Sam O’Brien -laughed at this view. “Wint wasn’t ever afraid of anything,” he -declared. “Why man, you make me laugh. He’ll soak Lutcher so hard -Lutcher’ll need to be wrung out like a sponge.” - -There were others who were loyal to Wint; and there were some few--not -very vociferous except among those of like views--who were loyal to -Lutcher. But for the most part, people waited. Waited for Kite to come -home. This was his fight; that was understood. Lutcher was his man. - -He came on the early morning train next day; and his coming was marked. -Lutcher met him at the train. They came up the hill from the station -together, and went to the Bazaar, and were alone there for a little -while. Routt joined them presently. Routt would represent Lutcher in -court, he said. But Kite laughed at that. - -“It will never come to court, man,” he told Routt. “You know that.” - -“I’m not so sure,” Jack objected. - -“Then we’ll smash that young rip, flat as an egg,” said Kite harshly, -with a gesture of his clenched fist. “But he’ll crawl, I say.” - -Lutcher got up. “I’m willing to see that,” he declared amiably. “Come -along and stage the show.” - -So they went down to the fire-engine house together, and they found the -council room where Wint held court crowded with Hardiston folk who -wanted to see what was going to happen. Radabaugh was there; and he told -them Wint was in his office, in the rear. Kite bade Routt and Lutcher -sit down. “I want to see the Mayor,” he told Radabaugh, in a peremptory -tone. “Take me in.” - -Radabaugh shifted the bulge in his cheek, and told Kite to stay where he -was. “I’ll see if he wants to see you,” he said, and went into Wint’s -office. A moment later, he appeared at the door and beckoned to Kite, -and there was an instant’s hush in the big room as every one watched -Kite go in. Then they began to whisper and talk together; and instantly -were still again, trying to hear what Wint and Kite were saying. -Radabaugh had shut the door behind Kite and stood, with his back against -it, indolently studying the crowd. - -They tried to hear; but they did not hear anything except a murmur of -voices now and then. They could only guess at what had been said from -what happened when Kite had been with Wint five minutes, or perhaps ten. -At the end of that period, the door opened so suddenly that Radabaugh -was thrown off balance. He stumbled to one side, and Wint came out and -sat down at his desk. Kite was on Wint’s heels; he whispered to Wint -fiercely, but Wint, without heeding Kite, said to the clerk: - -“Call Lutcher’s case.” - -And at that Kite looked at Wint for a moment with a red and furious -face, and then he turned and bolted for the stairs and was gone. - -Wint’s countenance was steady, his lips were white. He heard Radabaugh’s -story of the arrest of Lutcher; and when it was done, he asked Routt, -who was appearing for Lutcher, whether the man denied anything. Routt -hesitated, uncertain what Kite would wish him to do. He whispered with -Lutcher. Then he stood up and said: - -“He has decided to plead guilty, your Honor.” - -Wint nodded, consulted in a low voice with Foster, and said: “Two -hundred and costs.” - -That was all. While Routt and Lutcher arranged the payment of the fine, -the crowd began to disperse, a few lingering in the hope of some fresh -sensation. And those who lingered and those who went their way were -agreeing, one with another, that this matter was not ended. - -“Kite’s got something up his sleeve,” Gates told Bob Dyer. “You wait and -see.” - -And Dyer nodded, and grinned, and said: “Yes, wait till old V. R. takes -a hand.” - -When every one was gone except Radabaugh, and Foster, and one or two -others, Wint got up and went into his office and shut the door. - - - - -CHAPTER VII - -A FEW WORDS TO THE WISE - - -Those minutes--five or ten--which Wint spent with V. R. Kite in his -office behind the council chamber, before he sentenced Lutcher, left -Wint depressed, shaken by foreboding. He was like one beset in the -darkness by enemies he could not see. He felt the imminence of disaster -without being able to avert it. The world was all wrong. Life had turned -her thumbs down. There could be only destruction ahead. - -He felt this, without being able to put a name to the peril. It was -intangible; Kite had only hinted at it. But the little buzzard of a man -had been in deadly earnest. Wint was sure of that. So.... There was -nothing to do but wait for the blow to fall; and waiting is the hardest -thing in the world to do. - -Kite had come into Wint’s office that morning with a smile in his dry -eyes. It was a smile that had triumph in it; and it held also a certain -mean magnanimity to a fallen foe. It was as though Kite knew Wint was -beaten, and expected him to surrender, and was willing to accept the -surrender while despising Wint for yielding. Wint had expected the -little man to come in anger, with protestations, and open threats, and a -desperate sort of defiance. He was prepared for these things; he was not -prepared for the confidence in Kite’s bearing. And his first glimpse of -it disturbed him, made him uneasy. - -Kite sat down without being invited; he put his hat on Wint’s desk; and -he said in an amiably triumphant way: - -“Well, young man?” - -He seemed to expect Wint to speak; but Wint had nothing to say to Kite. -He replied: “You wanted to speak to me?” - -“Not exactly,” said Kite. “I wanted to hear what you have to say.” - -“I?” said Wint. “I have nothing to say, except what I shall say to -Lutcher in court presently.” - -“Ah, yes, Lutcher,” Kite murmured. “Lutcher, to be sure.” And he nodded -as though Lutcher were scarce worth considering, and kept silent, to -force Wint into speech. - -This trick of keeping silent, forcing the other man to make the -advances, was a favorite with Amos Caretall. Amos had beaten V. R. Kite -at the game more than once; but Wint had beaten Amos. He beat Kite, now. -The older man was driven to speak first. He said, in a quick rush of -words: - -“You know you’re done for. Done. Skinned. Licked. Down. What have you -got to say?” - -Before a direct attack, Wint recovered himself. He laughed. “I should -say you were wide of the mark, Kite,” he said cheerfully. “That is, if I -know what you’re talking about. The mayoralty?” - -“Of course. Your hide is on the fence.” - -Wint shook his head. “I haven’t felt it being removed; and they say the -process is painful. So I would have felt it go.” - -“Don’t joke, young man. You know what I mean.” - -“I know,” said Wint, “that I’m going to be elected Mayor. I know Routt -is licked. If that’s what you mean.” - -Kite laughed, a harsh, short, mirthless laugh. “What’s the use of -bluffing? I tell you, I know.” - -Wint said a little impatiently: “You’re talking in a mysterious way, -Kite. I don’t see your object. If you’ve no plain words in your system, -we’re wasting time.” - -“I’ve a plain word for you. Hardiston will have a plain word for you.” -There was a deadly menace in the little man’s tone, and Wint felt it, -and was a little impressed. But he managed a smile. - -“I’ve a plain word for Lutcher, too,” he said. “You’re keeping Lutcher -waiting.” - -“Oh, Lutcher,” said Kite again. “You’ll let him go.” - -“Hardly,” said Wint; and Kite cried: - -“I say you will. Don’t be a fool. I tell you I know.” - -“You may know some things,” said Wint slowly. “But you are wrong about -Lutcher. He gets the limit.” - -Kite leaned forward; and his voice was almost kind. “Young man,” he -said, “you’ve good nerve. You’re a good fighter. You’re a vote getter, -too, in an awkward way. If I didn’t have the winning hand, I should be -worried about what you can do. But I have; from the person who knows. -You’re beaten. You might as well accept it.” - -“If I’m beaten,” said Wint, “I’ll know it by midnight of the eighth. Not -by your telling.” - -Kite lost his temper for an instant; and he cried: “You miserable little -dog! With not even the grace to know you’re whipped.” - -Wint said coldly: “Just what are you talking about, Kite? You wanted to -see me. Well, here I am. What have you got to say? I’ll give you about -thirty seconds more.” - -“Thirty seconds?” Kite echoed. “You’ll give me all the time I want. I -tell you, you’re done.” - -“What have you got to say?” - -“Go out there, and.... No, first write out for me a notice of your -withdrawal from the mayoralty fight. Then go out there and turn Lutcher -loose. If you do these two things, they’ll save you, for a while. And -nothing else in the world can save you.” - -Wint--there could be no question of this--was frightened. He was afraid -of the certainty in Kite’s manner, afraid of the mystery behind the -other’s confidence. But it is braver to appear brave when you are -frightened than when there is no fright in you; and Wint, frightened -though he might be, was yet brave. He rose. - -“Time’s up, Kite,” he said. - -Kite exclaimed: “Don’t be a fool. I don’t want to ruin you. Save -yourself, boy.” - -Wint opened the door and stepped out into the other room. - - * * * * * - -That was Thursday morning, five days before election. A fair, fine day -of the sort you will see in Hardiston in the fall. The sun was warm, the -air was crisp and dry. It was a day when simply living was pleasant; -when to draw breath was a joy. Ordinarily, Wint would have drunk this -day to the full. But there was abroad in Hardiston a whispered word; men -looked at him curiously as he passed them. No one seemed to know exactly -what was coming; yet they looked upon Wint as one looks upon a man about -to die. Kite had said nothing. From the fire-engine house he had gone -direct to his Bazaar and stayed there. One or two of his lieutenants -visited him there during the morning. - -Kite said nothing; no one had any definite word. Yet Hardiston was -whispering its guesses. Somehow the rumor had gone abroad that Wint was -done, that Kite was about to strike. There was a lively and an eager -anticipation. It is always easy to anticipate the misfortunes of others; -and there will always be those to rejoice in the imminent downfall of -one who has held himself high. Wint had enemies enough; even some of -those whom he had counted his friends looked askance at him this day. - -When he went to the Post Office for the noon mail, he encountered Hetty -on the street. Because he was thoughtful and abstracted, he spoke to her -curtly. Hetty did not speak to him at all. She turned away her head. But -Wint, already passing by, did not mark this. - -He met B. B. Beecham in the Post Office, and stopped in with B. B. at -the _Journal_ office afterward. B. B. talked pleasantly of a number of -things, till Wint could be still no longer. He asked abruptly: - -“B. B., have you heard anything?” - -The editor looked surprised. “How do you mean?” he asked. - -“What’s Kite up to?” - -B. B. said: “I don’t know. Is he up to something?” - -“He came to me before court this morning and demanded that I withdraw -from this fight and let Lutcher go.” - -“Demanded it?” - -“Yes.” - -“On what ground?” - -“He made some covert threat. He was not specific.” - -B. B. shook his head. “I hadn’t heard.” - -“Oh, no one knows this,” Wint told him. “I refused, of course, and fined -Lutcher. Now every one in town seems to know that something is going to -drop on me.” - -“What is there that he can bring against you?” - -“Not a thing. Except the old stuff. What everybody knows.” - -B. B. nodded. “I should not worry, if I were you, if there’s nothing.” - -“There isn’t anything, I tell you,” Wint exclaimed impatiently. - -“Then what can he do?” - -Wint got up, a little weary. “All right,” he said. “I thought you might -have heard.” - -B. B. shook his head. “Not a thing.” - -Wint went to Sam O’Brien’s restaurant for dinner. It was a little after -his usual hour, and there were only two or three others on the stools -before the high, scrubbed counter. O’Brien waited on Wint himself, and -Wint ate in silence, under the other’s sympathetic eye. - -When he paid for his dinner, O’Brien asked heartily: - -“Well, Wint, m’ boy, how’s tricks?” - -Wint looked up at the other and smiled wearily. “Rotten, Sam,” he said. - -O’Brien protested. “Lord, now, I’d not say that. As fine a day as it -is.” - -“I wasn’t talking about the weather,” Wint told him. “It’s just.... I -guess I’m in the dumps, Sam. I’ve got a hunch. I’ve got a hunch -something’s going to drop on me like a ton of bricks.” - -“A hunch like that is bum company,” O’Brien commented. “Where did you -get it, Wint?” - -Wint shook his head. “I don’t know.” - -“Lord, boy! You act like you’d lost your nerve, Wint.” - -Wint said: “Maybe I have.” He was terribly depressed, almost ready to -drop out and surrender. - -“You’d nerve enough when you soaked Lutcher, this morning,” Sam -reminded him. “I was proud of you, m’ son. You’ve give me many a laugh, -Wint, but I was proud o’ your cool nerve this day.” - -“Oh, I’m not worried about Lutcher.” - -“I’d not be. Him nor his. The old buzzard of a Kite, neither.” - -Wint said: “I don’t know. Kite’s got something up his sleeve.” - -“That’s as much as to say that he’s tricky. It’s these magicians that -has things up their sleeves. Full of tricks. You stick to the middle of -the road, Wint, and never mind their tricks. They’ll trick their own -selves.” - -Wint shook his head. “That’s all right. But what can I do?” - -“Do?” Sam echoed. “Why, fight ’em like that dog of yours fit Mrs. -Moody’s Jim.” He nodded to Muldoon, curled as always near Wint’s feet; -and Wint dropped his hand to Muldoon’s grizzled head. He was apt to turn -to Muldoon in trouble. The dog was his shadow, always with him; but it -was when he was troubled that Wint gave most heed to the terrier. At -Wint’s caress, Muldoon rolled his eyes up without moving his head; and -Sam said: - -“Look at him grin; the nervy pup. He’s telling you to take a brace, m’ -son. You can’t scare the dog.” - -“I’m not scared.” - -“You act damn like it,” said Sam frankly; and Wint protested: - -“It’s only that I’m sick of it all. Sick of the fight, and the -mud-throwing. And getting no thanks.” - -“Hell’s bells,” Sam exclaimed. “You talk like a woman!” - -Wint looked at him curiously. “What’s Kite up to, Sam? Have you heard?” - -“Heard some rats say he would rip you up. And I told them you’d be doing -some ripping, about that time. You’re not going to make me out a liar, -Wint. Are you now?” - -“Oh, I suppose I’ll fight.” - -He left the restaurant and walked down to Hoover’s office and secluded -himself in the back room; but his studies could not hold him. There was -a curiously passive despair upon the boy. He could not shake it off. The -whole thing seemed so little worth while. If there had been a chance to -fight.... But the peril was intangible. He could not come to grips with -it. He could not even be sure there was peril. He could not be sure of -anything. Not even of himself. He asked himself despairingly: “Are you -going to be a quitter, Wint?” And then thought hopelessly: “Oh, what’s -the use?” - -In mid-afternoon, Dick Hoover looked in and said Gergue wanted to see -Wint. Wint was surprised. “What does he want?” he asked. “Gergue?” He -got up and went to the door and saw Peter waiting; and he called: “Come -along in here.” - -Gergue came at the invitation. His hat was off; he was fumbling in the -tangle of hair at the back of his neck. There was a curiously furtive -uncertainty about the man. Wint thrust a chair toward Peter with his -foot, and said: “Sit down.” When Gergue was seated, and slicing a fill -for his pipe, Wint asked: - -“What’s on your mind?” - -Gergue looked at him sidewise, stuffing the crumbled tobacco into the -black bowl. And he asked: “Wint, where do you figure I stand?” - -Wint was surprised. “You mean--in this business between Routt and me?” - -Gergue nodded. “Yeah.” - -“Why, with Routt, I suppose,” Wint told him. - -“Why d’you figure that?” - -“You’re tied up with Amos.” - -Gergue scratched a match. “Wint,” he said, “Amos is a fine man. He does -things his own way; but in the end, he pretty near always turns out -pretty near right.” - -“Well, that’s his record,” Wint agreed. “He’s usually on the winning -side.” - -“Don’t let that get away from you,” said Gergue. “Don’t you forget that, -Wint!” - -Wint laughed harshly; and he said: “I’m not likely to. I counted on him -in this, you know.” - -Gergue leaned toward him. “Thing is, Wint, I’m wonderin’ what you’d -think if I told you something?” - -“That would depend on what you told me.” - -“Something for your own good. Help you some.” - -Wint said, amiably enough: “I want to win this fight, Peter. But--after -Amos’s stand--I don’t particularly want any help from him. I’d mistrust -it.” - -“Say this come from me, personal.” - -“You’re linked with Amos.” - -Gergue nodded resignedly. “Have it so,” he agreed. “Anyway, I’m going to -tell you.” - -Wint said: “All right. What do you want to tell?” - -Gergue hesitated for a while, choosing his words. At last he asked: “You -wondering what Kite aims to do to trim you?” - -“Yes.” - -“Got any ideas?” - -“No.” - -Gergue looked at him shrewdly. “Know any way he could hit at you?” - -“No. Not with the truth.” - -Gergue hesitated; then he asked slowly: “Know any way he could hit at -you with Hetty?” - -“Hetty?” Wint echoed. “Hetty Morfee?” - -“Yes. Her.” - -Wint was stupefied with surprise. “Good Lord, no!” - -“She got any reason to be against you?” - -“No. I--She’s friendly, I think. Ought to be.” - -Gergue puffed at his pipe. Then he got up. “Wint,” he said, “take it for -what it’s worth. I hear he’s going to hit you with her.” - -Wint exclaimed angrily: “You’re crazy, Peter. Or you’re.... Look here, -did Amos send you?” - -“No.” - -“Is this some damned trick of his?” - -“No.” - -“Well, what in God’s name are you talking about?” - -Gergue said thoughtfully: “I’ve said all I know. Think it over, Wint.” - -He went out, with a surprising quickness, and was gone before Wint could -frame other questions. The young man was left to consider the thing. - -When Wint went home for supper, he was still mystified; but he was -beginning to grow angry. Angry at the mere suggestion that lay behind -Peter’s words. Angry at Gergue for saying them. And this anger was a -more hopeful sign than his depression of the morning had been. He was -fiercely resentful at Hardiston, at the whole world. - -He met Joan, halfway home. That is to say, he overtook her on her way, -and they walked home together. He was so absorbed in his own thoughts -that he did not see there was something troubling the girl until she -spoke of it. She said: “Wint, I met Agnes Caretall uptown.” - -He nodded, scarce hearing; and Joan said: “She’s a good deal of a -gossip, you know.” - -There was something in her tone which caught his attention; and he -looked at her sharply and asked: “What do you mean? What did she say?” - -“She said Mr. Kite was going to ruin you,” Joan told him. - -Wint laughed shortly. “Well, that’s no secret. At least it’s no secret -that he wants to.” - -“She said he was going to,” Joan insisted. - -Wint asked: “How, since she knew so much, did she know how?” - -Joan touched his arm. “Don’t be angry, Wint.” - -But Wint was angry, even with Joan. He exclaimed harshly, after the -fashion of angry men: “I’m not mad. What did she say?” - -Joan told him. “She said they were going to link you up with Hetty.” - -Wint exclaimed: “Lord! You too? I’m sick of that tale. Hetty!” - -Joan begged: “But there isn’t anything, is there?” - -Wint faced her hotly. “If you don’t know without being told.... Can’t I -even count on you, Joan?” - -“I only asked.” - -They were at her gate, and Wint lifted his hat abruptly. “Think what -you like,” he told her sharply. “Good afternoon!” - -He left her there; left her, and Joan looked after him with troubled -sympathy in her eyes, and something more. There was a mist of tears in -them when she went on toward the house. - - * * * * * - -While they were at supper that night, the telephone rang, and Wint’s -father answered. After a moment he came back into the dining room. -“Wint,” he said, “it’s Kite.” - -“Kite?” Wint demanded, pushing back his chair. “What does he want?” - -“He wants to see you--and me. He says he’ll be out here at eight. He -wants us to be here.” - -Wint’s face turned black with anger; then he threw up one hand. “All -right,” he cried, “tell Kite we’ll be here.” - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - -POOR HETTY AGAIN - - -When Chase came back from the table after telling Kite that they would -expect him at the appointed time, Wint asked: - -“Did he say what he wanted?” - -Mrs. Chase exclaimed: “I don’t think you ought to have let him come, -Winthrop. I don’t want that man in my house. He--” - -Chase answered Wint. “No. Just said he wanted to see us.” He was -troubled; and he showed it. “What do you think he wants, Wint? Something -about Lutcher?” - -Wint shook his head. “I think he’s going to hit at me. Somehow. There’s -been a rumor around town all day. They say he has something.” - -Chase asked quickly: “Has he? Has he got anything on you, Wint?” - -“Not that I know of. There’s nothing he could get. Nothing to get.” He -looked at his father in a quick, appealing way. “Dad, I wish you’d just -remember that, whatever happens. You know the worst there is to know -about me. Anything else is just flat lie.” - -His father nodded abstractedly. “Of course. But Kite is confoundedly -clever. Now I wonder what he’s--” - -“I always told you, Wint, that you hadn’t any business in politics,” -Mrs. Chase exclaimed. “I don’t think it’s decent, the way men talk about -each other. Why, Mrs. Hullis told me that Jack Routt is going around -saying the most terrible things about you. That you--” - -“I know, mother. That’s Jack’s idea of a campaign. We’ll show him his -mistake next Tuesday.” - -“But he says that you--” - -“Now, mother,” her husband interrupted, “never mind. Wint, did you hear -anything definite about Kite? What he’s planning....” - -Wint hesitated; he had heard something definite. Definite but -incredible. That which he had heard could not possibly be true; he could -not believe it. To tell his father would only disturb the older man; he -could not be sure how Chase would react to the report. He held his -tongue. “No, nothing definite,” he said. - -“Is he’s coming to see you about it, he must have something.” - -Wint got up from the table. “Well,” he said abruptly, “we’ll soon know. -It’s after seven, now.” - -They went into the sitting room to wait; and the waiting was hard. Wint -tried to read the daily; his father took a book from the shelves. But -Wint’s eyes strayed from the printed columns. He was in a curiously numb -state of mind. This was part hopelessness, part the sheer suspense of -waiting. Wint was one of those men who in their moments of greatest -passion and excitement become outwardly serene and calm. Their own -emotions put a physical inhibition on them so that they are still, and -do not speak. Once or twice Chase glanced toward his son and saw Wint -motionless, apparently absorbed, apparently quite at ease. But actually -Wint was stirring to the throbbing of his heart, held still by the very -fury of his own dread and anger and suspense. - -At fifteen minutes before eight, some one knocked on the front door. -Wint said: “There he is,” and got up and went to the door; but when he -opened it, Jack Routt stood there. Wint was surprised; he said slowly: - -“Oh, you, Jack?” - -Routt nodded, a little ill at ease. “Is Kite here?” he asked. - -“No. He’s coming.” - -Routt smiled ingratiatingly. “I don’t know what he wants. He told me to -meet him here about eight, to have a talk with you.” - -“Told you to?” - -“Yes. I asked him what he meant; and he said to wait. I supposed he had -made arrangements with you.” - -Wint said dully: “Yes, he has. He’s coming.” And after a moment, he -added: “You might as well come in.” - -Routt grinned. “You’re damned cordial,” he remarked. - -“Oh, that’s all right,” Wint assured him abstractedly. He was thinking -so swiftly that he seemed stupefied. His father came into the hall, and -Wint said: “Here’s Jack Routt. Kite told him to come.” - -Chase looked at Routt uncertainly; and Routt said: “I’ll get out if you -say so.” - -Wint shook his head. “No. Sit down. Go on in.” - -They went into the sitting room; but before they could sit down, some -one else knocked. This time it was B. B. Beecham. He stood in the door -when Wint opened it, and smiled, and said: - -“I’m not sure I understand, Wint. V. R. Kite telephoned me there was to -be some sort of a conference here, about a matter for the good of -Hardiston. I thought it curious that the word should come from him.” - -Wint laughed harshly. “All right, come in,” he said. “I don’t know any -more about it than you do. I suppose Kite thought it would be cheaper to -use our house than to hire a hall.” - -B. B. said simply: “I don’t want to inconvenience you.” - -“Come in,” Wint repeated. “I’m up in the air, that’s all. Routt’s here -already. Kite will be along, I suppose.” - -“Routt?” B. B. echoed, in surprise. - -“Yes; in there.” - -Wint and B. B. went into the sitting room where Chase and Routt were -talking awkwardly. After the first greetings, no one could think of -anything more to say. B. B. broke the silence. “I saw a robin to-day,” -he said. “They stay here, sometimes, right through the winter.” - -Birds and flowers were B. B.’s hobbies; he knew them all. And other -people recognized this interest in him, and shared it. They liked his -enthusiasm. Chase said: “Is that so? I had no idea they stayed. It -doesn’t seem to me I ever saw one in winter.” - -“They live in the sheltered places,” said B. B. “You’ll find them in the -woods, and the brushy hollows, and around houses where there is a good -deal of shrubbery. Especially if the people put out a lump of suet for -them to feed on.” - -“Why, everybody ought to do that,” Chase declared, with a quick -interest. “You ought to tell them to, in the _Journal_, B. B.” - -B. B. smiled and said he was telling people just this, every week. He -spoke of other birds. Chase seemed interested. Routt and Wint said -nothing. Routt seemed uncomfortable; and that was a strange thing to see -in this assured young man. Wint’s eyes were lowered; he was thinking. -Lost in a maze of conjectures. Kite would be coming, any minute now. - -B. B. was still talking about birds when Kite came. Wint heard footsteps -on the walk in front of the house, heard them come up the steps. There -were several men. Not Kite alone. The sounds told him that. He waited, -sitting still, till they knocked on the front door. Then he went out -into the hall and opened the door and saw Kite standing there, his dry -little face triumphant, malignantly rejoicing. - -Wint looked at Kite steadily for a moment; and then he lifted his eyes -and saw, behind Kite, Amos Caretall. And at one side, Ed Skinner of the -_Sun_. He had thought there were others. But he saw no one else. - -Kite stepped inside the door. Skinner and Amos stood still till Wint -asked: “Well--what is it?” - -Kite said then: “Come in, Amos. You too, Ed.” - -Amos, his big head on one side, his eyes squinting in a friendly way, -drawled a question: “How about it, Wint? Kite says he’s got something to -talk over. Asked me to come along. But I don’t allow he’s got any right -to ask me into your house.” - -“Come in, Amos. Both of you,” Wint said; and Kite repeated: - -“Yes, come in. I know what I’m talking about. This young man isn’t -likely to object.” - -“All right, Wint?” Amos asked again; and Wint nodded, and Amos lumbered -into the hall. Then Chase came to the door that led from the sitting -room into the hall; and at sight of Amos, he stopped very still, with a -white face. Wint crossed to his father’s side and told him quietly: - -“It’s all right. Kite brought him. It’s all right, dad.” - -Chase exclaimed: “How do I know it’s all right? I don’t understand all -this mystery. Kite, by what right do you use my house for a meeting -place? What is all this, anyway? What is the idea, Kite?” - -Kite smiled his dry and mirthless smile; and he said mockingly: “Do not -fret yourself, Chase. Our concern is with this young man, with Wint. You -shall hear.” He was stripping off his overcoat in a business-like way. -This was Kite’s big hour, and he meant to make the most of it. He -dropped the coat on the seat in the hall; and Amos and Ed Skinner -imitated him; and Kite said briskly, rubbing his hands: - -“Now, then, where can we have our little talk?” - -Chase looked at Wint uncertainly; and Wint, still held by that curious -inhibition which made his voice level and low, said quietly: - -“The sitting room. Come in, gentlemen.” - -There were not chairs enough for them in the sitting room. Wint went -into the dining room for another, and found his mother there, putting -away the dishes. She asked in a whisper: - -“Who is it, Wint? Mr. Kite?” - -Wint nodded. “Yes, mother. Several men. You’d better go upstairs the -back way.” - -He was so steady that she was reassured; he did not seem excited or -disturbed. Yet was there something about him that made her think of a -hurt and weary little boy; and she laughed softly, and put her arm -around him and made him kiss her. He did so, patting her head; and then -he said: - -“There, mother. Run along.” - -She went out toward the kitchen, and Wint took the chair he had come for -into the other room. He found the others all sitting down. Amos had -slumped into the biggest and the easiest chair in the room. B. B. sat -straight in the straightest chair, his round, firm hands clasped on his -knees. B. B.’s legs were short and chubby; and his lap was barely big -enough to hold his clasped hands. Ed Skinner and Chase were on the -couch at one side of the room. Routt sat on the piano stool, twirling -slowly back and forth through a six-inch arc. Kite, in the manner of a -presiding officer, had pulled his chair to the table in the middle of -the room and sat there very stiffly, his head held high in that -ridiculous likeness to a turkey. - -Wint placed his chair just inside the door, and sat down. He and Kite -were the only composed persons in the room. B. B. looked acutely -embarrassed and uncomfortable; Chase was angry; Skinner was nervous; -Routt’s ease was palpably assumed. And Amos was fumbling uncertainly -with his black old pipe. He asked, when Wint came in: - -“Your mother mind smoke in her sitting room?” - -Wint said: “No; go ahead.” He filled his own pipe, and Amos sliced a -fill from his plug and deliberately prepared his smoke and lighted it. -Kite seemed in no hurry to begin. He had taken a letter or two and a -slip of paper from his pockets and was studying them in silence. Wint -thought he recognized that slip of paper. A check.... It seemed to him -that a cold hand clutched his throat. He felt a sick sense of the -hopelessness of it all; a sick despair. Not so much on his own account. - -Kite at last looked around the room, and said importantly: - -“Well, gentlemen!” - -Wint’s father could be still no longer. He cried: “See here, Kite, -what’s all this tomfoolery? What’s this nonsense? It’s an outrage. Be -quick, or be gone. I’ve no time to waste.” - -Kite looked at Chase; and then he looked at Wint and asked maliciously: -“Do you bid me be gone, too, young man?” - -Wint shook his head. “Say what you have to say,” he suggested; and there -was a great weariness in his voice. - -Kite nodded. “I mean to.” And to Chase: “You see, the young man -understands it is in his interest to handle this thing among ourselves.” - -“To handle what thing?” Chase demanded. Kite cleared his throat. - -“A matter,” he said importantly, “that concerns first of all the good -name of Hardiston. A matter that concerns, very intimately, the good -name of your son. A matter that will be decisive in the mayoralty -campaign now pending. A matter--” His poise suddenly gave way before the -fierce rush of his exultation; and he cried: “A matter that will stop -this damned Sunday-school nonsense of denying grown men the right to do -as they please. That’s what it is, by God! A matter that will show up -this young hypocrite in his true light. If I were not merciful, I would -have spread it before the town long ago.” - -He stopped abruptly, looking from one to the other as though challenging -them to deny that he was merciful. No one denied it. B. B. cleared his -throat; and the sound was startling in the silence that had followed -Kite’s words. Amos puffed slowly at his pipe and squinted across the -room at Wint. Wint said nothing. He had scarce heard what Kite said; he -was curiously abstracted, as though all this did not concern him. He was -like a spectator, looking on. - -Chase looked at his son; and there was fear in the man’s eyes. For Kite -was so terribly confident. Chase looked at his son, expecting Wint to -make denial, to defend himself. But Wint said nothing; Wint did not lift -his eyes from the floor. He only puffed slowly and indolently at his -pipe, moving not at all. - -Kite cleared his throat again; and his dry little eyes were gleaming. - -“I have given this matter some thought,” he said. “Some thought, since -the facts came into my hands. And I must confess, at first they seemed -incredible. I made investigations, I was forced to believe--the whole, -black story.” He paused again. He wanted some one to question him, but -no one spoke. He went on: - -“My first impulse was to cry the truth to the whole town. But I held my -hand. I went to the city for the final proof. Got it. And when I came -back, it was to find that this young man had caused the arrest of one of -my friends, Lutcher, on a ridiculous liquor charge. Simply because -Radabaugh discovered Lutcher and three others engaged in a game of -cards, drinking as they had a right to do. - -“I was indignant; but even then I was merciful. I wanted to give this -young man a chance; and I went to him and offered him the chance to save -himself.” - -He paused, moved one of his hands as though to brush the possibility -aside. “But it is unnecessary for me to tell you that his chief trait is -a blind and unreasoning stubbornness. It betrayed him, on this occasion. -He rejected my offer; refused to take the easy way out. - -“That was this morning. I considered. My chief concern was for the good -name of Hardiston; that such a man should not be chosen Mayor. This -seemed to me the simplest and least painful way to arrange his -withdrawal. So I asked you to come here.” - -Amos drawled from the depths of his chair: “Did you fetch us here to -talk us to death, Kite?” - -Kite smiled bitterly. “No, Amos. Be patient.” - -Chase was watching Wint, still with that desperate hope in his eyes. -They were all watching Wint; but Wint was looking at the floor, -following with his eyes the pattern in the rug. This was the end. He had -just about decided that. There was in him no more will to fight. He had -been a good Mayor. If they didn’t want to re-elect him--that was their -affair. He would do no more. He had a sick sense of betrayal. His lips -twisted in a bitter little smile. - -Kite addressed him directly. “So, young man, we want your withdrawal -from the mayoralty race. And this whole matter will end right here.” - -Wint still did not lift his head. His father thought the boy was shamed; -and his heart was torn. Kite asked sharply: “Come! What do you say?” - -Wint looked at Kite, then, for the first time; looked at him with a -slow, steady, incurious gaze that made Kite twist in his chair. And he -repeated, in a low voice: - -“You want me to withdraw?” - -“Exactly. Now.” - -Wint shook his head gently. “No,” he said, “I won’t withdraw.” - -Kite threw up one clenched fist in a furious gesture. “By God, if you -don’t you’ll be run out of town!” - -“I’m in the fight,” said Wint steadily. He spoke so low they could -scarce hear him. “I’m in the fight. I’ll stay.” - -“Then I’ll smash you, flat as a pancake. You young fool.” - -“Kite,” Wint murmured gently. “I don’t give a damn what you do. I’m in -to stay.” - -Kite banged his fist on the table. “Then the whole story comes out.” - -“Let it come,” said Wint. - -“You mean you want me to tell these men here? The black shame?” - -“Yes,” Wint assented. “Tell them anything you please.” He lowered his -eyes again, resumed his study of the carpet, puffed at his pipe. Kite -stared at the boy’s bent head as though he could not believe his eyes, -or his ears. He had counted so surely on Wint’s surrender; he had been -so sure that Wint would yield. - -But Wint.... The fool sat there, passively defying him; daring him. -Kite’s face twisted with a sudden furious grimace. He jerked back his -head. So be it. He flung defiant eyes around the room; he said abruptly, -curtly: - -“Very well. Here it is. This young rip is the father of Hetty Morfee’s -child.” - -There was a moment’s terrible silence in the room. Then Jack Routt -cried: “Good Lord, Kite, that can’t be! Wint’s a decent chap.” - -Kite snapped at him: “Can’t be? It is. Here’s the very check he gave -her, to go away.” He shook the slip of paper in the air. “What do you -say to that?” - -“I don’t believe it,” Routt insisted. “I’ve known Wint too long.” He got -up and strode across and gripped Wint’s shoulder. “Tell him it’s a -damned lie, Wint,” he begged. - -Wint looked up at Routt with slow, steady eyes; and Routt, after a -moment, could not meet them. He turned back to Kite, protesting Wint’s -innocence. Their wrangling voices jangled in the silence. B. B. -pretended not to hear, stared straight ahead of him. Ed Skinner twisted -uneasily where he sat. Amos, deep in his chair, was watching Wint; and -Wint’s father was watching Wint, too. Watching his son with a desperate, -beseeching look in his eyes. - -Wint did not see; he was looking at the floor; and he was thinking of -Hetty, thinking what this would mean to her. That which had come to her -was already guessed at, in Hardiston; now every one would know beyond -need of guessing. She would be outcast; no saving her; but one black -road ahead. For the thing would be believed. He knew that. People had -been ready to believe before this; ready to accept the mere rumor. His -own father, his own mother.... This had been their first thought when he -wished to help Hetty. Joan.... She had sought to question him. Yes, they -would believe. Every one. - -He was not angry at them for their credulity; he pitied them. That they -should be so malignant, and so blind. He was quite calm, not at all -sorry for himself. Sorry for them. And most of all, he was sorry for -Hetty. He had always liked Hetty; a good girl, give her a chance. The -stuff of good womanhood in her. Blasted now.... He wished he might find -a way to help her. Some way.... - -A word from Kite to Routt cut through his thoughts. “If you won’t -believe me,” Kite exclaimed, “will you believe her?” - -“Hetty never said this,” Routt protested; and Kite got up and went -swiftly out into the hall, saying over his shoulder: - -“Just a minute, then.” - -Every one looked toward the door, listening. They heard Kite open the -front door and call: - -“Lutcher.” - -A man answered, outside. Kite asked: “Is she there?” The man said: - -“Yes.” - -“Send her in,” Kite directed. And they heard the sound of moving feet. - -So she had been waiting there, all this time, with Lutcher. Wint thought -she must have been miserably unhappy as she waited. When he heard her -step in the hall, he looked up and saw her. Her eyes met his for an -instant; and Wint was curiously stirred by the pitiful appeal in them. -As though she begged him to forgive.... Then her eyes left his. She came -in and stood, just inside the door. Kite said: - -“Sit down.” He gave her his own chair, by the table. The girl moved -apathetically across the room and took the chair. Kite looked down at -her. - -“Now, Hetty,” he said, in the tone of one who questions a child. “I have -been telling them what you told me. They think I am lying. Am I lying?” - -She shook her head slowly; and Kite looked from man to man triumphantly. -Routt cried: - -“Hetty, you don’t understand. He said Wint was your--your baby’s father? -That’s not true. It can’t be.” - -She looked at Routt; and there was a somber light in her eyes. She said, -in a low, steady voice: - -“Yes. Sure it’s true.” - -Her eyes remained on Routt. He stepped back as though she had struck -him. Wint raised his head and looked around the room; saw Amos squinting -at his pipe; saw B. B. ill at ease, and Skinner squirming; saw his -father white and shaken in his seat. Then Routt turned to him, -exclaiming: - -“Wint, for God’s sake.... You heard what she said.” - -Wint hardly knew himself; he was, suddenly and surprisingly, very calm, -and happy with an anguished happiness of renunciation. The old stubborn, -prideful Wint would have denied, have fought, have sworn. But Wint -looked at Hetty; he was terribly sorry for her. He surrendered himself -to a great and splendid magnanimity. - -“Yes,” he told Routt. “I heard.” - -“But it’s a lie!” - -Wint got up slowly, looked around the room, studied them all; and he -smiled. “Hetty would not lie about me,” he said. “She and I have always -been friends. We are going to be married, right away.” - -He held them a moment more with his steady gaze; they were frozen, every -man. And then he looked at Hetty, and saw her eyes widen pitifully, and -saw her face twist with anguish. And he smiled reassuringly, and he -said: “It’s all right, Hetty. Truly. Don’t be afraid.” - -While they were still motionless, he turned and went quietly into the -hall. Muldoon had been dozing under his chair; the dog scrambled up now -and followed him. Wint got his hat and went out of the house, Muldoon -upon his heels. - -In the room he had left, every man was very still. Only poor Hetty -crumpled slowly in her chair; and she dropped her head in her arms upon -the table and began to cry, with great, gasping sobs. And she whispered -to herself, so harshly that they all could hear: - -“My God! My God! Oh, my God!” - -END OF BOOK V - - - - -BOOK VI - -VICTORY - - - - -CHAPTER I - -THE WEAVER HOUSE AGAIN - - -There is a dramatist hidden in every one of us. We like to cast -ourselves as heroes, as heroines, as villains of the piece. Make-believe -is one of the fundamental instincts. It is human nature to construct a -drama about our lives; it is also very human to seize dramatic -situations. - -There was a good deal of the dramatic in Wint. When he left his home -that night, Muldoon at his heels, he was acutely conscious that his life -was broken. He had lost everything. He had lost father, and mother; and -he had lost Joan. They were irrevocably gone. Furthermore, he was beaten -in his fight. There could be no question of this. Hardiston would -overwhelm him. There was left for him in this world--nothing. - -Wint was enough of a boy to take a keen delight in the tragedy of this; -he was enough of a boy--or enough of a dramatist, for the two things are -in many ways the same--to emphasize his situation, bring out the high -lights, vest it in the trappings of drama. He did not think of himself -as a hero, for having sacrificed everything for Hetty; he did not think -of that phase of the situation at all. He had done that because it was -the inevitable consequence of events. It was the only thing he could do. -He took no credit to himself for the doing. But he did picture himself -as broken or destroyed; and as he walked, more or less aimlessly, it was -natural that his thoughts should cast back through the months to those -other days when he had fallen low. Thus he remembered the Weaver House, -and Mrs. Moody. - -There seemed to him something appropriate and fitting in the idea of -returning to the Weaver House this night. He had risen out of it; he -would return to it. It was in such surroundings, now, that he belonged. - -He turned that way. - -It was no more than nine o’clock in the evening, or perhaps a little -later, when Wint left his home. The day had been fine; the night was -clear, and there was a moon. It was pleasant to be abroad on such a -night. Wint took a leisurely course that brought him through the last -fringes of houses above the railroad yards; and he followed the tag end -of a street down the hill to the flats covered with slack and cinders. -In the light of day, this was a hideous place, black and begrimed. But -the moon could glorify even this. It painted blue shadows everywhere; it -laid streaks of silver light along the rails; it touched a pool of -water, a puddle here and there, and under the touch the water became -quicksilver, alive and beautiful. A switching engine moved down the -yard, and when the fire-man twitched open the door to replenish the -fires, the glare shone in a pale glow upon his figure and back upon the -tender. The long strings of cars, box cars with open doors, or coal cars -loaded high, took on a beauty of their own in the night; and the winking -switch lamps were like jewels, like rubies and emeralds shining in the -moon. - -He had to climb between two freight cars, on his way across the yard; -and Muldoon scurried underneath them. Wint grimed his hands on the cars, -and rubbed them together, cleansing them as well as he could, while he -went on. He picked his way across the tracks, past the roundhouse where -a locomotive slumbered hissingly, and on into the fringes of the -locality where the Weaver House awaited him. - -It is the custom in Hardiston that when the moon is full, be it cloudy -or clear, the street lamps are not lighted. Thus the street along which -Wint took his way was illuminated only by the moon. On either side, the -dingy, squalid houses stood, with a flicker of light from one and -another where those who dwelt within were still awake. A little later, -he passed a store or two, and turned a corner, and so came to the hotel. - -Something prompted him to stop outside and look in through the dirty -window glass. It was so light outside, and the lamp inside furnished -such a meager illumination, that Mrs. Moody saw him at the window; and -she took him for some wandering ne’er-do-well, and came scolding to the -door. “Be off,” she cried, before she saw who it was. “Get away from -there.” - -Muldoon snarled at her; and Wint said: “Quiet, boy,” and to the woman: -“It’s me. Wint Chase.” - -She came out and peered up at him; and he saw her horribly even teeth -shine like silver between her cracked old lips. “You, is it?” she -exclaimed aggressively. “Well, and you don’t need to come a-snooping -around here. We’re lawful folks, here. And you know it. So you can just -go along.” - -He said: “I came for lodging;” and she backed away. - -“Eh?” she asked. - -“For lodging,” he repeated. “Can you give me a room?” - -“What’s the matter with you, anyhow?” she demanded. “You had a fight -with your paw again?” She was still aggressively and suspiciously on -guard. He laughed, and said whimsically: - -“Come; you wouldn’t turn an old friend out. Let me have a room.” - -So she thawed, became her old, meanly ingratiating self. - -“Why, deary,” she protested, “you know old Mother Moody never turned a -man away. You come right in now. Come right in where it’s warm. Did you -say you’d had a scrap with your paw?” - -Wint went before her into the office of the squalid hotel. Muldoon kept -close to his heels; and Jim, Mrs. Moody’s dog, growled from beneath the -table. Mrs. Moody squalled at him: - -“You, Jim, be still.” - -Wint looked around him; it was curious to find the place so little -changed. A train clanked past on the track that flanked the hotel. He -could almost hear the gurgle of the muddy waters of the creek behind. -The office itself was lighted, as it had always been, by a single oil -lamp. It did not seem to Wint that this lamp had been cleaned since he -was here before. It stood on the square old table in the corner, where -the wall benches ran along two sides. The dog slept under this table; -and the boy--the same boy--was leaning his elbows on the table by the -lamp and poring with mumbling lips over a tattered, paper-backed tale. -This boy’s clothes were still too small; his wrists stuck out from his -sleeves, his neck reared itself bare and gaunt above the collar of the -coat. There was a strange and pitiful atmosphere of age and experience -about him. - -There was one change in the room, as Wint saw when he had persuaded Mrs. -Moody to leave him to his own devices, and she had gone to her chair -behind the high counter that had been a bar. This change lay in the fact -that one of the two old checker players was no longer here. The other -sat on the wall bench in the corner behind the table; the disused -checkerboard lay before him. He was asleep, with sagging head, his -occupation gone. His white beard was stained an ugly brown below his -mouth. Wint wondered if the other old man were dead. Perhaps. - -He did not wish to be alone, just then; he wanted companionship, -friendly and impersonal. So he sat down beside the boy, and filled his -pipe, and lighted it, and asked amiably: - -“What are you reading, son?” - -The boy was too absorbed to answer. He brushed at his ear with his hand -as though a fly buzzed there, and turned a dogeared page. But the sound -of Wint’s voice so near him woke the old man; he stirred, opened his -eyes, looked all about. And he reached across and laid a hand like a -claw on Wint’s arm. - -“Play checkers?” he asked hoarsely. “Play checkers, do you?” - -“A little,” Wint said. - -“I’ll play you,” the old man challenged. “I’m a good player. I always -was. Played all my life. Played every night, right here at this table, -with the best player in the county, for seven years.” His skinny old -hands were feverishly arranging the pieces, while Wint took his place by -the board. “I beat him, too,” the old man boasted. “Beat him lots of -times. He’d say so himself. He would, but he had to go and die.” There -was resentment in his voice, as at a personal wrong. He said curtly: -“Your move,” and spoke no more. - -Wint moved, the old man countered. On Wint’s fifth move--he was an -indifferent player--the old man cackled gleefully. “That beats you,” he -cried. “Heh, heh, heh! That beats you, now.” - -It did; and Wint lost the next game, and the next, as easily. His -success put the old man in the best of humor. He laughed much between -games, studying the board with fixed intensity while the play was in -progress. Wint watched the old man as much as he watched the board; he -studied the old fellow, with a curiously wistful eye. This old wreck of -manhood had been a boy once; a baby once, in a mother’s arms. No doubt -she had dreamed dreams for him. Dreamed he might be President, some day. -Might be anything.... This is one of the things that makes babies -fascinating; their potentialities. There is no greater gamble than to -bring a baby into the world. Wint, considering this, thought of Hetty’s -baby. The baby that had died. As well, perhaps. Otherwise, it might have -come, some day, to playing checkers in the Weaver House. He put the -thought aside abruptly. At least, it would have lived. Even this old man -had lived. No doubt life had been reasonably sweet to him till his -antagonist died. “Had to go and die....” - -The old man accused him. “You ain’t trying to play, young fellow. Now -don’t you go easy on me. I’ll show you some things.” And Wint gave more -of his attention to the game. - -He was playing when the door opened and Jack Routt came in; he did not -look around till Jack exclaimed behind him: “Wint! By God, I thought -you’d be here!” - -He looked up then, and said: “Hello, Jack,” in a calm voice, and went on -with his play. Routt dropped on the seat beside him and caught his arm. - -“Here, Wint,” he protested, “I want to talk to you. Where’d you pick up -that old duck? Listen. I want to.... Let’s go outside.” - -Wint said: “Wait till we finish the game.” The old man seemed -unconscious of Routt’s presence; and when Routt spoke again, Wint bade -him be quiet, and wait. Only when the game was done did he rise. To the -old man he said: “Thanks. We’ll have another game. I’ll beat you yet.” - -The other protested jealously at his going; but Wint said he must. Then, -to Routt: “Come upstairs.” - -“Have you got a room?” Routt asked, amazed; and Wint said: - -“Yes.” And he went toward the stair. Routt followed him. - -Mrs. Moody had given Wint that same dingy room in which he had spent the -night of his election. They went there, and Wint bade Routt sit down. -Routt sat on the bed; Wint stood indolently by the door. Routt exclaimed -at once: - -“Wint, I want you to know this wasn’t my doing. You could have knocked -me flat. I’m sorry as hell.” - -“Of course,” Wint agreed. - -“I want to know if there isn’t some way we can fix it up,” Routt urged. -“There must be something we can do. Some damned thing.” - -“There’s nothing to fix,” Wint told him. - -“Nothing to fix? Good God!” Routt shifted his position, reached into his -pocket. “My Lord, but I’m knocked out. Shaky. I’ve got to have a drink. -Mind?” - -“Go ahead.” - -Routt produced a flask. He held it toward Wint. “Have a slug?” Wint -shook his head. Routt drank, again asked: “Sure you won’t?” Wint said: - -“No.” - -“If I were in your shoes,” said Routt, with the flask still open in his -hand, “I’d want to soak myself in it. A good, stiff drunk. There are -times when nothing else is any good.” - -“I used to think so,” Wint agreed. - -Routt took a second drink, wiped his mouth, screwed the cap on the flask -and put it in his pocket. “If you want any, say the word,” he suggested. -“Now, Wint, what are we going to do?” - -Wint, leaning quietly against the wall, stirred a little. “I’m going to -tell you something, Routt,” he said. - -“Tell me? What?” - -“This,” Wint went on gently, eyes a little wistful. “This. That I--know -you now. At last.” - -Routt sat for an instant very still; then he got to his feet. “Wint, -what do you mean?” - -“I thought you were my--friend,” said Wint. “Stuck to that thought. -People warned me. Amos, and father; and--Joan. Said you were not--my -friend. But I believed you were.” - -“Damn it, I am your friend.” - -“I’m not sorry I held to you as long as I could,” Wint went on -impassively. “It’s a good thing to have faith, even in--false friends. -But--I know you now, Routt. You’ve made me drunk, played on the worst in -me, slandered me, tricked me, played your part in this black thing -to-night.” He hesitated, and Routt started to speak, but Wint cut in. - -“Are you--responsible for Hetty, Jack?” he asked. - -“Am I?” Routt demanded. “Why, damn you, you said yourself....” - -“If I thought you were,” Wint told him evenly. “If I thought you had -done that to her.... She was a nice girl. Clean. I think I’d take you by -the throat, Routt, and kill you here.” - -Routt cried angrily: “You’re crazy. What the hell! You said yourself -that you....” - -“In fact,” Wint told him, “unless you go away, I am going to hurt -you--even now. Without being sure. Hurt you as badly as I can.” - -Routt started to speak; then Wint’s eyes caught his and silenced him. He -stood for a moment, staring at the other. - -And his eyes fell. He looked around gropingly for his hat, and he put it -on. He went past Wint at the door; and he went past quickly, as though -afraid of what Wint might do. - -He went along the hall and down the stairs without speaking again. - -Wint, left alone, stood still where he was for a time; then he stirred -himself and began to prepare for bed. He moved slowly, indolently. -Stripped off coat and collar, sat down to unlace his shoes. After a -while, he crossed and opened the window. He felt, somehow, infinitely -cleaner, healthier, since he had put Jack Routt out of his life. He felt -as though he had washed smears of grime from his hands. - -Yet there was a certain loneliness upon him, too; for he had lost one -whom he had counted a friend. - -After a while, he went to bed and slept peacefully enough till dawn. - - - - -CHAPTER II - -A BRIGHTER CHAPTER - - -The crowded events of the evening before had wearied Wint more than he -knew; his sleep was dreamless and profound, and he might not have waked -till midday if it had not been for Muldoon. The dog slept beside Wint’s -bed; but at the first glint of day, it became restless; and when the sun -rose, Muldoon got up and walked stiffly across to the open window and -propped his feet on the sill and looked out. The slight sound of his -nails on the bare floor disturbed Wint, and he turned in his sleep; and -Muldoon came back to the bed to see what was the matter. Wint’s arm was -hanging over the side of the bed, and Muldoon licked his master’s hand. -Which woke Wint effectually enough. - -He opened his eyes, and at first he could not remember where he was. The -dingy room.... He stared up at the cracked and broken ceiling. At one -place, a patch of plaster had fallen, leaving the laths bare. It took -Wint some little time to recognize his surroundings. But at last he -remembered. He sat up on the edge of the bed, rumpling Muldoon’s ears -with his right hand, and looked around. - -The room contained, besides the bed, a chair and a wardrobe. His clothes -were on the chair. The sagging doors of the wardrobe hung open. There -was nothing inside the decrepit thing. His eyes wandered toward the -mantel. The cracked old mirror still hung there. His eyes fell to the -floor, and he marked the charred place near the hearth, burned there -that night of his election when at sight of his own image in the mirror -he had smashed the lamp in a fury of shame. He remembered that night, -now, and he smiled a little whimsically. It seemed his fortunes were -always to be bound up with this dingy room. - -Muldoon, disturbed by Wint’s long silence, looked up at his master, and -barked, under his breath, uneasily. Wint took the dog’s head in both -his hands and shook it gently back and forth. “What’s the matter, pup?” -he asked affectionately. “What’s on your mind? What are you fussing -about, anyhow? What have you got to fuss about, I’d like to know? Come.” - -Muldoon twisted himself free, and he snarled. It was a part of the game. -Then he flung himself forward and pinned Wint’s right hand and held it, -growling. Wint took him by the scruff of the neck and lifted the dog -into his lap; and Muldoon’s solid body accommodated itself to Wint’s -knees and he lay there, perfectly contented. - -“You stuck around, didn’t you, boy?” Wint asked, his voice a little -wistful. “The rest of them didn’t give a hoot for Wint; but you stuck -around. Eh? The rest of them didn’t care. ‘Get out. Good enough for -him.’ That’s what they’d say. But not you, eh, Muldoon? You stuck. Even -Jack Routt. Even Jack came only to offer me booze. And the rest of them -didn’t come at all. Only you, pup. You and I, now. But we’ll show them -some things. Eh?” - -Muldoon rolled his eyes up at Wint and said nothing; and Wint lifted the -dog from his knees to the bed. “There, take a nap while I’m dressing,” -he said. “Then we’ll be moving on.” - -The dog stayed obediently on the bed; and Wint dressed, moving quietly -to and fro. He did not hurry. He was possessed by an easy indolence. -There seemed to be nothing in the world worth hurrying for. He was not -unhappy; he whistled a little, as he dressed. But once or twice he -remembered that his father had let him go without a word, and he winced -at the thought. And once or twice he remembered that he had no friend -now, anywhere, save Muldoon; and that was not pleasant remembering. - -But for the most part, he put a good face on life. “After all, pup,” he -told Muldoon, “thing’s can’t be any worse. So they’re bound to get -better. And we’ll just play that hunch for all it’s worth. Why not? Eh?” - -Muldoon had no objections; he wagged the stump of his tail and opened -his jaws and laughed, dog-fashion, tongue hanging happily. Wint grinned -at him, and sat down to tie his shoes. - -Save for collar and coat, he was fully dressed when he heard through the -open door the voice of some one who had come into the office of the -Weaver House, downstairs. The voice was unmistakable. The newcomer was -Amos; and when Wint realized this, he stood very still, and his face -turned a little white. He waited without moving. There was nothing else -to do. - -He heard Amos and some one else coming up the stairs, guided by Mrs. -Moody. “Right along here,” the old dame was saying. “Always the same -room. I always give him the best. That’s the kind of a gentleman he is, -when he comes to old Mother Moody. Right here, now.” - -In the doorway she said: “Here’s the Congressman to see you, deary.” And -she stood aside to let Amos come in. Wint saw that B. B. Beecham was -with Amos, on the other’s heels. He watched them, steady enough by this -time. He wondered what they had come for. To triumph? That would not be -like B. B. Nor like Amos. - -Amos turned and told Mrs. Moody to go. “And thank you, ma’am,” he said. -She went away, a little reluctantly. She was a curious old woman; she -liked to know what went on in her hostelry. But--Amos had, when he -chose, a commanding tone. When she was gone, he turned and looked at -Wint, head on one side, squinting good-humoredly; and he said: - -“Well, Wint, how’s tricks?” - -Wint hesitated; then he said: “Good morning, both of you.” - -Amos nodded. B. B. said: “Good morning.” - -Wint looked around at the sparse furnishings of the room. “You’ve caught -me early,” he said. “I’m not dressed yet.” And he added: “I can’t offer -you both a chair, because there’s only one chair.” - -“Me,” said Amos, “I’ll sit on the bed. B. B., sit down.” - -Wint remained on his feet. “Well,” he asked, a challenge in his voice, -“what’s on your mind?” - -Amos leaned back against the wall and began to fill his pipe. “Nothing -much, Wint,” he said slowly. “We come down here principally to shake you -by the hand. Don’t let me forget t’ do it, before I go.” - -His tone was friendly and reassuring. Wint wondered just what he meant. -He smiled a little, and said: “All right.” - -“Thought you might be glad to see your friends,” Amos added; and Wint -said, with lips a little white: - -“I would be.” - -“Well,” Amos told him. “Here’s two of us.” - -Wint looked at the Congressman; and he looked at B. B. B. B. said -quietly: “That was a fine thing you did last night, Wint.” - -Wint flushed, as though he were ashamed of what he had done. “I don’t -understand this,” he said, a little impatiently. “What do you want? Out -with it!” - -Amos said: “Want to help you, any way we can.” - -Wint’s eyes narrowed, and he flung out a hand. “You’re too darned -mysterious, Amos.” - -Amos lighted his pipe. “Well, Wint, I don’t aim to be,” he declared. -“I’m talking straight as I know. B. B. and me are on your side; that’s -all. We’re taking orders from you. We do anything you say.” - -Wint laughed, a sudden, harsh laugh. “I’ve heard they give a condemned -man anything he wants--the last morning,” he exclaimed. - -Amos nodded. “Yes, I’ve heard tell o’ that. But what’s that got to do -with this?” - -“Plain enough, I should think.” - -“You don’t count yourself a condemned man; now, do you?” - -“I should think so.” - -Amos shook his head doubtfully. “And here I thought you said last night -you didn’t aim to quit.” - -“I don’t. But I’ll be snowed under--now. Of course.” - -“Well,” said Amos, “that may be so. I ain’t sure. Gergue will know, time -he’s talked around a spell. Prob’ly you are--are beat. But I’ve seen men -beat before that turned out pretty strong in the end.” He added slowly: -“Anyway, licked or unlicked, I’m on your side, Wint. And always was.” - -Wint stared at him with a curious, threatening light in his eyes. -“What’s the idea? You turned me down cold, in public. Now you come -whining around....” - -“I’m not whining, Wint,” said Amos cheerfully. “Do you think I’m -whining, B. B.?” - -B. B. smiled. “Congressman Caretall has his own methods, Wint. I know he -seemed to be against you; but I also know that he’s been secretly -working for you, that every vote he can swing will go to you. He’s been -passing that word around for a week.” - -Wint hesitated, looking from one to the other. “I never caught you in a -lie, B. B.,” he said. - -“It’s true enough,” the editor told him. “You see--” He looked at Amos, -then went on: “You see, your father has no use for Amos. And Amos knew -it. He also knew your father could do a good deal to help you win this -election. But--Chase would not be on your side so long as Amos was with -you. Do you see?” - -“I see that much,” said Wint. He was thinking hard. - -“But your father has been working for you since Amos pretended to have -turned against you. Hasn’t he?” - -“Yes.” - -“I don’t suppose you ever thought of that,” B. B. suggested; and Wint -drew his hand across his eyes, and looked at Amos, and asked huskily: - -“Is it true, Amos?” - -Amos grinned; and he said: “I’m like you. I never knowed B. B. to tell a -lie.” - -“But why didn’t you tell me?” - -“You can’t keep a secret, Wint. You’re too damned honest. Maybe you’re -too honest for politics. I don’t know. Anyhow, I couldn’t let on to you -without your father seeing it in your eye.” - -Wint said, grinning a little shakily: “It hurt me a good deal, just the -same.” - -“I guess you’ll outgrow that.” - -“I suppose so.” - -He said nothing more for a minute; and Amos puffed at his pipe, and B. -B. studied Wint, smiling a little at the young man’s confusion. Wint was -flushed; and he was happier than he had ever expected to be again. These -two were true friends, at least. Not all the world had turned its back -on him. He crossed abruptly and gripped their hands. - -“Why, that’s all right,” said Amos, marking how Wint was moved. “If you -hadn’t run away last night, before we could move, I’d have told you -then. I tried to find you, after. But no one seemed to know.” - -Wint nodded. “I just walked blindly, for a while. I could not go home. -This was the first place I thought of.” - -Amos blew a cloud of smoke. “Well, that’s all right.” - -“How did you find out I was here, now?” Wint asked. “Just guess? Or -what?” - -“Jack Routt is--spreading the word,” Amos explained. There was a -suggestion of something hidden behind his simple statement. - -“Routt? Yes, he was here last night,” Wint agreed. - -“Yes, he said he was.” Wint caught the implication in the Congressman’s -tone, and he asked: - -“What’s the matter? What does Routt say?” - -“Well, as a matter of fact, he says you were down here last night, -stewed to the eyes and getting steweder all the time.” - -Wint’s eyes narrowed; then he laughed. “Oh, he says that?” - -“Says it frequent and generous.” - -“He came down last night and suggested that I drown my sorrows,” Wint -explained. “I--” He hesitated. “You see, Jack and I--I’ve always counted -him my best friend. But I seemed to see through him last night. I--don’t -count him my friend any more.” - -“We-ell,” Amos drawled, “I can’t say as I blame you for that. I’ll say -he don’t talk friendly about you.” - -Wint, flushing, asked quickly: “You don’t believe what he’s saying?” - -Amos shook his head. “I know a hangover when I see one; and I know when -I don’t.” - -Wint nodded. “I’m not starting in again on the booze at this stage of -the game.” - -“No; I’d guess not.” - -Wint sat down beside Amos on the tumbled bed. “Now, Amos, let’s get -down to tacks. I said last night I was going to stick; and I meant it. I -mean it all the more, now, with you to back me. The thing is--” - -Amos turned his head toward the door. “Some one coming,” he said; and -Wint heard steps on the stair, and Mrs. Moody’s cheerful harangue. He -got up quickly. His father stood in the doorway. - -In the long moment of silence that followed the appearance of the elder -Chase, Wint put his whole heart into the effort to read his father’s -face. Was there anger there? Or shame? Or bitter reproach? Reason -enough, in all conscience, for any one of these emotions. He stared deep -into his father’s eyes. - -The elder Chase came into the room, one stiff step; and he looked at -Wint, and at B. B., and at Amos. His lips twitched a little at sight of -Amos, then set firmly together again. That was all. - -Wint moved toward him a little. “Dad....” he said huskily. - -His father’s eyes searched Wint’s. The older man’s voice was shaking. He -said slowly: “Routt is telling Hardiston you are drunk, down here.” - -Wint nodded. “Yes; I’d heard.” - -“I heard him telling men this thing.” - -Wint said nothing; the older man’s face lighted fiercely. “I knew he -lied, Wint. I knew he lied.” - -Wint flushed with the sudden rush of happiness within him. He looked -from his father to Amos. “Dad,” he said, “there’s one thing. I know my -friends now.” - -“Routt is no friend.” - -“I know.” - -“I always told you.” - -“Yes.” - -“He....” - -Wint laughed softly. “Forget Jack Routt, dad. I’ve other friends. Amos, -here.” - -Chase’s face hardened; he said, without expression, “Amos?” - -“He and B. B. came to me when I thought I hadn’t a friend in the world. -You and Amos have got to make it up, dad. You’ve got to. Please.” - -The older man hesitated; then he turned to Amos. “All right,” he said. -“I ... Wint’s friends are mine.” - -Amos got up from the bed and took the offered hand; and he smiled -shrewdly. “I did play you dirty, Chase,” he confessed. “I admit it. But -doing it--I played a good trick on your son. Didn’t I now?” - -Chase said slowly: “Yes.” - -“Wouldn’t you rather have him as he stands?” Amos asked. “Wouldn’t you -rather have him as he stands--than the way he was a year ago?” - -“Yes. God knows.” - -Amos said slowly: “When you’re sorest at me--just give me credit for -that.” - -Chase exclaimed swiftly: “It doesn’t matter. It’s past. Done. All I want -is--my boy. You, Wint.” - -Wint was beginning to believe all was right with the world. He said -slowly: “Even--after last night, dad? Hetty....” - -“Yes,” said his father. - -“Mother?” Wint asked. “She’ll.... Is she unhappy?” - -“Why did you go away from us, Wint?” his father asked huskily. “Why did -you run away?” - -“I thought you wouldn’t want me at home.” - -“We always want you.” - -B. B. caught Amos Caretall’s eye; and he nodded slightly; and Amos -understood. He said: “We’ll be moving, Wint. See you uptown, by and by.” - -“Yes, I’ll be up,” Wint said. - -“So long, Chase.” - -“Good-by,” Chase told him quietly. Amos and B. B. went out, and along -the hall, and down the stair. Wint and his father were left alone. For a -little while they did not speak; then Chase said gently: - -“Come home to your mother, Wint.” - -Wint asked: “Even--knowing this, what happened last night? You want me -in spite of it?” - -“Yes.” - -“In spite of--what I’ve done?” - -Chase threw up his hand; he cried: “Damn it, yes. What do we care? -Whatever you do....” His voice broke huskily. “You’re always our son!” - -Wint could not move for a moment; he was choking. At last he laughed, -happily enough; and he touched his father’s shoulder with one hand. - -“Wait till I put on my collar,” he said. “I’ll come along.” - -Muldoon, as though in his dog mind he understood, began to prance and -bark about his master as Wint prepared to leave the Moody hostelry -behind him. Wint was as happy as the dog. He knew his friends, now. Knew -the loyal ones. And his father, and his mother.... They loved him. - -All was well with the world. - - - - -CHAPTER III - -HETTY HAS HER DAY - - -Wint and his father walked home in a silence that was little broken. -Across the railroad yards, up the hill. A new understanding of his -father and mother was coming to Wint; some measure of comprehension of -the completeness of their love for him. He marked that there had been no -reproaches from his father, no questions, no scolding. That which had -passed was to be forgotten, was to be ignored. He was their son; nothing -else mattered in any degree. His father, on their homeward way, spoke of -other matters, once or twice. He said the day was fine; he said Mrs. -Chase would probably have breakfast waiting. Wint took the older man’s -lead, ignored what had passed the night before. - -When they got to the house, his mother met him in the hall, and she put -her arms around him and cried on his shoulder, and called him her boy. -Wint cried, too, and was not ashamed of it. He kept patting her head, -and saying: “There, mother,” in an awkward way. She told him he must -never go away from home again. Never; for anything.... - -He said: “I thought you would want me to go.” - -But she clasped him close, protesting. - -She had breakfast hot upon the stove. The elder Chase had gone downtown -as soon as it was day, to try to locate Wint. They ate together; and -after that first moment in the hall, they did not speak of what had -happened at all. When breakfast was done, Wint went into the kitchen -with his mother to help with the dishes. She tied an apron around him, -and laughed at him with a sob in her voice; and Wint laughed with her, -and joked her, till the sob disappeared. His father looked in on them -once or twice, then left them alone together. - -Once, Wint broke a little silence by saying, his arm around her -shoulders: - -“Mother!” - -She looked up at him with quick anxiety; and he said: “I’m sorry, for -your sakes.” - -She said: “You didn’t lie, Wint. Anyway, you didn’t lie. There, dry that -plate. So....” - -He smiled a little whimsically. After all, he had lied. But they did not -care whether it was true or false; these two. He was their son. The -thought was glorious. He nursed it, treasured it. - -When the work was done, and the dishes were being put away, they heard a -step on the porch outside the kitchen. They both looked that way; and -through the window saw Hetty. She passed the window, knocked on the -door. - -Wint looked toward his mother; and he saw that she was white as death. -But even while he looked at her, she touched her mouth with her hand, -and steadied herself, and went to the door and opened. “Hetty!” she said -pleasantly, gently. “Hetty! Well, come in.” - -The girl came into the kitchen. She was pale, but she seemed very sure -of herself. She looked from Mrs. Chase to Wint. “I want to talk to -Wint,” she said gently. - -Mrs. Chase nodded. “You wait here.” She went quickly out into the dining -room. They heard her speak to her husband. She was back, almost at once. -“Go into the sitting room,” she said. “There’s no one there.” - -Hetty went toward the door; but Wint at first did not stir. He was -curiously ashamed to face Hetty. She stopped in the doorway, and looked -back at him; and he pulled himself together, and untied his apron and -followed her. In the sitting room, she sat down on the couch, and Wint -sat by the table. She looked at him steadily, smiled a little. - -He said: “Well, Hetty.” - -She laughed at him in a tender way. “Oh, you Wint!” she exclaimed, in a -fashion that reminded him of the old, careless Hetty. He shifted -uneasily. He felt as though he were guilty toward her. But there was no -accusation in her voice. She shook a forefinger at him. “What got into -you?” she asked. “Why didn’t you tell them to go to the devil?” - -There was no way to put it into words. He shook his head. “I don’t know. -It’s all right.” - -“You knocked us flat; the lot of us,” she said. “Wint, you pretty near -killed me. You darned, decent kid.” - -Wint stirred uneasily. - -“I thought I’d die,” she said. Her voice shook, though she was smiling. -“I....” She laughed. “You ought to have seen the others.” - -He asked awkwardly: “What happened? I haven’t heard.” - -“Didn’t your father--” - -“No. I stayed at the Weaver House last night.” - -She laughed. “Oh, you. Leave it to you. To think of the fool thing to -do.” - -He said soberly: “I was in earnest, Hetty. I meant what I said.” - -She nodded. “Sure you did. You’re just a big enough fool to go through -with it, too.” - -“Of course.” - -“You’ve got a f-fat chance, Wint,” she said, and her voice broke, and -she was very near crying through her smiles. “I’ve waked up, now. You’ve -got a fine, fat chance of that.” - -“I don’t hold it against you,” he said. “I’d--be good to you.” - -“Don’t be a nut, darn you! You’ll make me cry. I came near crying myself -to death, last night.” - -Wint’s curiosity was awake; he asked again: “What happened?” - -“Why, you knocked us all flat,” she said. “I took it out in crying. -Routt beat it after you. He was the first to move.” - -There was a curious, hard quality in her voice; and Wint asked: “Was -it....” He bit off the question, furious with himself for asking. She -said slowly: - -“Never mind. That’s past. I thought for a while I’d be better dead; but -I know better, now. Nothing can kill you unless you want to be killed. -Nobody ever fell so hard they couldn’t get up. I’m going to get up, -Wint, and go right on living.” - -He told her quickly: “Of course. I’ll help. Honestly....” - -She said fiercely: “You will not. If you think I’m going to let you go -through with this--” She broke off, laughed. “Well, I was telling you -what happened. Routt beat it after you. The rest of us sat still, me -bawling. Then your father got up and ran out to the front door, and out -to the street. While he was gone, Kite begun to stir. I looked at Kite. -Believe me, Wint, he was squashed. He hadn’t expected you to--do what -you did. He looked like a dead man. He stuffed his things into his -pocket and he pattered out into the hall. Then he came back; and he said -to me: - -“‘Come, Hetty.’ - -“I said to him: ‘You go where you’re going, you old buzzard.’ And I went -on crying. It felt good. - -“I heard Kite go out the front door; and then your father came back. He -says: ‘He’s gone! Wint’s gone!’ - -“Then he looked at me, and I couldn’t look at him. And he went out and -went upstairs. - -“The rest of them went along, then. Ed Skinner went first. Then B. B. -and Amos together. Amos says to me: ‘Don’t cry so, Hetty. Don’t cry so.’ -I told him to shut up; and he went along. When they were all gone, I got -myself together and went out. Lutcher and Kite were waiting at the -corner. They stopped me; and Kite, he says: ‘My God, what are we going -to do?’ - -“I hit him in the face, hard as I could. Lutcher grabbed my arm; and I -told him to let go, and he let go. I went on and left them. Went home -and cried some more.” - -She laughed a little. “I’ll say I felt like crying, Wint. That was your -doing. Darn you!” - -He said: “You mustn’t feel badly.” - -“Badly!” she echoed, and her eyes were suddenly hard. “Wint, I could cut -out my tongue.” She moved abruptly, hid her face. After an instant, she -turned to him again. - -“There’s no use in saying I’m sorry. They fed me up to it. Threats, and -promises. If I’d do it, they’d give me--a rat of a man to marry. He said -he’d marry me himself. But he’d said that before. He told me himself -that he’d marry me if I’d do this. Marry me and take me away. I knew he -was a liar, but I thought maybe he’d keep the promise, this time. I -thought I had to have him, to be able to look people in the eye. Oh, I’m -not making excuses, Wint. There isn’t any excuse for me.” - -He said: “It’s all right. Please don’t feel badly.” - -“The thing is,” she said steadily, “how am I going to make it up to you? -What do you want me to do?” He did not answer at once; and she told him -humbly: “I’ll do anything you say.” - -He shook his head. “Nothing. I’m willing to go through with it.” - -She rose to her feet with a swift, furious movement. “Damn you, Wint!” -she cried chokingly. “Don’t you say that again. Ain’t I sorry enough to -suit you? Haven’t you poured coals of fire on my head till--till my -hair’s all singed? Don’t rub it in, Wint,” she pleaded. “You’ve made me -feel bad enough. I’ll say I was ready to quit, last night. It wasn’t -worth a penny, to live. Then I thought I might make it up to you. So -I--stayed alive. Don’t you rub it in to me, now. Don’t you say that -again. I tell you, Wint, I went through something, last night.” Her -voice shook, she stretched out her hands to him. “For God’s sake, Wint, -don’t rub it in any more!” - -There were tears in her eyes, on her cheeks; her face was the face of -one in torment. He took her hands; and he said gently: “Please--I didn’t -mean to make you unhappy. You’ve--really, you’ve made me happy. I -thought every one would be against me. But Amos and B. B. came to me, -offered me their friendship, and their help. And father came to me. I -never knew before what friends I had. You’ve done that for me, already.” - -“I’ll bet Routt came to you, too,” she said, a terrible scorn in her -voice. “He’s a friend of yours, isn’t he?” - -“Yes,” said Wint, “he came.” - -She was frankly crying, now; her shoulders shaking, tears streaming down -her face. Her lips twisted; she held out her clenched hands. “I’d like -to kill him.” - -“Don’t cry,” Wint begged. “Please.” - -She brushed her arms across her eyes and smiled at him. “All right. -Now.... What do you want me to do? It’s up to you.” - -“I don’t want you to do anything,” Wint protested. “It will all come out -right in the end.” - -“I’m not going to stand and wait.” - -“Please. You’ll see.” - -She stamped her foot fiercely. “I tell you, no. I was the goat, -yesterday. They made a fool of me. But I’m grown up over night, Wint. -This is my day. I’m going to tear things open--wide.” - -For all the harshness of her speech, there was a strange new gentleness -about Hetty; and there was a new strength in her. Wint had never liked -her more, respected her more. He said steadily: “You’re wrong, I think. -You’re excited, to-day. I tell you, things will turn out better than you -think.” - -The telephone tinkled in the hall; and Wint said: “Wait a minute, will -you?” And he went to answer it. - -Sam O’Brien, the fat restaurant man, was on the other end of the wire. -He asked: “This Chase’s house?” - -Wint said: “Yes, this is Wint Chase. That you, Sam?” - -O’Brien exclaimed: “Yes, it’s me! Say, Wint--you’re there, boy. You’re a -man.” - -“Pshaw!” - -“Say, Wint,” O’Brien cut in. “Is Hetty up there? They say at her room -she started for there.” - -Wint glanced toward the door of the sitting room. “Yes,” he said. - -“Do me a favor?” Sam asked. - -“Of course.” - -“Keep her there till I come.” - -“All right,” Wint agreed. “What--” - -But Sam had hung up. Wint went back to Hetty. He decided, for no reason -in the world, not to tell her what Sam had asked him to do. She asked, -as soon as he came into the sitting room: - -“Who was that? Sam O’Brien?” - -“Yes.” - -“What did he want?” - -Wint laughed uneasily, and said: “He just wanted to tell me he was on my -side.” - -Hetty nodded. “There’s one decent man, Wint.” There was a curious warmth -in her tone. - -“Yes, he is,” Wint agreed. - -“He’s been fine to me,” she said, a little wistfully. Then she put Sam -aside with a movement of her hand. “Well, Wint, you want me to go ahead -my own way?” - -He hesitated; then he said: “Hetty, you’re all right. I don’t blame you -for--anything. But I do want you to forget the whole thing. You’ll see -it will straighten out. Don’t mix things up.” - -They heard his mother come into the dining room, across the hall, and -busy herself there; and they kept silent till she went out into the -kitchen again. A matter of minutes. Hetty moved once, crossing from her -chair to stand beside Wint and touch his shoulder lightly with her hand. -When Mrs. Chase had gone out of hearing, she said softly: - -“I guess there’s one person you’d like to have know the straight of -this.” - -Wint’s jaw set slowly with something of the old stubbornness; and he -said: “No. She doesn’t believe in me. She’s made no move. I’ll not.” - -She twisted her fingers into his hair and shook him good-naturedly. -“You, Wint; you’re as stubborn as a mule,” she told him. “What would you -think of her if she’d come running? After you’d said you were going -to--marry me? What could she do? But she knows you’re a liar, just the -same. I’ll bet she’s just waiting.” - -Some one came up on the porch outside, and she looked sharply that way, -and asked: “Who’s that?” - -“I’ll go,” Wint told her; and he went to the front door. Sam O’Brien was -there. He had expected Sam. But Jack Routt was with him, and Wint had -not expected to see Routt. - -He looked from Sam to the other. Routt’s collar, he saw, was rumpled; -and there were little beads of perspiration on Sam’s forehead. Wint -hesitated. Sam said huskily: - -“I know you don’t want this skunk in your house, Wint. But is--she -here?” - -“Yes,” Wint told him. - -“Well, this thing wants to see her,” Sam explained. “Speak up, you.” He -looked at Routt. - -Routt said: “Yes.” He ran a finger around inside his collar. - -Wint moved aside. “Come in,” he agreed; and they stepped into the hall. -Then Hetty came out of the sitting room. She had heard their voices, -heard what they said. She stood very still, looking at Jack Routt with -inscrutable eyes. - -Routt looked from Sam to Wint furtively. Then he looked at Hetty; and he -moved toward her as though he expected violence. Two paces from where -she stood, he stopped; he fidgeted. At last he said: - -“Will you marry me?” - -There was a parrot-like quality in his voice that made Wint, even in -that moment, want to smile. Hetty did smile; she said quietly: - -“I suppose Sam brought you here.” - -Routt looked at Sam; then he protested: “No. I wanted to come. -Honestly.” - -“You never wanted anything honestly in your life, Jack,” she told him; -and there was as much pity as anger in her voice. “I wouldn’t marry you. -I wouldn’t look at you. Not if you were the last man in the world.” - -No one said anything. They stood very still. Then Routt moved a little; -and he turned, and he looked questioningly at Sam O’Brien. Sam had his -hat in his hand. He dropped it, to leave his hands free. He opened the -front door and stepped outside; and Routt followed him as though at a -word of command. - -Sam took him by the arm; then he closed the door. Wint looked at Hetty. - -They heard a muffled, thudding sound. A hoarse cry. A scuffle of feet. -The front gate banged. - -When Wint opened the door, Sam was standing on one foot, precariously -poised; and with his handkerchief he was carefully wiping the toe of his -right shoe. Routt was not in sight. - -Hetty came to the door beside Wint; and Sam looked at her humbly, and he -asked: - -“Will you walk along with me?” - -Hetty, smiling a little tenderly, said: “You oughtn’t to have done -that.” - -“I can clean my shoe,” Sam explained, as though that were the only -consideration. “Will you walk along with me?” - -She hesitated a moment; then she said swiftly: “Yes, Sam,” and looked at -Wint with a quick, laughing glance. “Yes, Sam, I’ll walk along with -you.” - -Sam looked at Wint. “We’re much obliged to you,” he said. - -Wint nodded. Then Sam and Hetty went down to the gate; and Wint watched -them go away together. - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -WINT’S RALLY - - -It was well toward dinner time when Hetty and Sam O’Brien went away -together and left Wint. He watched them to the corner, and thought Sam -was a good fellow. And a lucky one, too. There was a fine strength and -pride in Hetty. No doubt about it, Sam was lucky. - -When they were out of sight, Wint went into the house. His father had -not yet come downstairs; Mrs. Chase was still in the kitchen. Wint -settled himself in the sitting room, and filled his pipe, and went over -in his thoughts the scenes this room had witnessed in twenty-four hours -past. He looked back at them as though he had been an observer. He could -not believe he had been chief actor in them all. It is, perhaps, this -trait of the human mind which permits mankind to rise to emergencies. -The emergency does not seem like an emergency at the time. It seems -rather like the ordinary run of life; it is only in retrospect that the -actors realize, and wonder at themselves. There is, during these great -moments, a vast simplicity about life. It had been so with Wint; it was -only now, as he thought back over what had taken place, that the drama -of it caught him. And he wondered at it all; and most of all he wondered -at himself. - -His father came downstairs, after a little while, and joined him. The -older man made no reference to Hetty’s having been there; and Wint, at -first minded to tell the whole story, to tell his father that Hetty was -going to right the wrong she had done, decided on second thought to -wait. It would be sweeter to anticipate their joy when they should hear -the truth. So he held his tongue. - -After a while, Mrs. Chase called them to dinner; and they went into the -dining room together. Some impulse made Wint drop his hand lightly on -his father’s shoulder; and the older man reached up and took Wint’s hand -and held it, so that they crossed the hall with hands clasped, as though -Wint were still a little boy. He was suddenly very proud of his father. -And ever so fond of him.... - -At the dinner table, it was as though nothing had happened. Mrs. Chase -was cheerful; she talked amiably of everything in the world except -Hetty. Wint and Mr. Chase answered her--that is to say, they interrupted -her with a remark now and then--while they ate. It was only when they -both had finished that Chase looked at his son and said, a little -awkwardly: - -“You don’t want to forget you have a rally arranged for to-night, Wint.” - -Wint exclaimed: “Good Lord; I had forgotten!” - -“You’re not going to give it up?” - -“Give it up? No. But I’d forgotten all about it. I’ll have to go -uptown.” - -“You had made some arrangements, hadn’t you?” - -“Yes. Hired the Rink. B. B. is going to preside. That is, he said he -would. And I asked Sam O’Brien to speak, and you promised that you -would.” - -“I think I’d rather not,” Chase said, flushing uncomfortably. Wint -asked, smiling to take the sting out of his words: - -“Not deserting me, are you?” - -“No. I’ll be with you. Sitting on the stage. But--I wouldn’t know what -to say, Wint.” - -“And Davy Morgan is going to speak.” He pushed back his chair. “I’ll go -right uptown and make sure things are all right.” - -Chase said: “I’m glad you’re not giving it up. I’ll walk up with you, -Wint.” - -His mother kissed him good-by at the door; and that was unusual. It was -the only sign she gave of what she must have been feeling. Wint had -sometimes thought, impatiently, that she was a babbling old woman, never -able to keep a thought to herself. He was learning a new respect for -her. And something more. He had felt that he was justified in counting -on his father and mother to stand by him; but he had expected and been -prepared for questions and perhaps reproaches. There were no questions; -there was never a reproach. It is often tactful to keep silent; and tact -is sometimes a shade nobler than loyalty, than many another virtue. - -He hugged her close and hard, kissed her again; then he and his father -walked away toward town. Shoulder to shoulder, swinging like brothers. -They met people. Wint could see a furtive curiosity in the eyes of those -they met. But he could bear that. He had anticipated coven jeers, -perhaps an open jibe; and his muscles had hardened at the thought. - -They went into the Post Office together, and separated there. Wint met -Dick Hoover; and Hoover gripped his hand and clapped his shoulder and -told him he was all right. That heartened Wint. On his way from the Post -Office, he encountered V. R. Kite, face to face, in front of the Bazaar. -Kite dropped his eyes and scuttled to cover like a crab in seaweed. Wint -chuckled with amusement. Hoover said: - -“He can’t face you.” - -Wint laughed good-naturedly. “Oh, Kite’s all right. He fights in the -only way he knows....” - -He left Hoover in front of the _Journal_ office and went in. B. B. was -there, stoking the decrepit stove, breaking up the clotted coals with a -bit of wood, and pouring on fresh fuel. He greeted Wint smilingly; said: - -“Good afternoon!” - -“Hello, B. B.!” Wint rejoined, and sat down. “Still fussing with that -stove?” - -B. B., amiably enough, said: “Yes. It’s a good stove. Perhaps it doesn’t -look as well as it might; but it heats this office. That’s the way with -a good many things that don’t look very well; they manage to do their -work better than the fine-looking things. Did you ever stop to think of -that?” - -“In other words,” Wint agreed, “beauty is only skin deep, even in -stoves.” - -“Well, I’d rather have an ugly stove that would draw and give heat than -a fine one that wouldn’t,” B. B. declared; and Wint said he did not -blame him. B. B. sat down at his desk, working and talking at the same -time. This was a way he had; a way he had to have, for there was nearly -always some one in the office to talk to him. Wint said: - -“I almost forgot about my meeting to-night. Are you still willing to -preside?” - -B. B. said: “Certainly.” - -“I thought you might have changed your mind.” - -“No indeed. At the Rink, is it?” - -“Yes.” - -“Who are your speakers?” - -“I’m not having any fine talent,” Wint said, smiling. “Just a couple of -good friends of mine, Sam O’Brien and Davy Morgan. And if you’d be -willing to say something--” - -“Oh, I always talk when I get a chance like that.” - -“Sure.” - -“Is your father going to speak?” - -Wint shook his head. “No,” he said frankly. “Dad’s all right. He’s been -absolutely fine. But--he says he wouldn’t know what to say. He’s no -speaker, you know.” - -“I’ve heard him do very well.” - -Wint laughed. “You probably wrote those speeches for him yourself.” And -B. B. good-naturedly acknowledged the corn. - -“About half past seven?” Wint asked, as he got up to go; and B. B. -agreed to the hour, and said he would be there. - -When he had left B. B., Wint telephoned the furnace to make sure of Davy -Morgan; and Morgan said energetically that he surely would be on hand. -“I’ve some few things to say, also,” he declared. “I can talk when they -get me mad, Wint. And I’m mad enough, to-day.” - -Wint said: “All right; go as far as you like. This is a fight. It’s no -pink tea.” And he dropped in on Sam O’Brien. But Sam was not in the -restaurant. His underling told Wint the fat man had been out all day. - -“He went looking for Jack Routt,” the man explained. - -“He found him,” said Wint. “Well, tell Sam I’m counting on him to be at -the Rink to-night.” - -From the restaurant, he crossed the street to Dick Hoover’s office. Dick -and his father were busy, so that Wint was alone for a time. Then he -decided people might think he was hiding; so he came downstairs and out -to the street again, and went to the barber shop for a haircut. Jim -Radabaugh was there; and Jim shifted the bulge in his cheek and shook -hands with Wint and said: - -“You’re there, boss. I’d say you’re there.” - -Marshall, the barber, violated all the traditions of his craft by being -a silent man. He said nothing whatever while he trimmed Wint’s crisp -hair; and Wint was glad of that. He would not hide. But he did not want -to talk overmuch. When he came out of the barber shop, he saw Amos and -Sam O’Brien and Peter Gergue on the other side of the street. They were -walking purposefully, coming uptown from the direction of Amos’s home. -They saw him, and Amos waved his hand in greeting; then Peter spoke to -Amos, and left the others, and came across to Wint, scratching the back -of his head. Wint said: - -“Hello, Peter.” - -Gergue grinned. “Well, Wint, you’ve started something.” - -Wint nodded. “I suppose so.” - -“You’ve made ’em talk, Wint. That never hurt a bit.” - -“I think you told me that once before,” Wint agreed, laughing. - -“Well, and it’s so,” Gergue insisted. He looked all around, took Wint’s -arm. “Let’s walk along,” he suggested. - -Amos and Sam had disappeared. Wint said: “I’ve been looking for Sam. I -want to see him.” - -“What about?” - -“He’s going to speak at my meeting to-night. At least I want him to.” - -Gergue chuckled; and he gripped Wint’s arm as though he knew a thing or -two, which he might tell if he chose. “Oh, he’ll speak,” he said. -“Sam’ll speak.” - -“I’ve counted on him.” - -“You going to speak, ain’t you?” Gergue asked. - -“Why, yes. Naturally.” - -“Fixed you up a speech, have you?” - -“Not yet. I’ll--just say whatever comes up at the time. Anything.” - -Gergue shook his head. “I tell you, Wint,” he said. “You better go on -home and write you a speech. A good one, with flowers on it, and all.” - -“Oh, I don’t need to.” - -“I’ve seen more’n one man get up on his hind legs and go dumb. Good idea -to have something on your mind before you get up.” - -“We-ell, maybe.” - -“I tell you,” Gergue said again. “You go on home and fix up something. -Best thing to do.” - -“I want to see Sam.” - -“I’ll see him.” - -Wint was more than half persuaded, before Peter spoke to him. He had -thought of going home; he was tired. He wanted to sleep. He said: -“We-ell, all right.” - -“That’s the talk,” said Peter. “You go along.” - -“So long, then.” - -“Fix you up a good one,” Gergue advised him again. “Fix it up, and learn -it, and all. You’ll maybe be interrupted, you know.” - -“If there’s any one there to interrupt,” Wint said, in a tone of doubt; -and Gergue cackled. - -“Lord, there’ll be some folks there. Don’t you worry about that. You go -home and fix you up a speech. You’ll have a crowd.” - -So Wint went home, in mid-afternoon. He found the house empty. His -mother, he thought, was probably next door, with Mrs. Hullis. He felt -sleepy; and he went to his room and lay down. His father woke him, at -last. Told him it was supper time. - -At supper, Chase asked Wint’s mother if she were going to Wint’s rally. -She said: “I don’t know. I said to Mrs. Hullis this afternoon that I -wanted to go, but I didn’t know whether women went. And she said she -didn’t know either. But I told her I--” - -“You’ll have plenty of company,” her husband told her. “From what I -hear, the whole town is going to be there. Every one was talking about -it this afternoon.” - -“Then I’m going,” she said. “Mrs. Hullis wanted me to go with her; and -I--” - -“You go with her,” Chase advised. “I’ll be on the stage, with Wint.” - -She said: “I’ll have to leave the dishes. There won’t be--” - -“I’ll do them, mother, while you’re dressing,” Wint told her cheerfully. -“Don’t worry about that.” - -“Well, I don’t know!” - -In the end, Wint and his father did them together. Wint broke a plate, -and Mrs. Chase called down the stairs to know what had happened, and -protested that she ought to come down and do them. But they would not -let her. Afterwards, they all started downtown together, Wint and his -father, Mrs. Chase and Mrs. Hullis. Two by two. - -It was dark; the early dark of a winter evening. They met people, or -overtook them, or were overtaken by them; and Wint thought there were -more people than usual abroad. The moon was bright again this night, -bright as it had been the night before when Wint took his way to the -Weaver House. That seemed more like weeks than hours ago. As they came -nearer the Rink, they saw more people; and Chase said: - -“You’re certainly going to have a crowd.” - -Wint nodded. He was beginning to be nervous. He realized that this was -going to be hard. - -But it was only when they turned the last corner and started down the -hill toward the Rink that he realized just how hard it was going to be. -It seemed to him all Hardiston was there ahead of him. The crowd -clustered in front of the Rink and extended out into the street; and -more were coming from each direction. Mrs. Hullis and Mrs. Chase, ahead, -were lost in the throng. Wint stopped; he turned to his father. - -“We’ll cut through the back way,” he said. - -Chase agreed; and they turned down an alley, and came circuitously to -the stage door and went in. The minute he came inside the door, he heard -the hum and buzz of voices. He could see out on the stage, with its -stock set of a farmyard scene. There were chairs, and a table. - -Amos, and Sam O’Brien, and B. B. and two or three others were waiting -just inside the stage door; and Sam gripped Wint’s shoulders and -exclaimed: “Lord, but you give us a scare, Wint. Thought you wasn’t -coming. I was all set to go fetch you.” - -“Oh, I was coming, all right,” Wint said nervously, one ear attuned to -the murmur of the crowd. “Sounds as though there were a lot of people -here.” - -“Every seat, and standing room in the aisles, and half of ’em can’t get -in.” - -Wint grinned weakly. “And I suppose they’ve got every rotten egg in -town.” - -Sam stared; then he howled. “Rotten egg! Oh, Lord, Wint, you’ll be the -death of me. I’ll die a-laughing. Rotten egg!” He turned to Amos. “Wint -says rotten egg!” he cried. - -Amos looked at Wint in a curious fashion; and he smiled. “It’s half past -seven,” he said. “No need to make them wait.” - -Wint gulped. “All right. I’m ready as I will be.” - -Amos nodded. “Then it’s your move, B. B.” - -B. B. cleared his throat. “Very well.” He turned and started toward the -stage. Sam shepherded Wint that way. Amos and Wint’s father came side by -side, the others following. Wint found himself out on the stage. - -The glare of the footlights blinded him for a moment; but he heard the -sudden, brief clatter of handclapping that greeted them. The stir was -quickly hushed. His eyes, accustomed to the footlights, discovered that -the house was banked full of people. Floor and gallery were jammed. -Small boys clung to the great beams and steel rods that crisscrossed to -support the roof. Some of them seemed right overhead. And everywhere -Wint looked, people were staring at him. He felt the actual, physical -weight of all those eyes, overwhelming him. He felt crushed, helpless; -he had a curious obsession that he could not move hands or feet. He -worked the fingers of his right hand cautiously, and was relieved to -find that they answered to his will. He was dazed. - -He became conscious that B. B. was on his feet, his hands clasped in -front of him in a characteristic way; there was a little smile upon his -face, and he was speaking in a low, pleasant voice. Wint could not catch -the words; his ears were not functioning. His senses were numbed by that -overpowering sea of faces in front of him. - -He caught, presently, a word or two that appalled him. “...violate the -usual order,” B. B. was saying. “The principal speaker usually last.... -Keep you waiting.... Lengthy introduction.... I believe you know him, -now....” - -He turned to look at Wint; and Wint, appalled and panic-stricken, saw -the invitation in B. B.’s eyes. B. B. wanted him to speak first; but he -was still tongue-tied and muscle-fast in the face of all those eyes. He -shook his head weakly. Some one tugged at his elbow. Sam O’Brien. Sam -whispered hoarsely: - -“Get up on your feet, boy!” - -Wint shook his head again, trying to find words to explain. Then a man -yelled, out beyond those footlights. Other men yelled. Wint flushed -angrily, his courage came back. They thought him afraid. Baying him like -dogs.... He’d show them all.... - -He stood up and strode forward to the very lip of the stage. There was a -moment’s hush. He flung out one hand. “People....” he began. - -But it was as well that Wint had not wasted time in following Gergue’s -advice to fix up a good speech; because on that one word of his, an -overwhelming blast of sound struck him full in the face. A roar, a -bellowing, a whistling, a shrilling.... Shouts and screams and cries.... -He stiffened, furious. They were trying to yell him down. He flung up -both hands, shouted at them.... - -Every one in the house was up on his or her feet. Some one threw his hat -in the air. Order came out of chaos. A terrible, rhythmic order. The -blare of sound dissolved into beats; they pounded on Wint’s ears; he -shuddered under the blow of them. His anger gave way to bewilderment. He -could not understand. He bent lower to see more clearly the faces of -those in the front row, just beyond the footlights. Dick Hoover was -there. And Dick was yelling in a fashion fit to split his throat, -flinging his fists up toward Wint, shrieking. Beside Dick, Joan. Her -face stood out suddenly before Wint’s eyes. She was crying; that is to -say, tears were streaming down her cheeks. Yet was she happy, too. -Smiling, laughing, calling to him.... She was clapping her hands, he -saw. Then he discovered that others were clapping their hands, while -they yelled at him. Everybody was clapping their hands.... - -Utterly bewildered, Wint whirled around to look at the men behind him. -And there was Amos, both hands upraised, beating time to that appalling -roar that swept up from the house before them. Beating time, leading -them.... - -Sam O’Brien and Davy Morgan--they were both yelling like fools--came -swiftly across the stage to where Wint stood. They caught his arms. He -struggled with them, not understanding. They swept him off his feet, up -in the air, to their shoulders.... Swung him to face the house. - -The noise doubled; then it seemed as though an army of men swarmed upon -the stage. So, at last, Wint understood. They were not trying to yell -him down. - -It is one of the most hopeful facts of life that all mankind is so ready -to recognize, and to applaud, an action which is fine. Wint was in the -hands of his friends. He thought, for a little while, that they would -kill him. - - * * * * * - -When it was all over--and this took time, and left Wint sore and stiff -from hand-shaking and back-slapping--the people began to drift away. And -Wint escaped, off the stage, into one of the compartments that served as -greenroom for theatrical folk. His father was there, and his mother. And -Peter, and Amos, and Sam. - -Every one seemed to be wild with exultation; they continued the -celebration, there among themselves. And Wint heard how it had been -done. Hetty had gone to Amos with the story. To Joan first, Sam told -Wint. “I was with her,” the fat man said. “You understand. I was with -her.” - -Wint nodded, gripping Sam’s shoulder. “She’s fine,” he said. “You’re -lucky. I understand.” - -Joan, Sam said, sent them to Amos, and Amos had arranged the rest; sent -Wint home--Gergue was his agent in this--and spread the word through -Hardiston. To-night had attested the thoroughness of his work. - -Wint found a chance at last to thank Amos. They were a little apart from -the others; and they talked it over briefly. Amos, Wint thought, was -curiously subdued, curiously sad. He wondered at this. But he -understood, at the end. - -He had said: “Wonder what Routt will say to this, anyway? And Kite?” - -“You don’t have to--worry about Routt,” said Amos. - -Wint asked quickly: “Why not? Is he ... Is there something?” - -“He took the noon train,” said Amos. “And--Agnes went with him. She -telephoned to-night. She says they’re married.” - -Wint was so stunned that for a moment he could not speak; he could not -move. He managed to grip Amos’s hand; tried to say something. - -“I’ve said to myself, more than once,” Amos told him huskily, “that I -wished her mother hadn’t ’ve died.” He began, slowly, to fill his pipe. -Wint thought there was something heroic, splendid about the man. Facing -life, driving ahead. And this to think upon.... He was sick with sorrow. - -Amos was facing the stage; he said slowly, smiling a little, “but forget -that. Here’s some one coming for you to see her home.” - -When Wint turned, he saw Joan. - - - - -CHAPTER V - -SEEING JOAN HOME - - -They walked home slowly, Wint and Joan. The moon was bright upon them; -the streets were still filled with the dispersing throng. People spoke -to them, then went discreetly on their way, and smiled back at the two. -Wint and Joan said little; and what they said was of no importance. He -told her he had seen her crying. - -“I had to,” she said. “I was so happy.” - -“I wasn’t happy,” Wint declared. “I was scared.” - -She said she didn’t blame him. “It must have been hard to face them -all.” - -He nodded. “I’ll tell you; all that noise.... It--made me seasick. -Something like that.” - -“I know,” she said. - -When they were halfway home, she told him that Hetty had come to her, -that morning. Wint looked at her quickly. - -“Hetty’s all right,” he said. “She’ll be all right. She’s found -herself.” - -Joan nodded. “It’s going to be a fight, for her.” - -“She’ll win. Sam will help.” - -“I know. I saw that, this morning.” - -A little later, she said: “You--did the right thing. Foolish, maybe. -But--it was fine, too. Foolish things often are.” - -Wint shook his head. “But I’d like to pound Routt.” - -“Don’t,” she said. “Agnes loves him.” - -Wint told her then what Amos had told him; and she uttered a low, -pitiful exclamation. “I didn’t know that,” she said. “But--they may be -happy. Agnes is good.... Loyal.... In her way.” - -“You knew she loved him?” - -“Yes. I’ve always known. Agnes had talked to me.” - -“I hope Routt does--settle down.” - -Joan said thoughtfully: “There is something strong in him. -Misdirected.” - -“I liked him,” Wint said. “I can’t help it, even now. He was my friend.” - -“I believe they will come out all right. I feel it.” - -Wint laughed at her gently. “Intuition?” - -“Yes. You men call it a hunch.” - -Silence again, for a while. They came to her house. Wint thought the -simple place was beautiful in the moonlight; he wanted, desperately, to -go in. But there was a curious diffidence upon him, and he stopped at -the gate till she said: - -“Come. It’s not cold, to-night. We can sit on the porch.” - -“You want me?” - -“Yes, Wint.” Her eyes said more than her words. He opened the gate, and -they went up the walk to the house sedately enough, side by side. Any -one might have seen. - -The moonlight did not fall upon the porch. There was a shadowed place -there. When they came into this shadow, Joan stopped, and looked at -Wint. Her eyes were very dark. Something was pounding in his throat, so -that he could not speak. He put out one hand, in an uncertain, fumbling -way. Joan looked down at his hand, and smiled a little, and put her hand -in his. - -They stood thus for a little, hand in hand, facing each other. Wint said -huskily, at last: - -“I’ve--tried, Joan.” - -Her voice was clear and sweet as a bell when she answered. “You’ve done -more than try, Wint,” she told him. “You’ve--won.” - -So, without either of them knowing, or caring, how it happened, she was -in his arms. And he kissed her; and her lips answered his. No cool kiss -of a child, this. Months of longing and of yearning spoke through his -lips, and through hers. Infinite promise of the years to come.... - -While they sat together on her shadowed porch thereafter, they could -hear for a long time the murmuring voices of people passing on their -homeward way. Some looked toward Joan’s house; but they could not see -Wint and Joan. - -It was as well; for it is the way of Hardiston to talk. The way of a -little town.... - -THE END - -PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GREAT ACCIDENT *** - -***** This file should be named 64002-0.txt or 64002-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/6/4/0/0/64002/ - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm -concept and trademark. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this ebook. - -Title: The Great Accident - -Author: Ben Ames Williams - -Release Date: December 10, 2020 [EBook #64002] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -Produced by: Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at - http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images - available at The Internet Archive) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GREAT ACCIDENT *** -</pre><hr class="full" /> - -<p class="c">THE GREAT ACCIDENT<br /><br /><br /> - -<img src="images/cover.jpg" height="550" alt="" /> -</p> - -<h1>THE GREAT ACCIDENT</h1> - -<p class="c">BY<br /> -BEN AMES WILLIAMS<br /> -<small>Author of “The Sea Bride,” “All the Brothers<br /> -Were Valiant,” etc.</small><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<span class="eng">New York</span><br /> -THE MACMILLAN COMPANY<br /> -1920<br /> -<br /> -<small><i>All rights reserved</i><br /> -<br /> -<span class="smcap">Copyright</span>, 1919,<br /> -<span class="smcap">By</span> THE CURTIS PUBLISHING COMPANY<br /> -<br /> -<span class="smcap">Copyright</span>, 1920,<br /> -<span class="smcap">By</span> THE MACMILLAN COMPANY<br /> -<br /> -Set up and electrotyped. Published March, 1920.</small><br /> -</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="cb"> -TO<br /> -MOTHER -</p> - -<hr /> - -<h2><a name="CONTENTS" id="CONTENTS"></a>CONTENTS</h2> - -<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary=""> - -<tr><th colspan="3"><a href="#BOOK_I">BOOK I<br /> - -THE GREAT ACCIDENT</a></th></tr> - -<tr><td><small>CHAPTER</small></td><td> </td> -<td class="rt"><small>PAGE</small></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top"><a href="#CHAPTER_I-a">I</a></td><td valign="top" class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_I-a">Hardiston</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_3">3</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top"><a href="#CHAPTER_II-a">II</a></td><td valign="top" class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_II-a">Amos Caretall</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_7">7</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top"><a href="#CHAPTER_III-a">III</a></td><td valign="top" class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_III-a">Wint Chase</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_16">16</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top"><a href="#CHAPTER_IV-a">IV</a></td><td valign="top" class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_IV-a">Jack Routt</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_22">22</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top"><a href="#CHAPTER_V-a">V</a></td><td valign="top" class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_V-a">Council of War</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_27">27</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top"><a href="#CHAPTER_VI-a">VI</a></td><td valign="top" class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_VI-a">Winthrop Chase, Senior</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_36">36</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top"><a href="#CHAPTER_VII-a">VII</a></td><td valign="top" class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_VII-a">V. R. Kite</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_45">45</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top"><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII-a">VIII</a></td><td valign="top" class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII-a">The Rally</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_50">50</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top"><a href="#CHAPTER_IX-a">IX</a></td><td valign="top" class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_IX-a">Hetty Morfee</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_56">56</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top"><a href="#CHAPTER_X-a">X</a></td><td valign="top" class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_X-a">The Election</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_60">60</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top"><a href="#CHAPTER_XI-a">XI</a></td><td valign="top" class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XI-a">The Notification</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_69">69</a></td></tr> - -<tr><th colspan="3"><a href="#BOOK_II">BOOK II</a></th></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top"><a href="#CHAPTER_I-b">I</a></td><td valign="top" class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_I-b">Muldoon</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_81">81</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top"><a href="#CHAPTER_II-b">II</a></td><td valign="top" class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_II-b">Joan</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_90">90</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top"><a href="#CHAPTER_III-b">III</a></td><td valign="top" class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_III-b">The Strategy of Amos</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_100">100</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top"><a href="#CHAPTER_IV-b">IV</a></td><td valign="top" class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_IV-b">Interlude</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_112">112</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top"><a href="#CHAPTER_V-b">V</a></td><td valign="top" class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_V-b">Alliance</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_119">119</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top"><a href="#CHAPTER_VI-b">VI</a></td><td valign="top" class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_VI-b">The Whistle Blows</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_127">127</a></td></tr> - -<tr><th colspan="3"><a href="#BOOK_III">BOOK III<br /> - -INTO HARNESS</a></th></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top"><a href="#CHAPTER_I-c">I</a></td><td valign="top" class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_I-c">On His Own Feet</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_135">135</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top"><a href="#CHAPTER_II-c">II</a></td><td valign="top" class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_II-c">Joan to Wint</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_146">146</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top"><a href="#CHAPTER_III-c">III</a></td><td valign="top" class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_III-c">Routt to Kite</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_154">154</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top"><a href="#CHAPTER_IV-c">IV</a></td><td valign="top" class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_IV-c">Wint to Joan</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_164">164</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top"><a href="#CHAPTER_V-c">V</a></td><td valign="top" class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_V-c">Wint Goes Home</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_170">170</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top"><a href="#CHAPTER_VI-c">VI</a></td><td valign="top" class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_VI-c">A Word as to Hetty</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_176">176</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top"><a href="#CHAPTER_VII-c">VII</a></td><td valign="top" class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_VII-c">Orders for Radabaugh</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_186">186</a></td></tr> - -<tr><th colspan="3"><a href="#BOOK_IV">BOOK IV<br /> - -LINE OF BATTLE</a></th></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top"><a href="#CHAPTER_I-d">I</a></td><td valign="top" class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_I-d">Marshal Jim Radabaugh</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_197">197</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top"><a href="#CHAPTER_II-d">II</a></td><td valign="top" class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_II-d">The Brewing Storm</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_207">207</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top"><a href="#CHAPTER_III-d">III</a></td><td valign="top" class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_III-d">A Hard Day for Kite</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_213">213</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top"><a href="#CHAPTER_IV-d">IV</a></td><td valign="top" class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_IV-d">Chase Changes Sides</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_222">222</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top"><a href="#CHAPTER_V-d">V</a></td><td valign="top" class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_V-d">The Triumvirate</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_229">229</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top"><a href="#CHAPTER_VI-d">VI</a></td><td valign="top" class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_VI-d">Every Man has His Price</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_233">233</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top"><a href="#CHAPTER_VII-d">VII</a></td><td valign="top" class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_VII-d">Another Word as to Hetty</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_243">243</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top"><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII-d">VIII</a></td><td valign="top" class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII-d">Agnes Takes a Hand</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_247">247</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top"><a href="#CHAPTER_IX-d">IX</a></td><td valign="top" class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_IX-d">A Word from Joan</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_256">256</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top"><a href="#CHAPTER_X-d">X</a></td><td valign="top" class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_X-d">The Street Carnival</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_262">262</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top"><a href="#CHAPTER_XI-d">XI</a></td><td valign="top" class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XI-d">First Blood</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_267">267</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top"><a href="#CHAPTER_XII-d">XII</a></td><td valign="top" class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XII-d">Poor Hetty</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_275">275</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIII-d">XIII</a></td><td valign="top" class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIII-d">The Mercy of the Court</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_281">281</a></td></tr> - -<tr><th colspan="3"><a href="#BOOK_V">BOOK V<br /> - -DEFEAT</a></th></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top"><a href="#CHAPTER_I-e">I</a></td><td valign="top" class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_I-e">Sunny Skies</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_291">291</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top"><a href="#CHAPTER_II-e">II</a></td><td valign="top" class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_II-e">A Friendly Rivalry</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_298">298</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top"><a href="#CHAPTER_III-e">III</a></td><td valign="top" class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_III-e">Politics</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_308">308</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top"><a href="#CHAPTER_IV-e">IV</a></td><td valign="top" class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_IV-e">A Cloud on the Moon</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_315">315</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top"><a href="#CHAPTER_V-e">V</a></td><td valign="top" class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_V-e">A Lost Ally</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_325">325</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top"><a href="#CHAPTER_VI-e">VI</a></td><td valign="top" class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_VI-e">Kite Takes a Hand</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_334">334</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top"><a href="#CHAPTER_VII-e">VII</a></td><td valign="top" class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_VII-e">A Few Words To the Wise</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_343">343</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top"><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII-e">VIII</a></td><td valign="top" class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII-e">Poor Hetty Again</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_353">353</a></td></tr> - -<tr><th colspan="3"><a href="#BOOK_VI">BOOK VI<br /> - -VICTORY</a></th></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top"><a href="#CHAPTER_I-f">I</a></td><td valign="top" class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_I-f">The Weaver House Again</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_367">367</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top"><a href="#CHAPTER_II-f">II</a></td><td valign="top" class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_II-f">A Brighter Chapter</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_375">375</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top"><a href="#CHAPTER_III-f">III</a></td><td valign="top" class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_III-f">Hetty has Her Day</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_384">384</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top"><a href="#CHAPTER_IV-f">IV</a></td><td valign="top" class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_IV-f">Wint’s Rally</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_393">393</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="rt" valign="top"><a href="#CHAPTER_V-f">V</a></td><td valign="top" class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_V-f">Seeing Joan Home</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_404">404</a></td></tr> -</table> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_1" id="page_1">{1}</a></span> </p> - -<h2><a name="BOOK_I" id="BOOK_I"></a>BOOK I<br /><br /> - -THE GREAT ACCIDENT</h2> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_2" id="page_2">{2}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_3" id="page_3">{3}</a></span> </p> - -<h3><a name="CHAPTER_I-a" id="CHAPTER_I-a"></a>CHAPTER I<br /><br /> -<small>HARDISTON</small></h3> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">T</span>HERE are two kinds of people: small-town folks, and others. The others -are inclined to think of the people of the small towns as men and women -of narrow horizons and narrow interests and a vast ignorance of such -important things as cocktails. But, as a matter of fact, the people who -dwell in the little mid-western cities and towns are your real -cosmopolites. They know their own country, east, west, north and south, -at firsthand. The reason for this is simple. When a city dweller goes to -the country, he is careful to remain a city dweller; but when a -small-town man goes to the city, he becomes a city man for as long as he -is within the city’s gates. Your Bostonian knows Boston, has a -smattering of New York, and a talking acquaintance with London. Your New -Yorker knows New York—perhaps; and he desires to know nothing else. But -the men and women of Hardiston, for example, know New York, and they -know Boston—and they prefer Hardiston with a steadfast and unshakable -preference.</p> - -<p>This little town of Hardiston—it is really no town at all, since the -last census showed it with a population above the five thousand mark, -and so entitled it to be called a city—stands on a plateau above Salt -Creek, and it is overlooked by a circle of hills, and at three corners -of the town the gaunt, black iron furnaces stand sentry at the gates. -The hills, of clay and iron ore and conglomerate rock, are pink with -apple blossoms in the spring; and in the fall the hardwood growth which -clothes them where the orchards have not yet spread presents a dazzle of -reds and yellows that blind the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_4" id="page_4">{4}</a></span> eye with their splendor. It is a rich -and fertile country, with well-watered bottom lands; and Hardiston town -and Hardiston county have a past, a present and a future.</p> - -<p>The past goes back to the Indians and beyond. Salt Creek won its name by -no mere chance. There have always been traces of salt in its water; and -in the ancient days, the Indians used to come to a riffle below where -Hardiston now stands and boil the water for this salt. There was a big -encampment here; and the tribes came from all over Ohio, and from -Kentucky, and farther, too, to boil salt and take it home with them. -They brought Daniel Boone here once; and you may still see, to the north -of Hardiston, a crumbling precipice of sand conglomerate over which -Boone is said to have jumped in making his escape. Also, at the foot of -that sandy bluff, you may dig in an ash bed twenty feet deep, and find -the skeletons of Indian braves, buried there beneath the campfires, with -perhaps an arrow head of flint between their ribs.</p> - -<p>When the whites came in, they took up the making of salt where the -Indians left off. The state recognized the industry, and chartered it. -But at last cheaper salt came in, and the salt boilers found themselves -with their occupation gone. So, seeking about them for work for their -hands to do, they discovered black coal in the hills, and rusty brown -ore; and they digged the coal and the ore and made iron. It was good -iron; none better in the world; and it commanded the highest prices in -any market.</p> - -<p>The county was all undershot with coal; the hills were crowned with -iron. Twenty years ago, every valley in the county had its gaunt tipple -and its pile of crumbling slack; and every road was dotted with the -creaking, rusty wagons that hauled the ores to the furnaces in -Hardiston. To-day, much of the coal is gone; and the ore has vanished. -But the furnaces fetch ore from Superior, and smelt it into heavy pigs -of iron; and their roar is eternal about the comfortable little town.</p> - -<p>A stranger, coming to Hardiston, is inclined to think the place is dead; -but the town has a deceptive vitality. It is true the brick yard is -gone, and the occasional imported industry<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_5" id="page_5">{5}</a></span> usually dies after a brief -and uneventful life. It is true the big hotel that was, ten years ago, -the finest in a dozen counties, goes now from bankruptcy to bankruptcy -without a struggle. And Morgan & Robinson’s dry-goods store has shrunk -from three floors to one; and the interurban traction that used to run -half-hourly between Hardiston and the B. & O. main line has given place -to a dirty, jerky train that makes two trips a day. The car tracks along -Broadway and Main have been ripped up, and the fine brick paving on -these streets bids fair to endure forever, for lack of traffic that -would give it wholesome wear and tear.</p> - -<p>But the town is not dead; it is only sleeping. You may see signs of the -awakening in the apple blossoms on the hills. These Hardiston hills -produce apples of a surprising excellence, and some day the Hardiston -apple will be as famous as the Hardiston iron was in the past. But for -the present the town sleeps, a gorged slumber. For Hardiston is rich. -There are three banks, and each has more than a million in deposits. -Hardiston folk have made money; they have built themselves homes, they -have bought themselves automobiles, they have sent their boys and girls -to college, and now—save for an occasional trip into the outer world, -there is little more for them to do. But the money is there; it feeds -the prosperity of three or four moving-picture houses, half a dozen soda -fountains, and two sporadic theaters; it fattens the purses of a street -carnival or so every year, and it delights the heart of every circus -that comes to Hardiston County.</p> - -<p>It is a friendly town, a gay little town. People make their own good -times, and many of them. And the stranger is always made welcome within -their gates. Every one is quite honestly fond of Hardiston and proud of -it. When you go there, the Chamber of Commerce does not buttonhole you -and demand a factory. That is not Hardiston’s way; and besides, there is -no Chamber of Commerce. No, when you go there, Hardiston does not ask -you to do something for Hardiston; Hardiston tries to do something for -you. For instance, it invites you out to the house for supper. And you -go, and are glad you went.</p> - -<p>Perhaps it is because of this taste for friendliness that<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_6" id="page_6">{6}</a></span> Hardiston -loves politics so ardently. Politics, after all, corrupt it as you will, -is the art of making and keeping friends. Hardiston County, and the -Congressional district of which it is the heart, form one of the prime -political battle grounds of the state. Summer and winter, year in, year -out, politics in Hardiston goes on. The county officials in the Court -House, when their work is out of the way, tilt back their chairs about -the most capacious cuspidor and talk politics; the men of the town -gather at the Smoke House, or on the hotel corner, and talk politics; -the farmers, driving to town, stop every man they meet upon the road and -canvass the political situation. Even the women, at their bridge clubs -and their sewing circles and their reading clubs—Hardiston is full of -clubs—talk politics over their cards or their sewing, or after the -paper on Browning has been read.</p> - -<p>Hardiston politics is very like politics everywhere; it has not much to -do with platforms and principles, and it has a great deal to do with -men. In a political way, Congressman Amos Caretall was the biggest man -in Hardiston County. And so the home-coming of Congressman Caretall, on -the eve of the mayoralty election, was a matter that furnished talk for -all the town.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_7" id="page_7">{7}</a></span></p> - -<h3><a name="CHAPTER_II-a" id="CHAPTER_II-a"></a>CHAPTER II<br /><br /> -<small>AMOS CARETALL</small></h3> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">P</span>ETER GERGUE is a public figure in Hardiston. Every one knows him, -and—what is more to the point—he knows every one. Not only in -Hardiston town, but in Hardiston County is Gergue known. He is an -attorney, a notary, a justice of the peace. But his business under these -heads is very small. It has always been small; and he has never made any -great effort to increase it.</p> - -<p>He is a man of medium height, thin and rusty to the eye, with a drooping -black mustache and black hair that is too long, always too long, even -when he has just emerged from the barber’s chair. This long, black hair -is Gergue’s sole affectation. It is his custom, when the barber has -finished his ministrations, to rumple the hair on the back of his head -and rub it with his fingers until it is matted and tangled in a fashion -to defy the comb. He is conscious of doing this, and has been known to -explain the action. And his explanation is always the same.</p> - -<p>“When I was a boy,” he says, “I used to comb the top of my head and -slick it down, but I never got at the back much. So I got used to having -it tangled; and now I don’t feel right if it’s smooth.”</p> - -<p>So he keeps it religiously tangled; and at moments of deep thought, his -fingers stray into this maze as though searching for his medulla -oblongata in the hope of finding some idea there.</p> - -<p>Gergue’s office is above that of the Building and Loan Company, on Main -Street, opposite the Court House. There are spider webs in the corners -and on the windows; there is dust on everything. The floor of soft wood -has been worn till<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_8" id="page_8">{8}</a></span> every knot stands up like a wart, and every nail -protrudes its shining head. Against one wall, there is a wardrobe of -walnut, higher than a man. Within this piece some law books are piled, -and a few rusty garments hang. In the summer, moths nest here; in the -winter they hibernate in their nests. The garments have not been -disturbed for years, and now their fabric looks more like mosquito -netting than honest broadcloth and serge.</p> - -<p>Gergue has an old kitchen table, covered with oilcloth, near the windows -that overlook the street. There is an iron inkwell on this table, a pen, -and a miscellaneous litter of papers, while at one side of the table, on -the window sill, stands his notary’s seal and a disused letter press. -The oilcloth top of the table has worn through in many places, and the -soft wood beneath is polished to a not unlovely luster by constant -usage.</p> - -<p>Toward train time of the day Congressman Caretall was to come home, -Gergue was in this office of his. James T. Hollow was with him, sitting -stiffly in a chair that was too narrow for his pudgy bulk. James T. -Hollow was a candidate for Mayor. Amos Caretall was supporting him. And -Gergue, as Caretall’s first lieutenant, had asked Hollow to go with him -to the train to meet the Congressman. Hollow had obeyed the summons, and -now waited Gergue’s pleasure. He was smiling with a determined, though -tremulous, amiability.</p> - -<p>“I’ve always aimed to do what was right,” he explained hurriedly. They -had been discussing the chance of his election.</p> - -<p>Gergue nodded his head. “That’s what you always do,” he agreed. “Trouble -is, Chase has aimed to do what wa’n’t right, and looks like he’d get -away with it.”</p> - -<p>The other flushed painfully, and his mouth opened as though he would -like to speak, but it was some time before he managed to ask: “Is -that—the reason Congressman Caretall is coming home?”</p> - -<p>The Court House clock, across the street, struck four. The train was due -at four-twenty-two. Gergue rose slowly. “Well, now, let’s go down and -ask him,” he invited.</p> - -<p>Hollow assented weakly. “Yes, I guess that’s the right thing to do.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_9" id="page_9">{9}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>Gergue looked at him with faint impatience. “Why do you guess it’s the -right thing to do?” he inquired.</p> - -<p>The other hesitated, lifted his hands, spread them helplessly. -“Well—isn’t it?” he asked.</p> - -<p>“Oh, dear!” said Gergue sweetly. “Well—come on.”</p> - -<p>Hollow was a man with very short legs. This gave him an unfortunate, -pattering appearance when he walked with a taller man; and as he and -Gergue turned down Main Street toward the station, this fact was -commented upon. Some of the comments were direct, some subtle. For -example, one of a group of four men at the hotel corner, when the two -approached, looked all about him and whistled shrilly.</p> - -<p>“Hey, doggie! Hey, doggie! Heel!” he called.</p> - -<p>James T. Hollow was not without perception. He blushed painfully. But -Gergue took no notice of the jest, for as they approached the group, one -of the men detached himself and came to meet them.</p> - -<p>This was Winthrop Chase—Winthrop Chase, Senior—the candidate opposing -Hollow for the mayoralty. Hardiston felt that it was gracious of Chase -to offer himself for the office, for he was a man of affairs, chief -owner of the biggest furnace, a coal operator of importance in other -fields, and not unknown in state political circles. He was an erect man, -so erect that he leaned backward, and with a peculiarly healthy look -about him. He had a strong jaw and a small, governed mouth. His manner -was courtly and gracious. Some considered it condescending.</p> - -<p>“Good morning, Gergue,” he said now. “Good morning, Mr. Hollow.”</p> - -<p>“Howdo,” Gergue returned. Hollow was more loquacious. “How do you do, -Mr. Chase.”</p> - -<p>“The Congressman comes back to-day?” Chase asked.</p> - -<p>“Yep,” said Gergue.</p> - -<p>“We ought to have a reception for him at the station. He has made a name -for himself at this session.”</p> - -<p>“Always had a name,” Gergue commented, and spat carelessly, so close to -Winthrop Chase, Senior’s polished shoes that the great man moved -uneasily to one side.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_10" id="page_10">{10}</a></span></p> - -<p>“I suppose he is coming to take a hand in the mayoralty campaign,” said -Chase urbanely. He could afford to be urbane.</p> - -<p>“He didn’t say,” Gergue declared.</p> - -<p>“I’m sorry we’re on opposite sides of the fence in this squabble. Tell -him he and I must work together hereafter.”</p> - -<p>“You tell him.”</p> - -<p>Chase laughed. “I believe he will see it—without being told,” he said -loudly, and the three men at his back smiled. “He will, no doubt, find -some change in Hardiston affairs.”</p> - -<p>“He will if there is any.”</p> - -<p>“Perhaps even in the district. Though of course he does not have to seek -reëlection this fall.”</p> - -<p>“No.”</p> - -<p>“Still—”</p> - -<p>Gergue interrupted maliciously: “By th’ way, how’s Wint?”</p> - -<p>The question had a curious effect upon Chase. It surprised him, it -seemed to embarrass him, and it certainly angered him. He opened his -mouth to speak. “He—”</p> - -<p>But before he could go on, Gergue interposed: “I hear Columbus would’ve -gone dry in spite of itself, if they hadn’t sent him home from State -when they did.” And he departed with the honors of war, leaving Chase to -sputter angrily into the sympathetic ears of his companions. When he and -Hollow were half a block away, Gergue permitted himself to smile. Then -he frowned and looked at Hollow. “Why don’t you talk up to him, Jim?” he -asked disgustedly.</p> - -<p>“I—always try to do what is right, Peter. I’d like to, I really would.”</p> - -<p>“Would you, now?” Gergue echoed mockingly.</p> - -<p>“Yes, I really would,” insisted James T. Hollow.</p> - -<p>“Well, all right then,” said Gergue affably. “Le’s go along.”</p> - -<p>They went along, down shaded lower Main Street, and took at length the -left-hand turn that led toward the station. Gergue walked in silence, -and Hollow, after a few futile efforts at conversation, gave it up and -pattered at the taller man’s side without speaking. Gergue seemed to be -thinking, thinking hard.</p> - -<p>A branch line connects Hardiston with the main line of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_11" id="page_11">{11}</a></span> B. & O. to -Washington. Two trains a day traverse this branch in each direction. One -of these trains is called the Mail; the other the Accommodation; but the -source of these titles is not apparent, for both trains carry mail, and -both are most accommodating. Perhaps the Accommodation is more so than -the Mail, for at times it has a freight car attached between tender and -baggage car, and this is an indignity which the Mail never suffers.</p> - -<p>The station at Hardiston is a three-room structure of imitation hollow -tiles. That is to say, it is built of wood sheathed with tin which is -stamped in the likeness of tiles. These tin walls have an uncanny -faculty for keeping the rooms inside the station at fever heat, summer -and winter.</p> - -<p>One of these rooms is the Men’s Waiting Room; another is for feminine -patrons of the road; and between the two is the ticket office and -dispatcher’s room, with telegraph instruments clattering on a table in -the bay window at the front.</p> - -<p>The station agent is a busy man, with three or four hard-worked -assistants; for all the supplies for one of the big furnaces come in -over this branch, and the furnace’s product goes out by the same route. -The furnace itself towers above the very station, great ore piles -spraddling over acres of ground waiting for the traveling crane that -scoops them and carries the ore to the fires.</p> - -<p>On the other side of the station, across the street, there are two -buildings with ornate fronts—and locked doors. They proclaim themselves -as buildings with a past—a bibulous past. County local option was their -ruin, county local option locked their doors and stripped their shelves -and spread dust upon their bars. They are ugly things, eyesores, -specters of shame. Whatever may be said for the wares they dispense, -there is nothing more hideous than a saloon.</p> - -<p>Gergue and Hollow crossed the street at a diagonal, past these locked -saloons, to the station platform. They found on the platform a familiar -throng. Hardiston was the county seat, and served as market place for -the southern half of the county. Many people came and went daily on the -dirty, rattling, uncomfortable trains; and this, the afternoon train,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_12" id="page_12">{12}</a></span> -always picked up a score or so of passengers southward bound.</p> - -<p>In addition to these travelers, there were folk at the station to meet -every incoming passenger; for Hardiston still meets people at the train. -Guests, home-comers, even the commercial travelers find a welcome -waiting. Every one in the neighborhood stops at the station at train -time to pick up matters for gossip.</p> - -<p>Gergue made it his custom to meet a train whenever no more important -matter occupied his time; for by so doing he saw many men of the county -whom he would not otherwise have seen, and renewed acquaintances that -would otherwise have languished. He was, as it were, a professional -meeter of trains, like the editors of the three weekly papers, and the -bus men from the hotels. He left Hollow at one end of the platform, -while he traversed its length, exchanging a word with every one, -observing, inquiring, cultivating.</p> - -<p>On this business, he was fifty yards away from Hollow when the Caretall -touring car whirled down the street and stopped beside the platform. -Hollow took off his hat in greeting, and the four young people in the -car acknowledged the salutation carelessly.</p> - -<p>Agnes Caretall was driving, with Jack Routt beside her in the front -seat, and Wint Chase and Joan Arnold in the tonneau. They remained in -the car, the two in front turning half around in their seats to talk -with those behind. Agnes Caretall did most of the talking. She was a gay -little thing, with fair hair and laughing eyes and flying tongue. Joan -Arnold was darker, brown hair, eyes almost black. She was quiet, with a -poise in sharp contrast to Agnes’ vivacity. Routt and Wint Chase were -just average young men, pleasant enough in appearance. Routt was dark; -Wint had a fair skin, his father’s strong jaw, eyes that inclined at -times to sulky anger, and a head of crisp hair that was brown, with -golden flashes when the sun touched it. There was a healthy color in his -cheeks, but his eyes were reddened, and there were faint pouches beneath -them. While they waited for the train, he rolled a cigarette,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_13" id="page_13">{13}</a></span> fizzling -his first attempt because his hands were faintly tremulous. Routt -laughed at him for this.</p> - -<p>“You’re shaky, Wint,” he jested. “Better take a tailor-made one.”</p> - -<p>And he offered the other his cigarette case; but Wint shook his head -stubbornly, tried again, and this time succeeded in rolling a passable -cigarette, which he lighted eagerly.</p> - -<p>Peter Gergue, coming back along the platform, saw the four in the car -and came toward them. He caught Joan Arnold’s eyes and took off his hat, -and she smiled a greeting; and he came and stood beside the car, -exchanging sallies awkwardly with Agnes Caretall and with Routt.</p> - -<p>When the attention of these two was concentrated, for a moment, upon -each other, he asked Joan: “Is anything wrong, Miss Arnold? You look -worried. You hadn’t ought to look worried, ever.”</p> - -<p>She laughed. “Why, no, of course not. I—must have been thinking. I -didn’t know.”</p> - -<p>“Thinking about what?”</p> - -<p>“I don’t remember.”</p> - -<p>Wint had climbed out of the car and was talking to some one on the -platform a dozen feet away. Gergue looked toward him, then back to Joan. -But he said no more.</p> - -<p>“Isn’t the train late?” Agnes asked, forsaking Routt abruptly.</p> - -<p>Gergue nodded. “Ten minutes. Dan says they got a hot box, or something, -up above the Crossroads.”</p> - -<p>Agnes pouted. “They’re always late.”</p> - -<p>“They’re whistling now,” Gergue assured her, and a moment later every -one heard the distant blast. “At the crossing beyond the cemetery,” -Gergue supplemented. “Be here right away.” And he turned back to the -crowd.</p> - -<p>A moment later, they heard the whistle again, this time where the B. & -O. and D. T. & I. crossed; and after a further interval, the train came -in sight, rounding the last curve into the station. Agnes jumped out of -the car, touching Routt’s extended hand when he sought to assist her; -and then the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_14" id="page_14">{14}</a></span> engine roared and racketed past, vomiting sparks and -cinders over them all.</p> - -<p>The rear end of the last car was opposite the automobile when the train -stopped; and Agnes and Gergue pushed that way; for Amos Caretall always -got off at the rear end of a train. “If you do that you can’t get run -over—unless she backs,” he was accustomed to explain. The two reached -the steps just as the Congressman emerged from the car, and Agnes flew -up to meet him so that her arms were around his neck when he stepped -down to the platform. He was a stocky man of middle height with sandy -hair, shrewd, squinting eyes, and a habit of holding his head on one -side as though he suffered from that malady called stiff neck.</p> - -<p>He hugged Agnes close, affectionately, for an instant, then held her -away from him with both hands and surveyed her. “You sure look good, -Agnes,” he told her, and hugged her again.</p> - -<p>She slipped her hand through his arm. “We came down to get you,” she -explained. “Come along—quick. These cinders are awful.”</p> - -<p>He laughed. “In a minute. Hello, Peter. Hello, Jim.” He shook hands with -Gergue and with Hollow. “Looking for somebody, Peter?”</p> - -<p>“Just come down to see you come in.”</p> - -<p>“Well—” The Congressman grinned amiably. “I’m in.”</p> - -<p>“We wish to welcome you home, Congressman,” said James T. Hollow.</p> - -<p>“Thanks, Jim.”</p> - -<p>The three men were silent for a moment. The situation had its -interesting side. When Gergue and Hollow had been alone together, Gergue -was the dominant figure of the two. Gergue seemed then like a superman, -calm, assured, at ease; and Hollow, beside Gergue, had been almost -pathetically docile.</p> - -<p>Now, however, in the presence of the Congressman, Gergue seemed to -shrink to Hollow’s stature. He and Hollow were both mere creatures, -Hollow if anything the stronger of the two. And Amos Caretall towered -head and shoulders above them both.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_15" id="page_15">{15}</a></span></p> - -<p>It was the Congressman who broke the silence. “All right,” he said. -“Drop in any time—both of you.” And with his grip in one hand and Agnes -on the other arm, he crossed the platform to the car.</p> - -<p>Routt and Joan and Wint were there. He greeted them with comfortable -affection, and surveyed them with keen and appraising eyes. “Climb in,” -he invited. “Glad to see everybody.”</p> - -<p>Agnes and Routt took the front seat again, and Joan sat between Wint and -the Congressman behind. Just before the car started, Amos Caretall -leaned across to ask Wint:</p> - -<p>“Well, young man—how’s your father?”</p> - -<p>Wint’s eyes burned sulkily. “About as usual,” he said.</p> - -<p>The engine roared, they turned up the street; and the Congressman turned -to wave his hand to Gergue and Hollow on the platform.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_16" id="page_16">{16}</a></span></p> - -<h3><a name="CHAPTER_III-a" id="CHAPTER_III-a"></a>CHAPTER III<br /><br /> -<small>WINT CHASE</small></h3> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">A</span>MOS CARETALL’S home was not a pretentious affair. He lived in a house -that had not been built as other houses are; it had, like Topsy, “just -growed.” It began as a one-story, four-room brick structure, and spread -in wings and “ells” and upper stories until now it numbered ten rooms -and was a thing fearful and wonderful to behold. In these ten rooms, -Agnes and her father and old Maria Hale, the darky who cooked for them -and looked after them, rattled around in a somewhat lonely fashion. For -Mrs. Caretall was ten years dead, and the two Caretall boys had gone -away to college and afterward had builded homes of their own in other -regions.</p> - -<p>Amos Caretall was not rich; but he was well off. He had made his money -in coal, and when the visible supply of coal began to peter out, he had -looked into politics, gone to the state legislature for two terms, and -then to Congress. In Congress he had done well. The Hardiston district -forgot, where he was concerned, the old rule that a Congressman shall -have but two terms. They sent him back again and again. He was now in -his fifth term, and his power at home and abroad was growing.</p> - -<p>His most valuable quality was imagination. He was not an able man; he -knew little about political economy, national finance, sociology, the -science of government. He knew little and cared less. For by virtue of a -keen imagination, he was able to construct in his own mind hypothetical -situations, and then hire experts to meet them for him. Peter Gergue was -one of these experts. Gergue’s field was human nature and Hardiston -County. He knew every one in the county, and he had an uncanny faculty -for predicting how a man would react<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_17" id="page_17">{17}</a></span> to given circumstances. This -faculty extended to men in the mass, and enabled him to predict the -political effect of a given course of action with surprising accuracy. -Amos Caretall had learned to take Gergue’s advice blindly. His -home-coming at this time, for example, was in response to Gergue’s -message of a week previous. That message had been brief.</p> - -<p>“If Chase is elected Mayor, he’ll beat you for the House next year,” -Gergue had written.</p> - -<p>Caretall wired: “I’m coming home.” And he came.</p> - -<p>But there was no trace of concern in his amiable countenance as they -rode to his home now. He joked Joan Arnold into gayety, laughed Wint -Chase out of his sulkiness, and pinched his daughter’s cheek until she -threatened to ditch the car if he kept it up. Thus, when they stopped -before the house, every one was in good humor.</p> - -<p>They stopped, and Wint Chase was the first to alight. A muffled bark -greeted him from the house, and he laughed and ran up the walk and -opened the door. A wiry, tan-colored dog rushed out and engulfed him; -Muldoon, an Irish terrier of parts, who had been left behind because he -would neither ride in an automobile nor calmly suffer his master to do -so. Muldoon was one creature whom Wint unreservedly loved; and Muldoon -returned the affection. Master and dog, the first transports over, came -down the walk again as the others climbed from the car.</p> - -<p>Amos Caretall was urging them all to come in. Jack Routt said he would; -but Joan shook her head. “I can’t,” she laughed. “I promised mother to -bring home some bread.”</p> - -<p>“I’ll take it out in the car,” Agnes pleaded. “Please....”</p> - -<p>Joan stuck to her guns. Agnes pouted. Wint did not commit himself; he -seemed to take it for granted that he would go with Joan. She turned to -him. “You stay, Wint!”</p> - -<p>The old sulky light flamed in his eyes again. “No—I’m going with you.”</p> - -<p>They left the others, amid a little flurry of farewells from Agnes, and -turned uptown. Muldoon circled them madly, running at top speed in a -desperate effort to work off the spirits generated during his -confinement. Joan laughed at the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_18" id="page_18">{18}</a></span> dog, whistled him to her, stooped to -tug at his ears affectionately. “You’re full of it, aren’t you, -Muldoon?”</p> - -<p>He whined aloud in his desperate desire to answer her, then darted away -again. She straightened and they went on, the girl still smiling. Wint -looked at her once, and then again, and then he, too, smiled—at her and -at the dog.</p> - -<p>“He’s a clown,” he said.</p> - -<p>She nodded. “He’s a fine dog, Wint.”</p> - -<p>“He’s a dog of sense. He thinks well of you.” He laughed. “I’ll give him -to you some day.”</p> - -<p>She looked up at him seriously, understanding in her eyes. “I hope so, -Wint,” she said.</p> - -<p>There was something besides understanding in her eyes, something faintly -accusing; and he flushed and said hotly: “Don’t look at me like that. -Please. I’m—I mean to—make it come true.”</p> - -<p>“I hope so, Wint,” she said again.</p> - -<p>They spoke no more for a time. Presently she stopped at the bakery and -they went in together. The sweet odor of hot bread and sugar and spice -clouded about them as he opened the door. A round little woman greeted -them.</p> - -<p>“Is your cream bread all gone, Mrs. Mueller?” Joan asked.</p> - -<p>“No. Not yet. How many loaves?”</p> - -<p>“Two, please.”</p> - -<p>The little woman brought two loaves, still soft from the great ovens and -still warm, and wrapped them gently, careful not to bruise them. She -handed the package to Joan. Wint tried to take it, but Joan shook her -head, laughing at him. “Last time you mashed them flat,” she said; “I’ll -carry them.”</p> - -<p>“I’ll be careful,” he promised, and took the package from her with calm -mastery, a mastery to which she yielded with a faint tremor of -happiness. They continued more swiftly on their way.</p> - -<p>Presently she asked: “How does the work go?”</p> - -<p>He shook his head. “Badly. I’ve no—knack for it. And father and I -weren’t meant to pull in double harness.”</p> - -<p>“You must learn to, Wint. Give him a chance.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_19" id="page_19">{19}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>He nodded. “But we—grate on each other. He fires up at the least -mistake.”</p> - -<p>“You’ve been hard on his patience.”</p> - -<p>He stiffened faintly. “Possibly.”</p> - -<p>She laid her hand on his arm. “Now don’t sulk, Wint. Please.”</p> - -<p>“I’m not sulking.”</p> - -<p>“You’re too quick on the trigger. You get angry at the least thing.” She -laughed softly, in a way that robbed her words of sting. “Wint, you’re -as proud as a peacock, and as stubborn as a mule. As soon as any one -criticizes you for doing a thing—you go right off and do it again. -That’s no way to do, Wint.”</p> - -<p>He made no comment, and when she looked at him, she saw that his face -was set and hard, and she laid a hand on his arm. “Wint—don’t you think -I’m a—good friend of yours?”</p> - -<p>“If you’re not more than that, Joan—I’m through.” His eyes searched -hers; she met his bravely.</p> - -<p>“I am—more than that, Wint. So you must let me tell you things frankly. -Wint, you must learn to see that when people criticize you, or advise -you, it’s more often than not because they really wish you well. Most -people wish other people well, Wint.”</p> - -<p>“That has not been my experience.”</p> - -<p>She shook his arm, laughing. “Wint! Don’t be silly! You talk like a -disappointed man—when you ought to talk like a fine, strong, hopeful -one.”</p> - -<p>He laid his hand on hers, where it rested in the crook of his arm. -“You’re a big-heart, Joan. You like every one, and trust them and every -one is good to you. You—can’t get my viewpoint.”</p> - -<p>“I can too, Wint. For you haven’t any viewpoint. You’re just the -plaything of a little devil of perversity that makes you do things you -know you—oughtn’t to do—just to prove that you can.”</p> - -<p>They came, abruptly, to her gate. She paused to say good-by.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_20" id="page_20">{20}</a></span> His eyes -were angry; but he said quietly: “May I come to-night?”</p> - -<p>She shook her head. “Not every night, Wint. To-morrow?”</p> - -<p>“Please?”</p> - -<p>“I—no, Wint.”</p> - -<p>He straightened stiffly. “Very well. Good night.” He lifted his hat and -stalked away.</p> - -<p>Joan looked after him for a moment, her eyes disturbed, unhappy; then -she smiled a tender little smile, as a mother smiles at a wayward boy, -and turned into the house.</p> - -<p>At the corner, Wint looked back. She was gone. He went on toward his own -home, Muldoon at his heels, in a hot surge of rebellion. Halfway home, -he asked himself what it was that made him rebellious, angry; and when -he could find no reasonable answer to this question, he became more -angry than ever. He was angry at himself; but he convinced himself that -he was angry at others....</p> - -<p>Winthrop Chase, Senior, had built a home for himself a dozen years -before, in the first rush of great wealth from the furnace. It was a -monumental house, of red, pressed brick, with a slate roof and a fence -of iron pickets around the yard. It had been, when he built it, the -finest house in town. Now, however, its supremacy was challenged by a -dozen others, and the elder Chase had half decided to tear it down and -build another that would defy competition. Mrs. Chase opposed this, -gently and half-heartedly. She thought they were very comfortable.</p> - -<p>But it was a losing fight, and she knew it. Her husband was accustomed -to have his way. He would have it in the end.</p> - -<p>Wint pushed open the iron gate—it dragged on its hinges so that it had -worn a deep groove in the stone paving that led to the porch—and closed -it behind him, and went up to the door. He opened it and went in; and in -the dim light of the hall he encountered a girl. For an instant, he -failed to recognize her; then:</p> - -<p>“Why, hello—Hetty,” he said.</p> - -<p>“Hello, Wint.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_21" id="page_21">{21}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“What are you doing here?” He dropped his hat on the hall bench.</p> - -<p>“I’ve come to work for your mother.” She hesitated. “Supper’s ready. -They’re sitting down.”</p> - -<p>“Oh!” He looked at Hetty again. They had been schoolmates. Her seat had -been just in front of his one year. He remembered, with sudden -vividness, the day he stuck chewing gum in her hair. Her hair was red; a -pleasant, dark red; and it was very luxuriant. “Oh—all right,” he said, -and went into the dining room. His father and mother were at the table. -“I see you’ve got a girl, mother,” he said.</p> - -<p>“Yes—I’ve got Hetty Morfee.” Mrs. Chase sighed. “I’ve had the most -awful time, Wint. I do hope she stays. Girls are terrible hard to get, -in this town. They—”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Chase was loquacious. Her speeches were never finished. She was -always interrupted in mid-career. Otherwise, she would have talked on -endlessly.</p> - -<p>“That steak looks as though she could cook,” said Wint. “Give me some.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_22" id="page_22">{22}</a></span>”</p> - -<h3><a name="CHAPTER_IV-a" id="CHAPTER_IV-a"></a>CHAPTER IV<br /><br /> -<small>JACK ROUTT</small></h3> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">O</span>NE of Mrs. Chase’s difficulties with hired girls was that Winthrop -Chase, Senior, liked style with his meals.</p> - -<p>Mr. Chase was no provincial. He had traveled; he had lived at good -hotels; he knew New York, Columbus, Cleveland, Cincinnati. He had been a -guest at fine homes. He knew what was what.</p> - -<p>“It adds tone to a repast,” he would tell his wife, over and over. “It -adds tone to a repast. A neatly dressed maidservant, in apron and cap, -handing your dishes around. I tell you, Margaret, it gives -that—that—that style....”</p> - -<p>“I know it, Winthrop,” Mrs. Chase always agreed. “I’d like to have it -so, as much as you would. Land knows I’ve tried. I’ve trained, and I’ve -trained; but you can’t expect a girl to do everything for two dollars a -week, or even three. Why, Mrs. Hullis had—”</p> - -<p>“Well, pay more, then. Pay more. Five, or ten dollars. I make money -enough. I surely make money enough, Margaret, to have comfort and—and -style in my own home.”</p> - -<p>“You can’t get a girl in Hardiston that’s worth more than three -dollars,” Mrs. Chase insisted. “They come and they go, and they’re -always getting married, and—”</p> - -<p>Mr. Chase always carved the meats at his own table. He took pride in his -carving. When Wint appeared now, he looked up with a hostile eye, at the -same time lifting the carving knife and fork. “You’re late, young man.”</p> - -<p>“Am I?” said Wint stiffly.</p> - -<p>“The dinner hour in this house is five-thirty. If you wish to have your -meals here, you would do well to observe that fact and regulate your -movements in accordance.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_23" id="page_23">{23}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“Oh, give the boy his supper,” Mrs. Chase urged. “You get me all mixed -up, calling supper dinner and dinner lunch that way, Winthrop. Wint, -don’t you mind what your father says. He—”</p> - -<p>“Margaret,” said Mr. Chase sternly, “I wish you would—”</p> - -<p>“I went to the station to meet Caretall,” said Wint slowly. “Sorry to be -late. But—”</p> - -<p>“Caretall?” his father echoed sharply. “You—”</p> - -<p>“Now, Wint—don’t aggravate your father,” Mrs. Chase urged. “You will -drive me to—”</p> - -<p>“Hetty, pass my son’s plate,” directed the elder Chase, discovering the -girl in the doorway. “Your place is in the kitchen while the meals are -being served, not in the hall.”</p> - -<p>“All right,” said Hetty cheerfully, and she took Wint’s plate and went -around the table to his father’s side. Thus relieved of the elder -Chase’s scrutiny, she winked lightly at Wint and smiled. He made no -response. A moment later, she set his plate before him, and departed -toward the kitchen.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Chase began at once to talk. Her eating did not seem to interfere -with the gently querulous stream of her conversation. She spoke of many -things. Housekeeping cares, the perplexities and annoyances of the day, -the acquisition of Hetty, her hope that Hetty would prove a good girl, a -good cook, a good housemaid. “She’s not going to go home at night, -either,” she explained. “When girls go home at night, they’re never here -in time to get breakfast. When I have a girl, I want her in the house, -so’s I can see she gets up. She—”</p> - -<p>The elder Chase interrupted obliviously. He had been studying his son. -“Wint, have you been drinking to-day?” he demanded.</p> - -<p>Wint looked up quickly, a retort on his lips. But he checked it, and -instead said quietly:</p> - -<p>“No.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, Wint,” Mrs. Chase exclaimed, “you ain’t going to do any more of -that, are you, son? You—”</p> - -<p>“I’m keeping my eye on you, young man,” interrupted her husband. “You -left the office early to-day. Who gave you permission?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_24" id="page_24">{24}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“The work was done.”</p> - -<p>“The work is never done.”</p> - -<p>“You left before I did.”</p> - -<p>The elder Chase’s eyes flashed. “My movements have nothing to do with -it. Your place is at the office till four-thirty every day. Don’t -imagine, because you’re my son, you’ll receive any favoritism.”</p> - -<p>“It seems to work the other way,” said Wint.</p> - -<p>“It does work the other way. You’re on trial, guilty till proved -innocent, worthless till proved otherwise. Some fathers.... A boy -expelled from college for drunkenness.... You’re lucky that I am so -lenient with you, young man.”</p> - -<p>“Am I?”</p> - -<p>“Now, Wint,” his mother interjected. “Don’t you aggravate your father. -Goodness knows it’s hard enough to get along with him—”</p> - -<p>“Margaret!”</p> - -<p>“Well, I mean, you oughtn’t to—”</p> - -<p>Wint rose abruptly. “Nagging never did any good,” he said. “I mean -to—do my part.” He flamed suddenly. “But—for Heaven’s sake—don’t talk -me to death.”</p> - -<p>He went out, up to his room. He was trembling with humiliated -resentment. In his room he stood for a moment before the mirror, looking -at his image in the glass, frowning sullenly. “Talk! Talk! Talk!” he -exclaimed hotly. “Always talk!” He went into the bathroom, splashed cold -water into his face, went out again and down the stairs. He took his -hat. His mother called, from the dining room:</p> - -<p>“Wint—there’s ice cream! Don’t you—”</p> - -<p>“No—thanks,” he said. “I’m going uptown.”</p> - -<p>He closed the door upon their protests, and went down to the street and -turned toward the town.</p> - -<p>His way led past Joan’s house. He paused at her gate for a moment, -hesitant, frowning, miserable, lonely. Then he went on.</p> - -<p>Almost every one goes uptown in Hardiston at night. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_25" id="page_25">{25}</a></span> seven-fifteen -train, bringing mail, is one excuse. The moving pictures are an -allurement. The streets are better filled in early evening than at any -other time of the day. Wint began presently to meet acquaintances. At -the hotel, he encountered Jack Routt. Routt greeted him eagerly.</p> - -<p>“Wint! Hello there! Care for a game of billiards?”</p> - -<p>“I’d just as soon.”</p> - -<p>“Come along, then.”</p> - -<p>They went through the hotel office, down three steps, and into the pool -room. There were three tables, two for pool and one for billiards. A -game of Kelly pool was in progress at one table, but the billiard table -was free. They chalked their cues.</p> - -<p>“Half a dollar?” Routt challenged.</p> - -<p>Wint nodded. “All right.”</p> - -<p>Routt won the draw and shot first. The game went jerkily forward. -Neither was an expert player. A run of ten was an event. Wint played -silently, his thoughts elsewhere. Routt was cheerful, loquacious, -friendly. Wint envied him faintly. Every one liked Jack, respected -him....</p> - -<p>Routt won the game with a run of four, and laid his cue on the table. -“I’ll be back in a minute, Wint,” he said. “You don’t mind waiting?”</p> - -<p>“I’ll go with you,” Wint countered.</p> - -<p>Routt shook his head. “Now, Wint—no, I won’t let you. You know—play it -safe, man. You can’t afford to monkey with this.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t be a fool, Jack.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, Wint, I mean it. Leave it alone. That’s the only safe way—for -you.”</p> - -<p>Wint’s eyes flamed suddenly. “Aren’t you coming?” he asked, and started -for the door.</p> - -<p>Routt followed, still protesting. “Wint—don’t be a darned fool.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t be a preacher, Jack.”</p> - -<p>“Please, Wint—leave it alone. Come on back. I won’t go either.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_26" id="page_26">{26}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>Wint said nothing, but he went steadily ahead; and Routt yielded. They -left the hotel, went half a block, entered an alley, climbed a stair....</p> - -<p>County option had closed the saloons; but Hardiston was still far from -being a dry town. When they returned to the pool room half an hour -later, Wint’s cheeks were unnaturally flushed, and he laughed more -easily than before.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_27" id="page_27">{27}</a></span></p> - -<h3><a name="CHAPTER_V-a" id="CHAPTER_V-a"></a>CHAPTER V<br /><br /> -<small>COUNCIL OF WAR</small></h3> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">A</span>MOS CARETALL and his daughter had supper—dinner was at midday in the -Caretall household—alone together. Old Maria Hale cooked the supper, -and Agnes brought it to the table. It was a good supper. Fried chicken, -for example; and mashed potatoes as creamy as—cream. And afterwards, -apple tapioca pudding of a peculiar excellence. All garnished with -little, round biscuits, each no more than a crisp mouthful. The -Congressman smacked his lips over it with frank appreciation. “Maria,” -he told the old colored woman, “you could make your fortune in -Washington.”</p> - -<p>Maria cackled delightedly. She was a shriveled little old crone, bent, -wrinkled, and suspected of being as bald as an egg. No one ever saw her -without a kerchief bound tightly around her head. She had looked a -hundred years old for twenty years, and declared she was more than that. -“I mus’ be a hundred an’ twenty, at the mos’,” she used to say, when -questioned. Now she cackled with delight at the Congressman’s praise of -her cookery.</p> - -<p>“I don’t know ’bout Wash’n’t’n,” she declared. “But I ain’ makin’ no -great pile in Hardiston, Miste’ Caretall.”</p> - -<p>He laughed, head tilted back, mouth full of biscuit. “You old fraud, you -could buy and sell Chase himself, twice over. You haven’t spent a cent -for a hundred years, Maria.”</p> - -<p>She giggled like a girl, and went out to the kitchen, wagging her head -from side to side and mumbling to herself. Agnes looked after her, and -when the door was closed said, with a toss of her head: “She’s getting -awfully cranky, Dad.”</p> - -<p>Amos chuckled. “Always was, Agnes. Just the same when I was your age. -But she can make mighty un-cranky biscuits.”</p> - -<p>“She gets cross as a bear if I don’t help her with the dishes.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_28" id="page_28">{28}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>Amos looked at his daughter with a dry smile. “Then if I was you, Agnes, -I’d help her.”</p> - -<p>She started to reply, but thought better of it. A little restraint fell -upon them, and this continued until Amos leaned back with a sigh of -contentment and pulled a pipe from his coat pocket. It was a horny old -pipe, black, odorous, rank as a skunk cabbage. Agnes hated it; but Amos -stuck to it, year in, year out. When it caked so full that a pencil -would not go down into its cavity, Amos always whittled out the cake, -burned the pipe with alcohol, and started over again. The brier had been -in regular and constant use for half a dozen years—and it was still, as -Agnes used to say, “going strong.”</p> - -<p>Amos cuddled this pipe lovingly in the palm of his hand. He polished the -black bowl in his palm, and then by rubbing it across his cheek and -against the side of his nose. Agnes fidgeted, and Amos watched her with -a twinkle in his eye until she rose suddenly and cried:</p> - -<p>“Dad—that’s horrid!”</p> - -<p>He chuckled. “What was it you said about dishes?” he asked.</p> - -<p>She went sulkily toward the kitchen.</p> - -<p>Amos watched her with a certain amount of speculation in his eyes. Amos -was always speculating, speculating about people, and about things. He -stared at the door that closed behind her for a long minute before the -clock on the mantel struck seven and broke the charm. Then he got up -stiffly, favoring his big body, and went into the sitting room. Only -half a dozen houses in Hardiston had living rooms in those days. Rooms -with no other appointed use were, respectively, sitting rooms and -parlors. The library and the living room were arriving together.</p> - -<p>Amos went into the sitting room and pulled a creaky rockingchair up -before the coal fire. His feet were in carpet slippers, and he kicked -off the slippers and thrust his feet toward the blaze. He wore knitted -wool socks, gray, with white heels and toes. Maria Hale had knitted -Amos’ socks for ten years. He wriggled his toes comfortably, then -searched from one pocket a black plug of tobacco, from another a -crooked-blade<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_29" id="page_29">{29}</a></span> pruning knife. He sliced three or four slices from the -plug with grave care, restored plug and knife to his pockets, rolled the -slices to a crumbling pile in his palm, and filled his pipe. When it was -lighted—he “primed” it by cramming into the top of the pipe some -half-burned tobacco from a previous smoking—he leaned back luxuriously -in the chair, closed his eyes, puffed hard and thought gently.</p> - -<p>He was still in this position when the telephone rang; and he rose, -grumblingly, to answer it. Winthrop Chase, Senior, was at the other end -of the wire; and when he discovered this, Amos winked gravely at the -fire and his voice descended half an octave.</p> - -<p>“Good evening, Congressman,” said Chase.</p> - -<p>“Evening, Mr. Chase,” said Amos.</p> - -<p>“Gergue told me you were coming home.”</p> - -<p>“I guess he was right.”</p> - -<p>“He thought you would want to see me.”</p> - -<p>Amos’ eyes widened. “Did he say so?”</p> - -<p>Chase laughed. “Well—you understand—Gergue has his methods.”</p> - -<p>Amos nodded soberly. “Yes, yes. Well—you can come to-night if you -want.”</p> - -<p>“Er—what—”</p> - -<p>“I said you could come to-night. I’ll be home all evenin’.”</p> - -<p>Winthrop Chase, Senior, hesitated. He hesitated for so long that Amos -asked blandly: “Er—anything else?”</p> - -<p>“No, no-o,” Chase decided then. “No—I’ll come.”</p> - -<p>“That’s good,” said Amos; and hung up, and came back to his chair with a -pleasant smile upon his countenance.</p> - -<p>Almost immediately, some one knocked on the door. From the sitting room, -the door was open into the hall, so that Amos heard the knock easily. -There was a bell, and most people rang the bell; but Peter Gergue always -knocked, so Amos called out confidently:</p> - -<p>“Come in, Pete.”</p> - -<p>Listening, he heard the front door open. Then it closed, and Gergue came -slowly along the hall and into the room. Amos looked up and nodded.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_30" id="page_30">{30}</a></span></p> - -<p>“Evening, Peter. Glad t’see you. Take a chair. Any chair.”</p> - -<p>Peter put his hat on the table and dragged a morris chair before the -fire. He sat down, still without speaking, and extended his feet toward -the fire in imitation of Amos. Amos’ hands were clasped across his -middle, and Gergue clasped his hands there too. Thus they remained for a -little time silent.</p> - -<p>But such a position put Gergue under too great a handicap. He had to get -his fingers into his hair; and so presently he unclasped his hands and -began to rummage through the tangle at the nape of his neck for his -medulla, as though hunting for something. Apparently, he found it; for -after a moment he said slowly:</p> - -<p>“Well, Amos, we’re licked.”</p> - -<p>Amos turned his head and studied Gergue. “Do tell!” he exclaimed at -last.</p> - -<p>Gergue nodded. “Hollow ain’t got any more chance of being Mayor -than—than young Wint Chase has.”</p> - -<p>This seemed to startle Amos. He opened his mouth to speak, hesitated, -closed it again, then asked: “Young Wint! What makes you say that?”</p> - -<p>“We-ell—no more chance than I got, then,” Gergue amended.</p> - -<p>The Congressman seemed satisfied with the amendment. He wagged his head -as though deploring the situation, then asked: “Why? What’s Jim done?”</p> - -<p>Gergue looked at Amos reproachfully. “We-ell, you know Jim.”</p> - -<p>“Always does the right thing, don’t he?”</p> - -<p>“They ain’t no votes in that.”</p> - -<p>The two considered this truism for a time in thoughtful silence. In this -interval, Gergue produced and filled and lighted a pipe in a manner -painfully like that of Amos. Every detail—pipe, plug, knife, -priming—was the same. Amos watched him with interest, and when Gergue -had finished with the rites, Amos asked:</p> - -<p>“How big a margin has Chase got?”</p> - -<p>Gergue opened his hands as though baring every secret.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_31" id="page_31">{31}</a></span></p> - -<p>“Well,” he said, “Jim’ll get two votes. Yours and mine. He won’t vote -for himself. Says it ain’t right. So I don’t know where we can count on -anything else.” He hesitated, then: “You know, this Chase has got a holt -on Hardiston.”</p> - -<p>“How?”</p> - -<p>“Every way. Four-five hundred men working for him, one way or another. -The drys are all with him. The money is all with him. And the Democrats -are all with him.”</p> - -<p>Amos pondered. “I hadn’t no notion Chase was such a popular man,” he -said.</p> - -<p>Gergue shook his head. “He ain’t. They’d all like to see him licked, -just to see his swelling go down some. But—a man can’t vote for -Hollow.”</p> - -<p>Amos puffed hard. “You know, Peter, I’ve a mind to vote for Chase -myself.”</p> - -<p>Gergue was startled; but after a minute he grinned. “Whatever you say -goes for me, Amos.”</p> - -<p>“Chase is a good man, a big man, a public-spirited man. You know, Peter, -if he was elected Mayor, things being as they is, he’d stand right in -line for Congress next fall. I don’t know as I’d even run against him, -Pete.”</p> - -<p>Gergue leaned forward and clapped his knee and chuckled. Something -pleased him. Amos watched him with an expression of comical -bewilderment, until Gergue caught his eye and sobered abruptly. Then -Amos asked, most casually:</p> - -<p>“How’s young Wint, Peter?”</p> - -<p>Gergue looked sharply at the Congressman. “The boy? We-ell—he’s over -twenty-one.”</p> - -<p>“Er—is he?”</p> - -<p>Amos squinted at the ceiling. “Seems to me he is. He was three years -ahead of Agnes in school and high school, and she is twenty now. He must -be twenty-two or three.”</p> - -<p>Peter considered this, but made no comment. After a moment Amos asked -again: “So—how is he, Peter?”</p> - -<p>Gergue rummaged through his back hair. “We-ell—they kicked him out of -State for over-study of booze.”</p> - -<p>Amos nodded. “I know. But—how is he?”</p> - -<p>“Still at it.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_32" id="page_32">{32}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“Still at—the booze?”</p> - -<p>“He drinks when he has a mind to; and he’s got a large and active mind.”</p> - -<p>“What does his father think of it?”</p> - -<p>“Various sentiments.”</p> - -<p>“Wint is looking badly.”</p> - -<p>Gergue nodded. “I come along the street this morning,” he said. “He was -standing in front of the Post Office. His back was to me; and when I -says, ‘Hello’ to him, he jumped a foot. Nerves on edge.”</p> - -<p>“That’s natural.”</p> - -<p>Peter shook his head. “Not natural; booze.”</p> - -<p>“Oh,” said Amos; and: “But he’ll straighten up. He’ll come out all -right.”</p> - -<p>Peter shook his head. “I’ve seen ’em go that way. By and by his face -will begin to look old, just over night. And then his clothes will get -shabby, and b’fore anybody knows different, he’ll be hanging around the -hotel corner of nights with a cigarette in his mouth.” He hesitated. -“He’s set in his way, Amos. Nothing but an accident’ll change him.”</p> - -<p>Amos looked across at Peter curiously. “Accident?”</p> - -<p>“Yeah.”</p> - -<p>Gergue volunteered no explanation; but after a little time Amos said -slowly: “Well, Peter—some accidents ain’t so accidental as others. -Pete, you just make a study of Wint Chase for me.”</p> - -<p>Gergue looked curious, and he threaded his hair for his medulla -oblongata, but he asked no questions. Before a direct instruction or -command from Amos, Peter was always silently obedient. He looked at -Amos, and then he turned back at the fire; and for a long time the two -men sat thus, staring into the coals above the smoking bowls of their -pipes.</p> - -<p>It is one of the merits of cut-plug for smoking that a well-filled pipe -gives a long smoke. Amos Caretall’s pipe lasted three quarters of an -hour before the last embers were drowned in the moisture at the bottom -of the bowl. He knocked out the loose ashes into his palm, leaving the -half-burned cake in the bottom of the pipe to serve as priming for a -later<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_33" id="page_33">{33}</a></span> smoke, and then stuffed the pipe affectionately away into his -pocket.</p> - -<p>Peter was still puffing at his, and Amos watched him for a little, and -then he chuckled softly to himself. Gergue looked across at him in faint -surprise. Amos chuckled harder, began to laugh, laughed aloud—and -instantly was as sober as a judge.</p> - -<p>“Peter,” he said slowly, “what you reckon Winthrop Chase, Senior, would -up and do if he was licked for Mayor?”</p> - -<p>Gergue considered for a moment, then seriously judged: “He’d up and lay -him an egg.”</p> - -<p>Amos nodded. “And eggs will be worth fifty cents a dozen, right here in -Hardiston, inside a month. It might pay to have him lay one, Pete.”</p> - -<p>“You’ll need a political Lay-or-Bust for that, Amos.”</p> - -<p>“I’ve got one, Peter.”</p> - -<p>Gergue stared slowly at Amos, his eyes ponderously inquisitive. At -length he asked: “What brand?”</p> - -<p>Amos leaned toward him quickly. “Almost any good man could beat Chase, -couldn’t he, Pete?”</p> - -<p>“He might have—starting at the first go off. He couldn’t now.”</p> - -<p>“Chase ain’t rightly popular.”</p> - -<p>“No—he puts on too many airs.”</p> - -<p>“Hardiston’d like to see a joke on him—now wouldn’t it?”</p> - -<p>“Sure. A man always can laugh at a joke on the other fellow. Special if -it’s on old Chase.”</p> - -<p>“Pete—I kind of like Congress.”</p> - -<p>Gergue nodded. “Don’t blame you a speck.”</p> - -<p>“I want to keep a-going back there.”</p> - -<p>“Fair enough.”</p> - -<p>“But you say, yourself, that Chase don’t agree with me on that.”</p> - -<p>“He says so too.”</p> - -<p>Amos tapped Gergue’s knee. “Pete, wouldn’t a good, smashing joke on -Chase put him out of the running for a spell?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_34" id="page_34">{34}</a></span></p><p>Gergue considered. “I’ll say this, Amos,” he announced at length. “A -joke on a man is all right, if it don’t go too far. If you go too far, -you’ll make ’em sorry for Chase, and then there’ll be no stopping ’em. -Politics sure does love a martyr. But—short o’ that—a joke’s good -medicine.”</p> - -<p>Caretall sat up quickly. “That’s fine,” he said soberly. “That’s fine,” -he repeated. And he fell silent, and after a little said, half aloud and -for the third time, “Peter, that’s fine.”</p> - -<p>Peter’s pipe smoked out, and he, too, emptied the ashes and preserved -the last charred bits of tobacco as Amos had done. Then he rose, reached -slowly for his hat. “I’ll go along, Amos,” he announced.</p> - -<p>The Congressman lumbered up out of his chair, his broad countenance -beaming. “Fair enough, Peter. But, Pete—I want to ask you something.”</p> - -<p>Gergue shifted his hat to his left hand; his right went to the back of -his neck. “What is it?”</p> - -<p>“Take a man like young Wint, Peter. Suppose he was give a -job—sudden—that was right up to him. Responsibility, power, something -to do that had to be done. Nobody to boss him but himself. Him and his -heart. What would that do to a man like Wint, Pete?”</p> - -<p>Gergue scratched his head—hard. He thought—hard. Amos said softly: -“Don’t hurry, Pete. Think it over.” Gergue nodded; and presently he -said:</p> - -<p>“Man just like Wint—that’s what you mean?”</p> - -<p>“Say—Wint himself.”</p> - -<p>“It’d depend on the man.”</p> - -<p>“Say it’s Wint.”</p> - -<p>“Depend on whether he had any backbone—any stuff in him.”</p> - -<p>“Has Wint got it?”</p> - -<p>Gergue shook his head. “Ain’t sure.”</p> - -<p>“Say he has.”</p> - -<p>“Then—this job you mentioned would straighten him out—likely.”</p> - -<p>“Say he hadn’t.”</p> - -<p>“<span class="lftspc">’</span>Twouldn’t hurt him none.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_35" id="page_35">{35}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>Amos nodded. “That’s what I thought, Pete.” He laid his hand on the -other’s shoulder and propelled him gently toward the door. There he -paused, added: “You do what I asked, will you, Pete? Make a study of -Wint.”</p> - -<p>“All right.”</p> - -<p>“And—Pete.”</p> - -<p>Gergue turned.</p> - -<p>“Tell V. R. Kite I wish he’d come and see me.”</p> - -<p>Peter’s eyes lighted slowly—and after a moment, he grinned. “All right, -Amos,” he said quietly, and went down the walk to the gate.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_36" id="page_36">{36}</a></span></p> - -<h3><a name="CHAPTER_VI-a" id="CHAPTER_VI-a"></a>CHAPTER VI<br /><br /> -<small>WINTHROP CHASE, SENIOR</small></h3> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">W</span>INTHROP CHASE, SENIOR, took himself seriously.</p> - -<p>When he walked the streets of Hardiston, bowing most affably, smiling -most genially, he was inwardly conscious of the gaze of all who passed -that way. He felt their eyes upon him; and this gave him a sense of -responsibility, a sense of duty. His duty, as he saw it, was to set an -example to the town; an example of erectness and respectability and high -ideals. And it must be said for Chase that he did his utmost along these -lines.</p> - -<p>He was not an educated man. He had been born in Hardiston, and had -attended the Hardiston schools; but in those days the Hardiston schools -were not remarkable. Chase could read, he could write, and he could -arrange and classify more figures in his head than most men could manage -on paper. But beyond that, he did not go. There was a native honesty in -the man; and this led him to recognize his own shortcomings. For -example, when he was called upon to address his fellow citizens, he -always summoned a collaborator and arranged his speech in advance. He -made no secret of this. In the same way, the printed word was a -continual surprise and delight to him; every book he opened was a -succession of amazing revelations. And this characteristic gave him a -profound admiration for such folk as the editors of the Hardiston -papers. As business men, he had for them only a benignant contempt; as -politicians, they were pawns and nothing more; but for their ability to -say what they wished with pen and paper, Chase accorded them all honors.</p> - -<p>The elder Chase’s sense of responsibility to the town had made him an -unsympathetic father to Wint. He expected Wint, too, to live up to the -position in which he found himself. It was not hypocrisy that made him -gloss over private errors<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_37" id="page_37">{37}</a></span> and denounce more public aberrations; it was -a feeling that Wint owed a good example to the town. Thus he had never -objected to Wint’s drinking at home—the Chases always had liquor in the -house—but when Wint was expelled from the state university for -drinking, his father was furious; and when Wint once or twice was -brought home from town in an uncertain state of mind and body, his -father raged.</p> - -<p>The elder Chase made many errors, most of them wellintentioned, and he -accomplished much good, most of it by accident. He was a curious -compound of harmless faults and dangerous virtues. And no one regretted -his mistakes more than Chase himself.</p> - -<p>Five minutes after telephoning Amos Caretall, Winthrop Chase saw that -was a strategic mistake, and began regretting it. Until Amos’s -home-coming the mayoralty campaign had been going smoothly and -satisfactorily. Hollow was not a dangerous opponent, and Chase seemed -reasonably sure of election by default.</p> - -<p>Nevertheless, the coming of Amos had disturbed him. Amos was rightly -feared by his political enemies. He had the habit of success; and no -matter how secure Chase might feel, the thought of Amos made him -secretly tremble.</p> - -<p>He was not a man to avoid conflict; therefore he had sought to confront -the enemy forthwith, and had telephoned Amos with that end in view. He -wished to bolster his own courage by seeing Amos cower; and Amos had -disappointed him. Instead of cowering, Amos had told him carelessly that -if he, Chase, wished to do so, he might call on Amos that night. And -Chase had promised to come.</p> - -<p>Now he was torn with regrets. He was sorry he had telephoned; and he was -sorry he had promised to come. At first he thought he would stay at -home, let Amos wait in vain; and he tried to bolster this decision with -arguments. But they were unconvincing. Sure as he was of the election, -Amos made him nervous; and eventually, with a desperate feeling that he -must know the worst, and quickly, he set out for the Caretall home.</p> - -<p>Agnes came to admit him when he rang the bell. He liked<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_38" id="page_38">{38}</a></span> the girl. She -was pretty and gay, and she was always flutteringly deferential in his -presence. She opened the door, and saw him, and cried delightedly:</p> - -<p>“Why, Mr. Chase! Come in!”</p> - -<p>He obeyed, drawing off his gloves. He was one of the four men in -Hardiston who wore kid gloves. “Good evening, Agnes,” he said, in his -tone of condescending graciousness. “Is your father at home?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, yes—he’s in by the fire.”</p> - -<p>Amos called from the sitting room: “Toasting my toes, Winthrop. Come -in.”</p> - -<p>“Let me take your coat,” Agnes was begging; and he allowed her to help -him off with the garment, and then handed her his hat and gloves and -watched her bestow them on the rack. She was graceful in everything she -did, and she looked up at him in a humble little fashion, as though to -solicit his approval. He gave it.</p> - -<p>“Thank you, Agnes,” he said gravely.</p> - -<p>“Now!” she said, and turned toward the sitting-room door. In the doorway -she paused. “Dad, here’s Mr. Chase.”</p> - -<p>“Come in, Chase,” Amos called again. “Take a chair. Any chair. Turning -cold, ain’t it?”</p> - -<p>Amos did not get up; but Chase went toward him and held out his hand so -that the Congressman was forced to rise. He was in the act of filling -his pipe again, knife in one hand, slices of tobacco in the other; and -he had trouble clearing one hand for the greeting, but he managed. “Now -sit down, Chase,” he urged again, when the handshake was over. “Glad you -came in. Is it turning cold or ain’t it?”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said Chase seriously. “Yes, there’s a touch of cold in the air.”</p> - -<p>“Sky looked that way to me this afternoon. Early, too.”</p> - -<p>“I think it will pass, though,” Chase declared. “We’ll have some Indian -summer yet.”</p> - -<p>“Had some snow, haven’t you?”</p> - -<p>“Two or three inches, early this month. But it melted in an hour when -the sun touched it.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_39" id="page_39">{39}</a></span></p><p>Amos nodded slowly. He was lighting his pipe. Agnes had come in with -the visitor, but after a moment took herself upstairs and the two men -were left alone. This made Chase uncomfortable. Even Agnes would have -been a support in this encounter. He looked sidewise at Amos, but Amos -was studying the fire; and after a minute the Congressman got up and -poked out the ashes and put on half a bucket of fresh coal. Then he -jabbed the coals again, and so resumed his seat.</p> - -<p>“Ain’t been over to Washington lately, Chase,” he said presently.</p> - -<p>Chase aroused himself. “No. No. Been very busy, Amos. Affairs here, you -know....”</p> - -<p>“I know, I know. Now, me—Washington is my business. But you have to -stick to your coal and your iron.” He paused. “I sh’d think you’d get -tired of it, Chase.”</p> - -<p>“How are things in the Capitol?” Chase asked importantly. Amos looked at -him sidewise.</p> - -<p>“Why—I ain’t noticed anything wrong.”</p> - -<p>“Who will the Republicans nominate?”</p> - -<p>Amos chuckled. “Gawd, Chase, I wish I knew.”</p> - -<p>“They’ll need a strong man, Amos. The country’s swinging again.”</p> - -<p>The Congressman looked at Chase, and he grinned. “Chase,” he said, -“you’re a funny Democrat.”</p> - -<p>“Why? I—”</p> - -<p>“I guess you’re one of these waiting Democrats—eh?”</p> - -<p>Chase looked confused. “I.... What’s that?”</p> - -<p>“Figuring there’s bound to be a swing some day—and when it comes, -you’ll be there and waiting,” Amos nodded. “You’re right, too. Bound to -be a swing some day.”</p> - -<p>“I’m a Democrat from conviction, Amos. The Democratic party....”</p> - -<p>“Fiddlesticks! Tariff has made you—iron and steel. Fiddlesticks!”</p> - -<p>Chase fidgeted; Amos fell silent, and for a time neither man spoke. Once -Amos reached into a table drawer and produced a cigar and offered it to -the other. Chase lighted it. When it was half smoked, Amos asked -carelessly:<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_40" id="page_40">{40}</a></span></p> - -<p>“Well, Chase, what was it you wanted to see me about?”</p> - -<p>Chase put himself on the defensive. “I—why you asked me to come. I -supposed....”</p> - -<p>Amos grinned. “Have it so, Chase. Have it so.” He puffed hard at his -pipe, looked at the other. “Well—does it look like the swing was coming -in Hardiston?”</p> - -<p>Chase stiffened self-consciously. “The town has demanded that I run for -Mayor—and—I consented.”</p> - -<p>“That was a public-spirited thing to do, Chase. With all your business -to hinder you—take your time....”</p> - -<p>“I was glad to do it. A man owes it.... If there is a demand for him, he -must respond.”</p> - -<p>“Sure! Sure thing! And you’ve responded noble, Chase.”</p> - -<p>“I’ve made a straightforward campaign.”</p> - -<p>“First-class campaign. You figure you’ve got a chance?”</p> - -<p>Chase’s confidence returned. “I’m going to win, Amos. Nothing can stop -me. I’ll be the next Mayor of Hardiston—sure.”</p> - -<p>Amos looked thoughtful. “I ain’t in touch—myself.” He puffed at his -pipe. “Gergue says you’ll win—barring an accident.”</p> - -<p>“There will be no accident.”</p> - -<p>“Eh?”</p> - -<p>“I intend to see to it that there is no accident.”</p> - -<p>Amos nodded. “Well,” he commented, “that’s your privilege.”</p> - -<p>Chase leaned forward. “Congressman,” he said seriously, “it’s a bad plan -to stay away from home so long. You get out of touch with affairs here. -You ought to—you need some ally here to watch over your interests.”</p> - -<p>Amos looked up quickly. “Now, I never thought of that,” he declared.</p> - -<p>Chase clapped his hand on his knee. “It’s right. You can’t tell what the -people are thinking unless you live among them—as I do, sir.”</p> - -<p>Amos considered this statement, and then he remarked: “Take this wet and -dry business, for instance. Now, me—I’m so far away I don’t rightly -know what the folks here are<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_41" id="page_41">{41}</a></span> thinking. But you—” He hesitated. “How -does it strike you, Chase?”</p> - -<p>“It’s the big issue here.”</p> - -<p>“How? County’s dry.”</p> - -<p>“But the town isn’t. The law is not enforced here.”</p> - -<p>“Why not?”</p> - -<p>Chase laughed shortly. “The present Mayor—”</p> - -<p>Amos interrupted. “I’m a wet man, Chase. You know that. I guess you are, -too, ain’t you?”</p> - -<p>Chase shook his head sternly. “No, indeed. Prohibition is the greatest -good for the greatest number. I want to see it sweep the -country—state-wide—nation-wide.”</p> - -<p>Amos looked startled. “I’m surprised.”</p> - -<p>“There’s no question about it, Congressman. Prohibition is coming. And -I’m for it.”</p> - -<p>“You have—you ain’t a dry man, are you?”</p> - -<p>“I believe in moderation.”</p> - -<p>“Now that’s funny, too,” Amos commented, his head on one side in the -familiar posture that suggested he was suffering from stiff neck.</p> - -<p>“Funny? Why?”</p> - -<p>“You and me. Me—I’m a wet man; I believe in license. But I’m a -teetotaller. You’re a dry man—but you like moderation. I’m for a wet -state and a dry cellar—and you’re for a dry state and a wet cellar. -Ain’t that always the way?”</p> - -<p>Chase flushed stiffly. “Many great men have held public views differing -from their private practice.”</p> - -<p>“Who, f’r instance?”</p> - -<p>“Why—many of them.”</p> - -<p>Amos nodded. “Well, you’ve studied the thing. Maybe you’re right.”</p> - -<p>“I am right.”</p> - -<p>The Congressman looked at the other with a cold, quizzical light in his -eyes. “How ’bout Wint? He hold your views?”</p> - -<p>Chase turned red as fire. “He has nothing to do with this.”</p> - -<p>“I heard he was a wet man, personally. But I wondered if he was dry like -you in theory.”</p> - -<p>The other said stiffly: “My son has disgraced me. I have<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_42" id="page_42">{42}</a></span> been very -angry with him. But it may have been as much my fault as his. I have -tried to be patient. He understands, now, that if he continues—if he -does not mend his ways—I—” He stopped uncertainly.</p> - -<p>“Reck’n you’d disown him.”</p> - -<p>An unexpected and very human weakness showed in the countenance of the -elder Chase. His features worked; he said huskily, “Well—the boy—he’s -my only child, Amos.”</p> - -<p>Amos had never liked Winthrop Chase till that moment. He was surprised -at the burst of sympathy that moved him. He nodded. “You’re right, -Chase. And—Wint’s a good boy, I figure.”</p> - -<p>His tone encouraged the other. Chase leaned toward the Congressman. -“Amos,” he said, “there’s a new day coming in Ohio politics.”</p> - -<p>Amos looked puzzled. “To-morrow’s always likely to be a new day.”</p> - -<p>“Things are changing, Amos.”</p> - -<p>“How?”</p> - -<p>“Men are dissatisfied with the present—administration of affairs.”</p> - -<p>“Men are always dissatisfied.”</p> - -<p>“They’re looking around for a new—hired man—Amos.”</p> - -<p>Amos chuckled; then he said slowly: “Well—there’s lots of folks looking -for the job.”</p> - -<p>Chase hesitated, considering his next word; and in the end he cast -diplomacy to the winds and came out flatly: “Amos—it’s a good time to -look around for friends. To make new alliances.”</p> - -<p>Amos looked at the other thoughtfully. “Meaning—just what?”</p> - -<p>Chase said simply: “You and I ought to get together, Amos.”</p> - -<p>“We’re—here together.”</p> - -<p>“I mean—a permanent alliance—offensive and defensive. For mutual -good.”</p> - -<p>Amos’ pipe had smoked itself to the end. He emptied it with his -accustomed care before answering. Then he said slowly: “Specify, Chase. -Specify.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_43" id="page_43">{43}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>Chase proceeded to specify. “I’m going to be the next Mayor of -Hardiston, Amos.”</p> - -<p>“Barring that accident.”</p> - -<p>Chase brushed that suggestion aside. “My victory—in a strong Republican -town—will make me an important figure in the district.”</p> - -<p>“Meaning—my district.”</p> - -<p>“Meaning the Congressional district.”</p> - -<p>Amos looked at the other. “You figuring to run against me next year.”</p> - -<p>Chase shook his head. “I don’t want to. There’s no sense in our cutting -each other’s throats.”</p> - -<p>“That’s against the law, anyhow.”</p> - -<p>Chase leaned forward more earnestly. “Amos—here’s my proposition. We -ought to get together. I’m willing. I’ve got Hardiston. Sentiment in the -district is swinging. I can make a good fight against you next year—I -think I can win. But I don’t want to fight you. So—Let’s get together. -Party politics are out of date. We’re the two biggest men in the county, -Amos. You step aside and let me go to Congress—I can beat any one else -easily. And I’ll back you for—the Senate, Amos.”</p> - -<p>For a moment Amos remained very quietly in his chair; then he coughed, -such a loud, harsh cough that Chase jumped. And then he said slowly: -“Chase—you startled me.”</p> - -<p>Chase said condescendingly, grandly: “No reason for that, Amos.”</p> - -<p>“But my land, man—the Senate! Me in the Senate!”</p> - -<p>“Why not? Worse men than you are there.”</p> - -<p>“Chase—you’re the man for the Senate—not me.”</p> - -<p>Chase bridled like a girl. “No, no, Amos. You’ve the experience, the -wide view—”</p> - -<p>Amos seemed to recall something. “That’s so, Chase. And you—you ain’t -Mayor yet. Something might happen.”</p> - -<p>“It won’t.”</p> - -<p>Amos rose. “Chase,” he said, “I’ve got to know you better to-night than -in twenty years.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_44" id="page_44">{44}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>Chase grasped the Congressman’s hand firmly. This was a habit of his, -this firm clasp. “It’s high time, then, Amos.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, yes,” Amos considered. “Tell you what, Chase,” he said at last, -“I’ll think it over.”</p> - -<p>“It’s the thing to do, Amos.”</p> - -<p>“I’ll think it over, Chase,” the Congressman repeated. He was ushering -the other toward the door, helping him into his coat, opening the door. -“Wait till after election, Chase,” he said then deferentially. “If -you’re elected Mayor of Hardiston—I don’t see but what we’ll have to -team up together.”</p> - -<p>Chase grasped the Congressman’s hand again. “That’s a bargain, Amos.”</p> - -<p>“A bargain,” Amos echoed. Then: “Good night, Chase.”</p> - -<p>The door closed; and Amos, after a minute, began to chuckle slowly under -his breath.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_45" id="page_45">{45}</a></span></p> - -<h3><a name="CHAPTER_VII-a" id="CHAPTER_VII-a"></a>CHAPTER VII<br /><br /> -<small>V. R. KITE</small></h3> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">V</span>ICTOR RUTHERFORD KITE was a man about half the size of his name. -Specifically, he was five feet and two inches tall with his shoes on and -his pompadour ruffed up. A saving sense of the fitness of things had led -him to abandon the long roll of names bestowed upon him by his parents -in favor of the shorter and more fitting initials. As V. R. Kite, he had -lived in Hardiston for twenty odd years; and most Hardiston people had -forgotten what his given names actually were.</p> - -<p>He was about sixty years old; and he looked it. His eyes were small, and -they were washy blue. The eyelids fell about them in thousands of tiny -folds and wrinkles, so that the eyes themselves were almost hidden. His -eyebrows and his hair and his hints of side whiskers were gray. These -side whiskers were really not whiskers at all; they were merely a faint -downward growth of the hair before his ears; and they lay on his dry -cheeks like the stroke of a brush. His skin was parched dry; it was so -dry that it had a powdery look. He walked with a dignified little swing -of his short legs, and held his head poised upon his thin neck in a -self-contained way that indefinably suggested a turkey.</p> - -<p>This man was a member of the session of his church; he was the -proprietor and manager of a store that would have been a five-and-ten -cent emporium in a larger town than Hardiston; and he was the -acknowledged leader of the “wet” forces in Hardiston. He himself had -come to the town in the beginning to run a saloon; but after a few -years, he submerged his own personality in this venture and opened the -little store, leaving a lieutenant to manage the saloon which he still -owned. Thereafter, he acquired other establishments of a like nature,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_46" id="page_46">{46}</a></span> -until he attained the dignity of a vested interest. When county option -came, he suffered in proportion.</p> - -<p>But though town and county voted “dry,” there were any number of -Hardiston folk who still liked a drink now and then; and the city—for -the town of Hardiston was legally a city—took judicial cognizance of -the will of its citizens to this extent: the prohibition law was not -strictly enforced. The official interpretation of it was: “It’s against -the law to sell liquor if you get caught.”</p> - -<p>V. R. Kite thought this was reasonable enough, and took care not to get -caught.</p> - -<p>On the evening of Amos Caretall’s home-coming, Kite was not in his -store, so Peter Gergue had some difficulty in locating him. As a last -resort, he tried the little man’s home, and was frankly surprised to -find Kite there. He delivered Amos’s message, and Kite, who was at times -a fiery little man, and a sulker between whiles, agreed in a surly -fashion that he would go and see Amos that night. Gergue was satisfied.</p> - -<p>Kite’s house was near that of Amos; but he did not set forth at once. -When he did, it was just in time to encounter Winthrop Chase, Senior, at -Amos’s gate. Kite bridled and slid past Chase as warily as a cat. The -two men did not speak. If they had spoken, they would have fought; for -each of them felt that he had borne the last bearable insult from the -other. They passed, and Kite hurried up to Amos’s door while Winthrop -Chase, looking back, watched with a calmly complacent smile. He felt -that he and Amos had come to an understanding; and he rejoiced at the -thought that this understanding meant the downfall of Kite as a -political power in Hardiston.</p> - -<p>Kite knocked at the door while Amos was still chuckling in the hall; and -Amos let him in. Kite, once the door was open, slid inside, shoved the -door shut behind him, and exclaimed in a low, furious voice: “That Chase -met me outside. He was here. Don’t deny it, Amos! Did you aim for me to -meet him here?”</p> - -<p>Amos chuckled and patted Kite’s shoulder. “Now, now, Kite,” he said -soothingly. “You didn’t run onto him here. You didn’t have to talk to -him. So what you mad about?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_47" id="page_47">{47}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“I hate the sight of the man. He makes me sick.”</p> - -<p>“Come in and set down,” said Amos, still chuckling.</p> - -<p>They went into the sitting-room, Kite still grumbling at the nearness of -his escape. When they were once settled, Amos broke in on this monologue -without hesitation: “Chase says he’s going to be the next Mayor—whe’er -or no,” he remarked.</p> - -<p>Kite’s dry little countenance twisted with pain. Amos saw, and asked -sympathetically: “That gripe ye, does it?”</p> - -<p>“I’ll never live in the town with him Mayor,” Kite exploded. “I won’t -live here. I’ll sell out and move away. I’ll shoot myself! Or him! -I’ll....”</p> - -<p>He petered out, and Amos grinned. “I gather you and Chase don’t jibe. -What’s he ever done to you?”</p> - -<p>“Grinned at me. He’s always grinning at me like a—like a—like....”</p> - -<p>Amos smoothed the grin from his own countenance with a great hand, and -tilted his head on one side. “You and him disagree some on the liquor -issue, I take it.”</p> - -<p>“We disagree on every issue. He’s....”</p> - -<p>“Hardiston’s a little bit wet, ain’t it?”</p> - -<p>“Of course! And no one objects! But this Chase wants to get in and make -it dry. He’s a....”</p> - -<p>“This county option law’s popular, though.”</p> - -<p>“Popular—with fools and hypocrites like Chase.”</p> - -<p>“Chase’ll make a good Mayor,” Amos suggested. “He’s a fine, -public-spirited man. Always sacrificing himself for the -town—sacrificing his own interests—an’ all that. So he says, anyhow. -Said so to me, to-night.”</p> - -<p>Kite waved his clenched fists above his head. He fought for words. Amos -seemed not to notice this.</p> - -<p>“He’s a good man, a churchly man,” he mused.</p> - -<p>Kite exploded. “Damn hypocrite!”</p> - -<p>Amos looked across at the other in surprise. “Hypocrite? How’s that?”</p> - -<p>Kite became fluent. “Take the liquor question. He preaches dry—talks -dry—and drinks like a fish. And his son is a common toper.”</p> - -<p>Amos shook his head. “We-ell, a man’s private life ai<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_48" id="page_48">{48}</a></span>n’t nothing to do -with his political principles. Lots of cases like that. If a man thinks -right, and performs his office, I reckon that’s all you can ask. Out of -office hours—he’s allowed to do what he wants.”</p> - -<p>“He’ll ruin Hardiston,” Kite declared. “Ruin it.” He whirled toward the -other. “Your fault, too, Amos. If you’d put up a man against him, -instead of a fish like Jim Hollow....”</p> - -<p>“I figured Jim would do. He always tried to do the right thing,” Amos -protested; and Kite dismissed the protest with a grunt.</p> - -<p>“The town don’t want Chase,” he declared vehemently, “but they can’t -take Hollow.”</p> - -<p>“We-ell,” said Amos thoughtfully, “what’s going to be done about it?”</p> - -<p>Kite threw up his hands. “Nothing. Too late. But I....”</p> - -<p>The Congressman interrupted drawlingly: “Now if it was young Wint that -was going to be Mayor—you wouldn’t have to worry.”</p> - -<p>Kite laughed shortly. “I guess not. But—he’s not.”</p> - -<p>“He wouldn’t be likely to make the town so awful dry.”</p> - -<p>“Not unless he drank it dry.”</p> - -<p>“We-ell, he couldn’t do that.”</p> - -<p>Kite grinned. “I’d chance it.”</p> - -<p>They were silent for a moment; then Amos said slowly: “Funny—what a -difference one letter makes. ‘Jr.’ instead of ‘Sr.’ Eh?”</p> - -<p>Kite nodded slowly; and Amos was silent again, and so for a time the two -men sat, thinking. Kite stared at the fire, his face working. Amos -watched the fire, but most of all he watched Kite. He studied the little -man, his head tilted on one side, his eyes narrowed. And Kite remained -oblivious of this scrutiny. In the end, Amos spoke:</p> - -<p>“Kite—how many votes you figure will be cast at this election?”</p> - -<p>Kite looked up, considered. “A thousand or twelve hundred, I suppose.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_49" id="page_49">{49}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>Amos bestirred his great bulk and drew from a pocket a handful of -letters. He chose one, replaced the others. From another pocket he -routed a stubby pencil, moistened the lead, and set down Kite’s figures -on the envelope. “I think that’s too many,” he commented.</p> - -<p>“Maybe,” Kite agreed. “What does it matter?”</p> - -<p>“How many wet votes can you swing against Chase as it stands?”</p> - -<p>Kite frowned. “I can’t do much with Hollow to work with. Maybe four -hundred.”</p> - -<p>“Suppose you had a good man to work with?”</p> - -<p>“He ought to get close to five hundred out of twelve.”</p> - -<p>“Everybody so much in love with Chase as that?”</p> - -<p>Kite shook his head. “They don’t like him. Nobody does. He thinks he -owns the town.”</p> - -<p>“Does he own it?”</p> - -<p>“A good part. Three or four hundred votes, anyhow.”</p> - -<p>Amos tapped his envelope with his pencil, figuring thoughtfully. “I was -thinking some of playing a little joke on Chase,” he said at last. -“Think they’d enjoy a joke on him?”</p> - -<p>Kite looked across at the Congressman with hope in his eye for the first -time that evening. “Any joke on Chase will find lots to laugh at it,” he -declared.</p> - -<p>Amos nodded. “That’s what Gergue said.”</p> - -<p>“He’s right.” Kite’s face fell. “But shucks! What chance is there?”</p> - -<p>“There’s a chance,” said Amos.</p> - -<p>“What is it?”</p> - -<p>“Listen, Kite,” said the Congressman soberly. “Listen and I’ll tell -you.”</p> - -<p>He began to speak; he talked for a long time, and as he explained, -Kite’s countenance passed from doubt to hope and then to exultant -confidence.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_50" id="page_50">{50}</a></span></p> - -<h3><a name="CHAPTER_VIII-a" id="CHAPTER_VIII-a"></a>CHAPTER VIII<br /><br /> -<small>THE RALLY</small></h3> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">T</span>HE home-coming of Congressman Caretall created a momentary stir in -Hardiston; but that was all. Every one knew he had come home to take a -hand in the mayoralty election; but every one also knew that the elder -Chase was going to be elected Mayor in spite of all Caretall could do, -and so the first stir of interest soon lagged. There was no sport to be -had in an election that was a foregone conclusion.</p> - -<p>Caretall did not seem to be worrying about the situation. He walked -uptown every morning, waited at the Post Office while the morning mail -was distributed, talked with the men that gathered there, went to the -barber shop for his shave, to the Smoke House for his plug of black -tobacco, to the hotel, or to the <i>Journal</i> office, or some other -rallying spot for men otherwise unattached.</p> - -<p>Now and then he was seen to drop in at Peter Gergue’s office; but the -best proof that he was doing nothing to change the election lay in the -fact that Gergue was idle. That lank gentleman seldom emerged from his -office, and when he did so, the fact that his mind was free of care was -attested by the circumstance that he left his back hair severely alone. -Gergue was a Caretall barometer; and all the signs pointed to “fair, -followed by a probable depression!”</p> - -<p>A lull settled over Hardiston. Chase carried on his campaign regularly -but without heat. He talked with individuals on street corners and with -groups wherever he found them; he spoke most graciously to all who met -him on the street; and as the last week before election dawned, he -announced two meetings, to which all voters were invited. They would be -held in the Rink; otherwise the Crescent Opera <span class="pagenum"><a name="page_51" id="page_51">{51}</a></span>House—and at these -meetings, numerous speakers would expound the justice of the Chase -cause. Chase himself, of course, would be the principal speaker.</p> - -<p>The first of these meetings was held on Tuesday night, a week before the -election; the second was set for the following Saturday. On Tuesday -afternoon, Amos Caretall and Chase came face to face in the Post Office; -and half a dozen people saw them greet each other pleasantly and without -heat. Chase spoke as though he could afford to be generous, Amos like a -man willing to accept generosity.</p> - -<p>“I hope you’ll come to my meeting to-night, Amos,” Chase invited with -grave condescension; and he laughed and added: “You might learn -something that would be of value—about municipal affairs—”</p> - -<p>“I was figuring on coming,” said Amos, surprisingly enough. It was -surprising even to Chase; but he hid this feeling.</p> - -<p>“Fine, fine!” he declared. “Amos, I’m glad to hear it. Partisanship has -no place in city affairs.”</p> - -<p>“That’s right,” Amos agreed.</p> - -<p>Chase laughed. “If you don’t look out, I’ll call on you to speak -to-night,” he threatened.</p> - -<p>Amos grinned at that. “I reckon I wouldn’t be scared,” he declared. -“I’ve spoke before.”</p> - -<p>They parted with no further word save laughing jests; but when Chase -turned toward his office, his eyes were thoughtful, and Amos watched his -departing figure with a faint smile. While Chase was still in sight, -Gergue came along; and he spoke to Amos in his habitual low drawl, and -received a word from Amos in reply.</p> - -<p>Gergue nodded. “The bee’ll keep a buzzing till he does it,” he promised; -and Amos chuckled. He chuckled all that day; but his countenance was -sober enough when he presented himself at the entrance to the Rink that -night. He was alone; and he walked boldly down the aisle, responding to -greetings on every hand, and took a conspicuous seat near the front.</p> - -<p>The curtain had been raised; and the stage was set with a stock scene -representing a farmyard, or something of the kind. There was an -impracticable well at the right, in the rear;<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_52" id="page_52">{52}</a></span> and at the left, the -kitchen door of the farmhouse stood open beneath an arborway of -cardboard grapevines. In the center of the stage, a table had been set; -upon it a white pitcher of water and a glass; and in the semicircle -about the table, half a dozen chairs. The stage setting was not -strikingly appropriate, but no one save Amos gave it so much as a -chuckle.</p> - -<p>When he had studied the stage, Amos turned to look about at the -audience. The Rink was half filled; but half of the people in it were -either women or boys too young to vote. The women in Hardiston were all -immensely interested in politics; and as for the boys—well, a boy loves -a meeting.</p> - -<p>While Amos was still studying the audience, Ed Skinner, editor of the -weekly <i>Sun</i>, appeared on the stage, walked to the table, rapped on it -with a wooden mallet which had obviously been designed for the uses of -carpentry, and called the house to order. Amos settled in his seat and -the meeting began.</p> - -<p>There were four speakers. Skinner talked first; he was followed by Davy -Morgan, a foreman in Chase’s furnace; and he in turn gave way to Will -Murchie, from up the creek, who had been elected Attorney General the -year before, and so won the honor of breaking the air-tight Republican -grip on state offices. The testimony of these men was unanimously to the -effect that Winthrop Chase, Senior, had the makings of the best Mayor -any city in the state ever saw.</p> - -<p>After which, Chase himself appeared, to prove the case indisputably.</p> - -<p>Chase read his speech. He always read his speeches. Murchie had written -this one for him; and it was well done, flowery, measured, resounding. -It was real oratory, even as Chase rendered it. And Amos, in a front -seat, was the loudest of all the audience in his applause. He was so -loud that at times he interrupted the speaker; but Chase forgave him, -beaming on Amos over the footlights.</p> - -<p>Abruptly, Chase finished his speech. He finished it and folded it and -put it in his pocket; and every one applauded, either from appreciation -or relief. They applauded until they saw—by the fact that Chase still -held the stage without starting<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_53" id="page_53">{53}</a></span> to withdraw—that he had something -further to say. Then they fell sulkily silent.</p> - -<p>“My friends,” said Chase then, beaming on them. “My friends—I thank -you. I thank you all; and particularly I wish to thank Congressman -Caretall, down in front here, who has been loud in his applause.</p> - -<p>“That’s a good sign. I’m glad he appreciates the fact that it is no use -to fight longer. He told me this morning that he was coming here -to-night; and in effect he dared me to invite him to speak to you -to-night.</p> - -<p>“My friends, I have nothing to hide. He cannot frighten me. Congressman -Caretall—you have the floor!”</p> - -<p>The listeners had been apathetic, bored; but they were so no longer. -More of them rose, some climbed on seats and craned their necks the -better to see the discomfiture of the Congressman. They yelled at him: -“Speech! Sp-e-e-ech!” They jeered at him, confident he would accept -their jeers in silence; and so they were the more delighted when he rose -lumberingly in his place.</p> - -<p>Every one yelled at everybody else to sit down and be quiet. Chase -invited Amos up on the stage. Amos shook his head. “I can talk from -here,” he roared, “if these gentlemen will be seated so I can look at -them.” He spread his hands like one invoking a blessing. “Sit down! Sit -down!”</p> - -<p>They sat, rustling in their seats, grinning, whispering, gazing; and -Amos waited benevolently, head on one side, until they were quiet. Then -he spoke.</p> - -<p>“My frien-n-d-s!” he drawled. “I am honored. It is an honor to any man -to be asked to address a Hardiston audience. And especially on such an -occasion—and in such a cause.</p> - -<p>“My friends, the name of Chase is an old one in Hardiston. A Chase was -one of the first to settle at the salt licks here; a Chase fought the -Indians during those first hot years; a Chase dug salt wells when the -riffles no longer proved profitable. And when the salt industry died, a -Chase was the first to dig coal in this county, and a Chase was the -first to establish an iron-smelting furnace here in Hardiston.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_54" id="page_54">{54}</a></span></p> - -<p>“The Chases have deserved well of Hardiston. They have been honored in -the past; they will be honored in the future. But they should also be -honored in the present.</p> - -<p>“My friends, I came here to cast my vote in the city election. I came -home in some doubt as to how I should cast that vote. But I am in doubt -no longer, my friends.</p> - -<p>“I shall go to the polls next Tuesday, and I shall ask for a ballot, and -I shall go into a booth; and there, my friends, I shall cast my vote for -Mayor.</p> - -<p>“And the man I vote for, my friends, I tell you frankly; the man I vote -for will be—a Chase!”</p> - -<p>The storm broke; and Amos bowed to it and sat down. But that would not -do. Chase climbed down from the stage to shake him by the hand and thank -him; and others crowded around to do the same thing; and still others -came crowding to storm at him for a traitor. And to them all Amos -presented a smiling and agreeable countenance.</p> - -<p>But this small tumult ended, as such things will. The crowd dispersed; -the Rink emptied; and in the end, Chase and Amos walked up the street as -far as the hotel together, separating there to go to their respective -homes.</p> - -<p>Next morning, Hardiston buzzed with the news. Strangely enough, Amos did -not show himself in town. He hid at home, said his enemies—those who -had been his friends. He hid at home to escape the storm. That was what -they said; but it was observed, in the course of the day, that those who -went to Amos’s home to accuse him, came away apparently reconciled to -the Congressman’s course of action. They made no more complaint.</p> - -<p>One of these was Jack Routt. Routt was an attorney, picking up the -beginnings of a practice. He had ambitions. Other men had been -prosecuting attorney, and there was no reason why a man named Routt -should not hold that office. To this end, he had hitched his wagon to -Amos’s star; and he was one of the Congressman’s first lieutenants.</p> - -<p>Routt had not attended the meeting at the Rink. He and Wint Chase spent -the evening together. But when he heard what had happened, he uttered -one red-hot ejaculation, then<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_55" id="page_55">{55}</a></span> clamped tight his lips and marched off to -find Amos and demand an explanation.</p> - -<p>He got it. It silenced him. It was observed that he came away from the -Caretall home with a puzzled frown twisting his brow above the smile on -his lips. But he spoke not, neither could word be enticed from him. -Instead, he seemed to put politics off his shoulders, and attached -himself, like a guardian angel, to Wint.</p> - -<p>That was Wednesday. Wednesday evening, Wint and Routt and Agnes Caretall -spent at Joan Arnold’s home, playing cards. Thursday, the four were -again together, but this time at the Caretall home. Friday evening, -Routt and Wint played pool at the hotel. Saturday evening they went -together to the Chase rally at the Rink. It was a jubilant gathering; -the speakers were exultant; and the elder Chase, again the speaker of -the evening, was calm and paternally promising.</p> - -<p>Sunday, the four went picnicking in Agnes Caretall’s car. And it was not -until Monday evening that Wint broke away from Routt’s chaperonage. He -spent that evening—it was the eve of election day—with Joan.</p> - -<p>They were very happy together.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_56" id="page_56">{56}</a></span></p> - -<h3><a name="CHAPTER_IX-a" id="CHAPTER_IX-a"></a>CHAPTER IX<br /><br /> -<small>HETTY MORFEE</small></h3> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">I</span>N the meanwhile, a single incident. An incident concerning itself with -Hetty Morfee, Mrs. Chase’s newly acquired handmaiden.</p> - -<p>Hetty was a girl Wint’s own age. She had been born in Hardiston, had -lived in Hardiston all her life. She and Wint had gone to school -together; they had played together; they had been friends all their -lives.</p> - -<p>Such things happen in a small town. Wint was the son of Hardiston’s big -man; Hetty was the daughter of a man whom nobody remembered. He had come -to town, married Hetty’s mother, and gone away. Thereafter, Hetty had -been born.</p> - -<p>Hetty’s mother was the fifth daughter of a coal miner. She was an honest -woman, a woman of sense and sensibility; and Hetty received from her a -worthy heritage. But most of Hetty was not mother but father; and all -Hardiston knew about Hetty’s father was that he had come and had gone. -It was assumed, fairly enough, that he had a roving, rascally, and -irresponsible disposition. Hetty, it had been predicted, would not turn -out well.</p> - -<p>This prediction had not wholly justified itself. Hetty, in the first -place, was unnaturally acute of mind. In school, she had mastered the -lessons given her with careless ease. The effect was to give her an -unwholesome amount of leisure. She occupied this leisure in bedeviling -her teachers and inciting to riot the hardier spirits in the -school—among whom number Wint.</p> - -<p>She was, in those days, a wiry little thing, as hard as nails, as active -as a boy, and fully as daring. She had whipped one or two boys in fair, -stand-up fight, for Hetty had a temper that went with her hair. Her -hair, as has been said, was a pleasant and interesting red.</p> - -<p>As a child, she had been freckled. When she approached<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_57" id="page_57">{57}</a></span> womanhood, these -freckles disappeared and left her with a skin creamy and delicious. Her -eyes were large, and warm, and merry. They were probably brown; it was -hard to be sure. All in all, she was—give her a chance—a beauty.</p> - -<p>Some men of science assert that all healthy children start life with an -equal heritage. They attribute to environment the developing differences -between men and between women. Hetty might have served them as an -illuminating example. In school, she had mastered her lessons quickly, -had led her classes as of right; while her schoolmates—including Wint, -who was not good at books—lagged woefully behind.</p> - -<p>This ascendancy persisted through the first half dozen years of -schooling; and then it began, gradually, to disappear. In high school, -it was not so marked; and at graduation, she and Wint—for example—were -fairly on a par.</p> - -<p>Then Wint went to college while Hetty went to work. She worked first in -a store and lost that place for swearing at her employer. Then she took -up housework, and so gravitated to the Chase household. There Wint -encountered her; and within a day or so he discovered that the years -since high school had borne him far ahead of Hetty. She now was -beginning to recede; her wave had reached its height and was subsiding. -He still bore on.</p> - -<p>These things may be observed more intimately in a small town; for there, -social differences do not so strictly herd the sheep apart from the -goats. Thus, while Hetty was his mother’s handmaid, neither Wint nor any -one else outspokenly considered her his inferior. She called him Wint, -he called her Hetty, and his mother likewise.</p> - -<p>Wint found her presence vaguely disturbing. That first night at supper, -she had winked at him behind his father’s back. The wink somewhat -chilled him. It savored of hardness—And there were other incidents. -Wint perceived that Hetty was no longer a schoolgirl; she was, vaguely, -sophisticated. Her old recklessness and daring remained; but they were -inspired now not by ebullient spirits but by indifference, by bravado.</p> - -<p>He remembered ugly rumors....<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_58" id="page_58">{58}</a></span></p> - -<p>Wint and Hetty had been, to some extent, comrades in their school days. -Once or twice he had defended her against aggression; once he had fought -a boy who had told tales on her to the teacher. Hetty had never thanked -him; she had even scolded and abused him for this knight-errantry, -declaring her ability to take care of herself. Nevertheless, there was -gratitude in her. She brought him apples, hiding them secretly in his -desk.</p> - -<p>On the Friday evening before election, as has been said, Wint and Jack -Routt played pool together at the hotel. Afterwards, in spite of Routt’s -protests, they went together to the stairway in the alley; and when -eventually Wint reached home, he was unsteady on his feet.</p> - -<p>His father and mother were abed. The door was never locked, so that he -entered the hall without difficulty; but the only light was an electric -bulb in the rear of the hall, near the kitchen door, and when he went -back to extinguish this, he tripped over a rug and barely saved a fall.</p> - -<p>While he was still tottering, the kitchen door opened and Hetty looked -out at him. She had on her hat, so that he saw she, too, had just come -in. He smiled at her amiably, holding on to the wall for support; and -she laughed softly and came and caught his arm.</p> - -<p>“Oh, you Wint!” she chided.</p> - -<p>He tried to be dignified. “Wha’s matter?” he asked. “I’m all right.”</p> - -<p>She winked. “But if father could only see you now!”</p> - -<p>He became amiable again. “Thass all right,” he declared, “I’m going to -bed. He’s sleeping th’ sleep of th’ just. Thass dad. Sleep of the just!”</p> - -<p>“Sure,” she agreed. “But you know what he’d do to you.”</p> - -<p>A door opened, in the hall above. A step sounded. Hetty, quick as light, -led Wint under the stair where he was invisible from above, and signed -him to be quiet. The elder Chase called down the stairs: “Who’s that?”</p> - -<p>“Me, Mr. Chase,” said Hetty. “I tripped. I’m sorry if I woke you up.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_59" id="page_59">{59}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>She heard Chase say something under his breath; but when he answered, -his tone was affable. “All right. Time you were abed, Hetty.”</p> - -<p>“Uh-huh! I went to see my mother.”</p> - -<p>“That’s all right. Good night!”</p> - -<p>“Good night!”</p> - -<p>They heard him go back to his room, heard the door close behind him. -Hetty crossed to Wint. She was trembling a little, and she spoke very -gently. “Come up the back stairs, Wint. He won’t hear you. I’ll help -you....”</p> - -<p>Wint took her arm. “You’re a good girl, Hetty,” he told her.</p> - -<p>“You come along.”</p> - -<p>They went through the kitchen to the back stairs, and up, Hetty -steadying him and encouraging him in a whisper. Wint’s room was at the -back of the house, on the second floor; his father’s at the front. -Hetty’s was on the third floor. She helped him to the door of his room, -and in, and turned on the light. He sat down and grinned amiably at her. -She started to go, hesitated, came back and knelt before him. While he -watched, not fully understanding, she loosened his shoes. Then she rose.</p> - -<p>“Now you go to bed, Wint—and be quiet,” she warned him in a whisper. -“Good night!”</p> - -<p>He waved his hand. “Thass all right now. G’night!”</p> - -<p>She closed the door behind her and went swiftly along the hall to the -stair that led upward to her room. But there, with her foot on the lower -step, her hand on the rail, she paused.</p> - -<p>She paused, and looked back at Wint’s door, and pressed one hand against -her mouth, thinking. And slowly her eyes misted with a wistful light. -She turned a little, as though to go back....</p> - -<p>Then, eyes still misty, she went up the stairs to her own room; and in -her own room, with no one to see, Hetty lay down on her face on the bed -and cried.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_60" id="page_60">{60}</a></span></p> - -<h3><a name="CHAPTER_X-a" id="CHAPTER_X-a"></a>CHAPTER X<br /><br /> -<small>THE ELECTION</small></h3> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">T</span>HE people of Hardiston are early risers, and their hours of labor are -long and strenuous. The coal miners—what few still find tasks to do in -the ravaged hills—are up and about before day in the fall and winter -months; the furnace workmen change shifts at unearthly hours; and the -glass factory and the pipe works both begin their day when most folks -are still abed.</p> - -<p>To accommodate these early risers, the polls at Hardiston open at six. -They stay open until four or five or six in the afternoon. The hour is -left somewhat to the discretion of the election officials. If a heavy -vote is cast early, so that an extra hour would mean only half a dozen -votes added to the totals, they close the polls and begin their counting -in time to get home to supper.</p> - -<p>But if there is prospect of a close contest, the polls remain open till -the last voter has been given his opportunity.</p> - -<p>On this election day, the polls opened at six; and the election -officials, particularly those representing the supporters of the elder -Chase, went about their duties with a careless confidence. In the second -precinct, the polling place was an unoccupied store on the second floor -of a two-story building at the corner of Pearl Street and Broadway. The -lower floor of this building was occupied by a dealer in monuments; and -throughout the day the chink and tap of his chisel and maul never ceased -their song. These sounds came up in a muffled fashion through the floor -of the room where the votes were being cast.</p> - -<p>The early voting here was light. Jim Thomas and Ed Howe were the -principal election officers; and they sat with their chairs tilted back -and their feet on the railing around a red-hot little iron stove while -the trickle of voters came and went. Jim<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_61" id="page_61">{61}</a></span> Thomas chewed tobacco, and Ed -smoked. He smoked a pipe; and he whittled his tobacco from a black plug, -thus identifying himself with the Caretall factions. Aside from the -stove and their two chairs, the room contained only the voting -paraphernalia. Three booths against the wall, with cloth curtains to -divide them; two flat tables, each containing a list of the registered -voters; and the ballot box itself, on the floor near the door where each -voter deposited his ballot as he departed.</p> - -<p>At seven o’clock—the little stove, by this time, had raised the -temperature of the room to a stifling mark—Jim Thomas spat in a box of -sawdust and grinned at Ed Howe. “Slow, Ed,” he said.</p> - -<p>Ed puffed hard. He had a weakness of one eye, a weakness which allowed -the lid to droop so that he seemed to be perpetually winking. He turned -this winking eye to Jim. “Yeah,” he said.</p> - -<p>“I guess Caretall is due to get his.”</p> - -<p>“You reckon?” Ed inquired listlessly.</p> - -<p>“I reckon.”</p> - -<p>Ed grunted and smoked harder than ever.</p> - -<p>At half past seven, the elder Chase himself dropped in. “Good morning, -boys,” he called from the door. “Splendid day, now isn’t it?”</p> - -<p>“Fine,” said Jim Thomas.</p> - -<p>Chase produced cigars; he dispensed them graciously. Only Ed Howe -refused the proffered smoke.</p> - -<p>“Oh, come, Ed,” Chase insisted. “Don’t be afraid of hurting my -feelings.”</p> - -<p>“Never smoke ’em,” said Ed shortly.</p> - -<p>“Want to vote once or twice?” Jim Thomas asked, grinning.</p> - -<p>Chase chuckled. “I’ve cast my vote. Second ballot in my precinct, Jim.”</p> - -<p>“Better chuck in a few more,” Jim advised. “Hollow’s running strong.” He -said this seriously, but every one knew it was a joke. Even Ed Howe -grinned.</p> - -<p>Chase presently departed, still amiable and gracious. His visit had -stimulated the imagination of Jim Thomas; and after a little while he -rose and took his hat and went down to a group<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_62" id="page_62">{62}</a></span> of men in the street -outside. Ed looked out of the window curiously. He saw Jim go among the -group, hat in hand, obviously taking up a collection. The man seemed to -take the matter as a joke. But Jim was grave.</p> - -<p>He came back up presently, hat in hand, and approached Ed. “Give up, -Ed,” he invited. “A penny, a nickel, any little thing.”</p> - -<p>Ed looked in the hat. He saw a button, a burnt match, a pebble, and a -slice of tobacco. He grunted and puffed at his pipe. “Set down, Jim,” he -invited. “Heat’s touched your head.”</p> - -<p>Jim explained, in a hurt tone: “No, Ed, not a bit. Only—some of the -boys thought we’d take up a collection and send downstairs for a -tombstone for Hollow.”</p> - -<p>Ed swung his head slowly and looked at Jim; and a slow grin broke across -his countenance. “I declare,” he commented, “you’re a real joker, Jim.” -Then he laughed a cackling laugh, wagged his head, and fell into silence -again.</p> - -<p>The second precinct was the most important in Hardiston. Its voters -numbered half as many again as its next rival. And so the candidates -gave it more than its share of attention that day. Chase came early and -often. Each time he disseminated cigars and amiability. This was his day -of glory; and he ate it with a relish, visibly smacking his lips.</p> - -<p>Caretall and Gergue came together about eight o’clock in the morning. -Amos had very little to say. He glanced at the voting lists, nodded to -Ed Howe, called a greeting to Jim Thomas and departed. Peter Gergue -remained for a time, scratching the back of his head and talking with -those who came to vote.</p> - -<p>Amos came back at noon, and as it happened, he met V. R. Kite at the -voting place. Kite voted in this precinct, and he had just deposited his -ballot when Amos arrived. The two men greeted each other amiably. Amos -said: “Morning, Mr. Kite.”</p> - -<p>“Good morning, Congressman.”</p> - -<p>“Just voting?”</p> - -<p>“Yes. Overslept.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_63" id="page_63">{63}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>Amos winked. “I trust you voted right, V. R.”</p> - -<p>Kite nodded briskly. “Right as rain, Congressman. You too?”</p> - -<p>“Sure.”</p> - -<p>Jim Thomas listened with frank interest. Now he found an opening for his -joke. “You’d better drop in a few votes here, Congressman. Chase is -running strong.”</p> - -<p>Amos looked at him with interest. “You don’t say, Jim?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, I do.”</p> - -<p>“Well—how do you know, Jim?”</p> - -<p>Thomas became faintly confused. “Oh, I can tell.”</p> - -<p>“You ain’t been looking at the ballots, have you, Jim?”</p> - -<p>Jim blustered. “Look-a-here—who you accusing?”</p> - -<p>“You ain’t? Then you must be one of these mediums that can read a folded -paper.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, sugar! You go....”</p> - -<p>Amos grinned. “Matter of fact, Jim, I wish I knowed you was right. I’m -frank to say, Jim, that I got a bet on a horse named Chase to win.” Jim -gasped, and Amos nodded soberly. “Yes, sir, Jim. You just hear me.”</p> - -<p>Jim took a plug of tobacco from his pocket and tore at it with his teeth -and stuffed it away again. The operation restored his composure. “Well, -Congressman, you’d ought not to bet—and you a lawmaker.”</p> - -<p>“It ain’t rightly a bet, Jim,” said Amos. “It’s a sure thing.” He turned -toward the door. “Good aft’noon, Jim.”</p> - -<p>The voting, beginning slow, had picked up during the noon hour. A steady -stream of men came in throughout that period and when this stream -subsided, four-fifths of the registered voters had cast their ballots. -Ed Howe suggested: “Might as well close up shop at four, hadn’t we, -Jim?”</p> - -<p>“Sure,” said Jim. “They ain’t no real contest to-day anyway.”</p> - -<p>“I reckon that’s right,” Ed agreed.</p> - -<p>This was a quarter before two o’clock in the afternoon. At two o’clock, -Caretall and Chase came face to face at the door of the voting room. -They came in arm in arm; and Chase asked graciously: “Well, boys, how -are things going?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_64" id="page_64">{64}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>Jim Thomas reported briskly, “Fine, Mr. Chase. Most of the votes in. Ed -and me’s figuring to close at four.”</p> - -<p>Chase nodded. “I guess that’s safe. Don’t you think so, Amos?”</p> - -<p>“Whatever you say, Chase,” Amos agreed. “Looks to me like the fight’s -all over.”</p> - -<p>It was observed at that time, however, that Congressman Caretall was -strangely buoyant for a beaten man.</p> - -<p>Chase and Caretall separated at the door, and Jim Thomas called to Ed -Howe: “I’m going uptown and get me some dinner. I ain’t ate yet.”</p> - -<p>“Go along,” Ed agreed.</p> - -<p>Jim went along, overtaking the elder Chase, and they walked together -along Pearl Street and up Main to the restaurant. Chase was quietly -contented and exceedingly courteous and gracious to those whom they -encountered; and for the first half of the journey, Jim basked in the -great man’s smile.</p> - -<p>It was at the corner of Main Street that the first fly dropped into -Jim’s ointment. As they turned the corner, they encountered three men. -One was V. R. Kite; another was old Thompson, crippled with rheumatism -but fat with wealth, and a lifelong enemy of Chase; and the third was -Thompson’s son, the shoe man.</p> - -<p>Chase said: “Good afternoon, gentlemen,” to these men. Kite responded: -“Afternoon!” Old Thompson grunted; and young Thompson said: “How do you -do, Mr. Chase?” with entirely too much sweet deference in his tones. -They passed the group, but when they had gone twenty yards, something -prompted Jim Thomas to look around, and he detected the elder Thompson -in the act of smiting his knee in a paroxysm of silent and malignant -mirth.</p> - -<p>Right then, Jim Thomas smelled a rat. He looked up at Chase, but Chase -was blind and deaf. Jim started to speak, then thought better of it; and -at the next corner, he left his chieftain and turned aside to the -restaurant.</p> - -<p>It seemed to him that Sam O’Brien, the fat proprietor of the place, -grinned at him when he entered. He ordered a veal<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_65" id="page_65">{65}</a></span> sandwich, and when it -was ready for him, he doused it with mustard and ate it with sips of -cold water between each mouthful. It was delicious, but his stomach was -uneasy under it.</p> - -<p>Sam was frankly grinning at him; and so Jim asked at length, in some -desperation: “What’s the joke, Sam?”</p> - -<p>Sam shook his head. “How’s the election going, Jim?”</p> - -<p>“All Chase.”</p> - -<p>Sam threw back his head. He was a fat man, and the mirth billowed out of -him. He rocked, he slapped his knee. “All Chase!” he gasped. “All Chase! -Oh, Jim! Oh, Jimmy man! All Chase!” He wiped tears from his eyes. “Jim, -you’ll kill me!”</p> - -<p>Jim snorted. He was thoroughly disturbed. Sam was a man whose finger -touched the public pulse. Obviously, he knew something. Jim leaned -across the counter. “What’s the joke, Sam? Come on—let me laugh, too.”</p> - -<p>Sam waved his fat hands at his customer. “You go away, Jim. You go ’way. -You’ll kill me.”</p> - -<p>His chortles pursued Jim to the street. There Thomas paused, irresolute. -What was he going to do? Warn Chase? Warn Chase’s cohorts? But what -should he warn them about? He remembered suddenly that his place was -beside the ballot box, and he turned and fairly ran down the street to -the voting rooms. And it seemed to him that, as he sped, mirth pursued -him.</p> - -<p>But he found everything as he left it. Ed Howe still sat by the stove, -still smoked. He looked up as Jim entered, and shifted his pipe in his -mouth.</p> - -<p>“Why, Jim!” he exclaimed in pretended dismay. “You’re all het up! You’re -all of a stew! Jim—have you gone and seen a ghost?”</p> - -<p>Jim Thomas glared at him. He had gone away from this place confident and -calm; he returned in a turmoil of fear; and the worst of this fear was -that he did not know what it was he feared. He glared at Howe.</p> - -<p>“What you been up to whilst I was gone, Ed Howe?” he demanded.</p> - -<p>Ed looked at him in surprise. “We-ell—I’ve smoked two pipes.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_66" id="page_66">{66}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>Jim strode to the ballot box, shook it, stared into its slot as though -to read its secret.</p> - -<p>Ned Bentley came in. He wished to cast his vote, and proceeded to do so. -As he was about to go, he paused for a moment on the threshold.</p> - -<p>“Has anybody here seen Wint?” he asked.</p> - -<p>It was the stressing of his words that startled Jim. This stress, the -emphasis of the verb, suggested that they had been discussing Wint, or -that Wint must be in all their thoughts. And Jim had not thought of Wint -Chase for days.</p> - -<p>“Why should we have seen Wint?” he demanded, and looked at Ed Howe. Ed -was grinning.</p> - -<p>Of a sudden, light burst on Jim Thomas. It was not all the truth that he -guessed. But it was enough of it to make his head swim. Without a word, -he leaped for the street and ran across to the hotel—where there was a -telephone.</p> - -<p>Ed Howe watched him go—and grinned. “I declare—Jim acts right crazy,” -he drawled.</p> - -<p>Jim came back presently, a grim set about his jaw. He had no word for -any of them. But he went to the voting list and copied the names of -those citizens who had not yet voted, and went to the telephone again. -When he returned this time, it was five minutes to four o’clock.</p> - -<p>Ed lounged up from his chair. “Well—we’ve ’greed to close the polls -now. Go to counting....” He started for the door, as though to bolt it.</p> - -<p>Jim Thomas sprang in front of him. Jim was mad. “Git back there, Ed -Howe.”</p> - -<p>Ed looked puzzled. “Why—what—”</p> - -<p>“Yo’re tricky; but you ain’t won yet. Set down. Legal hour for closing -is six. We’ll have some law here.”</p> - -<p>“But we ’greed on four....”</p> - -<p>“Shut up!”</p> - -<p>Ed lounged back in his chair. “Well—in that case—I got time for -another smoke.” He filled his pipe and began it.</p> - -<p>There followed a hectic two hours. Hardiston had never seen anything -like it, anything even approaching it.</p> - -<p>Every automobile that could be mustered by the Chase<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_67" id="page_67">{67}</a></span> forces was -mustered. Every livery stable in town hitched up its most ramshackle -team. Even the funeral hacks were pressed into service. Fenney’s motor -truck brought two loads of men from the glass factory. Even Bob Dyer’s -old tandem bicycle came into use.</p> - -<p>And when the elder Chase met Congressman Caretall in front of the Post -Office at half past five, he refused to speak to him.</p> - -<p>It was open war, with no quarter asked or given. The joke was out, and -the Congressman’s men were enjoying it in anticipation. They exulted -openly; they gathered at the polling places to watch the voters whom the -Chase workers dragged thither. They cheered these workers on, praised -them, encouraged them, made bets on their success.</p> - -<p>It was a hectic two hours, and it lived long in Hardiston annals. But it -had to end.</p> - -<p>When the town clock struck six, the polls closed. And at every precinct -in town, the strain relaxed and took, forthwith, the form of hunger. -Unanimously, the election officials sat down with the unopened ballot -boxes on a table, in plain view of the world, and sent out for supper.</p> - -<p>Around the ballot boxes, they ate their sandwiches. Jim Thomas ate in -grim silence, iron-jawed and moody. Ed Howe had recovered his spirits. -He was urbane, gracious. He even gave a fair imitation of the manner of -the elder Chase, at which all but Jim Thomas managed to smile.</p> - -<p>In the morning, Jim had been jubilant and Ed had been moody and still; -but now the rôles were reversed. It was remarked afterward that no one -had guessed Ed Howe had it in him; and his imitation of the elder Chase -distributing cigars was destined to make him famous.</p> - -<p>But this had to end, too. There came a time when the ballot boxes had to -be opened. The tally sheets were prepared, pencils were sharpened, the -boxes were unlocked; and at a quarter past eight o’clock, Jim Thomas -lifted the first ballot from the box and unfolded it.</p> - -<p>He looked at it; and a red flood poured over his face, and his jaw -stiffened. But it was his duty to call the vote, and he called it:<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_68" id="page_68">{68}</a></span></p> - -<p>“For Mayor—Chase!”</p> - -<p>He was still staring at the ballot, and it did not need Ed Howe’s mild -question to confirm his guess at Congressman Caretall’s coup.</p> - -<p>What Ed asked was simply: “Which Chase, Jim?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_69" id="page_69">{69}</a></span>”</p> - -<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XI-a" id="CHAPTER_XI-a"></a>CHAPTER XI<br /><br /> -<small>THE NOTIFICATION</small></h3> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">W</span>HERE was Wint? Others beside Bentley were asking that question, as the -afternoon of election wore along. Where was Wint?</p> - -<p>No one had seen him. Every one was asking the question. No one was -answering. But the inquirers, casting back and forth along the trail, at -length hit upon one fact. Wint, for days past, had been consistently in -the company of Jack Routt.</p> - -<p>Where, then, was Routt?</p> - -<p>On the morning after Amos Caretall’s announcement at the Rink that he -would vote for a Chase for Mayor, Jack Routt had gone to the Congressman -with questions on his lips. He had come away with instructions, -instructions to keep much in Wint’s company and to keep the young man -out of harm’s way till election day.</p> - -<p>He had done this zealously. Until Monday evening, he and Wint were -almost constantly together. That evening, Wint went to Joan’s house, and -bluntly rebuffed Jack’s offer to accompany him. But when Wint came -out—and he came out in a sulky and defiant manner—Jack was waiting for -him at the gate.</p> - -<p>Jack did not appear to be waiting. He seemed to be merely passing, on -his way downtown; and Wint hailed him.</p> - -<p>“Hello—you!”</p> - -<p>“Hello, Wint! Just going home?”</p> - -<p>“Home? It’s early yet. Going uptown?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.” Routt hesitated, as though confused. “I—we—I’m going up to get -a prescription filled.”</p> - -<p>Wint laughed. “For snake bite?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, no. A real prescription.”</p> - -<p>“You don’t say!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_70" id="page_70">{70}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>Jack protested. “Sure. So—good night.”</p> - -<p>Wint thrust his arm through the other’s. “What do you want to get rid of -me for? I’ll walk up with you.”</p> - -<p>Jack balked. “Oh, now, Wint—you—your father will be down on you. You -ought to cut it out, Wint. There’s nothing in it for you. You never know -when to stop!”</p> - -<p>Wint stiffened sulkily, but his voice was gentle. “That’s tough! Too bad -about me! And it’s a shame what dad will do to me, now isn’t it?” He -took a step forward. “Coming, Jack?”</p> - -<p>So they departed together.</p> - -<p>At daylight, the elder Chase, arising early to go to the polls, met -Routt. Jack was homeward bound; and he was a weary young man. Wint was -not with him. They exchanged greetings, but no more.</p> - -<p>Routt did not again appear in public until something after noon, -election day. When he came downtown then, he was as spruce as ever, his -eyes clear, and his cheeks pink with health. He showed no signs of -the—fatigue that the elder Chase had remarked in him.</p> - -<p>Forthwith, men began to ask him: “Where is Wint?”</p> - -<p>The first man that put the question was Peter Gergue. This was a big day -for Peter. He had been busy, whispering and advising and suggesting and -laughing a little behind the back of the elder Chase. He had been too -busy getting out the votes and directing the voters to think much about -Wint until Jack appeared; but the sight of Jack reminded him of Wint; -and so he asked:</p> - -<p>“Where is Wint, anyway?”</p> - -<p>Jack looked to right and left. “I don’t know,” he said.</p> - -<p>Gergue drawled: “It’s your job to know.”</p> - -<p>“I know it is. But—he got away from me.”</p> - -<p>“Got away from you?”</p> - -<p>“Yes. Last night. I couldn’t stop him.”</p> - -<p>Gergue frowned and ran his fingers through his back hair.</p> - -<p>“It was your job to stop him.”</p> - -<p>Jack threw out his hands. “You never saw him when he’s going good.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_71" id="page_71">{71}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>Peter nodded and spat. “No,” he said slowly. “No—that’s right. Where -d’you say you left him?”</p> - -<p>Routt shook his head. “I wish I knew. He dodged me....”</p> - -<p>Gergue shook his head. “Go along. Don’t let ’em see you talking—too -much.”</p> - -<p>As the afternoon passed and especially after that final two hours of -scurry and effort began, the inquiries for Wint increased in volume. But -at six o’clock Wint was still listed as missing, and he was still -missing at eight, and he was still missing when the count of the ballots -was completed.</p> - -<p>But fifteen minutes later, Skinny Marsh, a man without visible means of -support, met V. R. Kite on the street and drew him into the dark mouth -of an alleyway.</p> - -<p>“Kite,” he said huskily, “I got something to tell you.”</p> - -<p>“What is it?” V. R. asked crisply.</p> - -<p>“You know where Wint is?”</p> - -<p>“No. Do you?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>Kite was interested enough now. “Where?”</p> - -<p>Marsh told him; and ten seconds later, Kite was walking briskly up the -street, gathering his clans.</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>In the valley on the northeast side of Hardiston, there is a network of -railway tracks, the freight and coal yards of the D. T. & I. Acres of -ground are covered with slack, deposited through many years, and -sprinkled over with the cinders from a thousand puffing engines.</p> - -<p>This is low land. At one spot, a stagnant pool forms every year, and -furnishes some ragged skating for the children of the locality. The ice -factory is on a hill above this pool. At the other end of the yards, -there is a gaunt and ruined brick structure that was once a nail mill; -and this mill gives its name to the section.</p> - -<p>Across the tracks, there are half a dozen streets, lined for the most -part with well-kept little cottages of workingmen. But in one street -there is a larger structure that was once a hotel.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_72" id="page_72">{72}</a></span></p> - -<p>This hotel is called the Weaver House. It fronts on the street, is -flanked on one side by a railway track, and is backed by the creek whose -muddy waters lap its sills at flood time. This was, in its days of -glory, a railroad hotel, catering to the train crews in the days before -the roads frowned on drink among the men. When the road threatened to -discharge any man seen in the place, its business languished. But -prohibition brought the Weaver House a measure of prosperity. There was -strategic merit in its situation. A rear room overhung the creek; and a -section of the floor of this room was so arranged that when a bolt was -pulled the floor would swing downward and drop whatever it bore into the -concealing waters.</p> - -<p>This was a simple and effective way of destroying evidence; and the -owner of the place made good use of it.</p> - -<p>The office of this hostelry was a square room at one corner in front. At -eleven o’clock on the night of election day, there were five creatures -in this room.</p> - -<p>Four were human; one was a dog.</p> - -<p>The office was lighted by a single oil lamp. The chimney of this lamp -had once been badly smoked, and subsequently cleaned by a masculine -hand. It was, to put it gently, dingy. Also, its wick needed trimming. -As a result of these defects, the light it gave was not blinding.</p> - -<p>This lamp stood on a square table in one corner of the room. A wall -bench ran along two sides of the table. At the corner, a checkerboard -was set on the table, and over this board two old men leaned. They were -engrossed in their game. Both were gray, both were unclean, both were -ragged. Both were bearded, and the beards of both were stained, below -the mouth, with tobacco. Nevertheless, they played keenly, and at the -conclusion of each game broke into bitter, cackling arguments. These -arguments lasted only so long as it took them to rearrange the men, when -the one whose turn it was made the first move, and silence instantly -descended on them again.</p> - -<p>These gusts of debate which broke from the old men now and then were the -only sounds in the room.</p> - -<p>Beside one of the men, and leaning forward over the table<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_73" id="page_73">{73}</a></span> in a strained -and awkward position, was the boy. He may have been fourteen years old. -But it was strange and pitiful to see in his face, in his eyes, an air -of age and grim experience almost equaling that of his two old -companions. This boy was dressed in clothes too small for him, so that -his wrists stuck out from his sleeves, his neck reared itself bare and -gaunt above his coat collar, and his pale ankles and shins were exposed -above the shoes he wore.</p> - -<p>This boy was reading. He was reading a copy of the bulletin of the Ohio -Brewers’ Association. He was spelling it out word by word, with the -closest attention. When the old men burst into argument, the boy shook -his head a little as though annoyed by their outcries. But for the rest, -he read steadily, passing his fingers along the lines as he read.</p> - -<p>The dog slept on the floor at his feet. The dog was just a dog.</p> - -<p>The other person in the room was the manager of the Weaver House. The -manager was a woman. The manager was also the owner. She sat in a chair -beside what had been the bar, at one side of the room. Her hands were -folded in her lap, her head lolled on one shoulder, her mouth was open, -and she was asleep.</p> - -<p>This woman was a virago. In the old days, she once hit a brakeman with a -rubber bung starter, and he died. She was acquitted because the brakeman -was drunk and she pleaded self-defense. She was feared and respected by -the men among whom she lived. In Paris, in ’93, she would have been a -commanding figure. In the Nail Mill Addition of Hardiston she was a -plague. But as she sat here now, asleep, her old hands folded in her -lap, she invited not fear nor disgust but just compassion.</p> - -<p>She was merely a tired old woman, asleep.</p> - -<p>She was still asleep when the street door opened and four men came in.</p> - -<p>The floor of the office was a foot below the level of the street. The -first of the four men tripped and stumbled over this descent; and this -slight sound woke the woman. She got to her feet with scrambling -quickness, and from behind the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_74" id="page_74">{74}</a></span> breastwork of the dusty bar, surveyed -her visitors. Her eyes were failing, and she thrust her head forward and -twisted it on one side that she might see the better.</p> - -<p>When she saw who the leader of the four men was, she straightened up -with relief and said, her voice openly contemptuous:</p> - -<p>“Oh, it’s you, Kite?”</p> - -<p>It was. V. R. Kite, Jack Routt, and two of Kite’s satellites. Kite -glanced at the men over the checkerboard, and at the boy. The old men, -at their entrance, had looked up in fretful hostility, surrendered to -the inevitable, and returned to their game. The boy continued to read.</p> - -<p>“Hello, Mrs. Moody!” said Kite to the woman; and he stepped toward her -and lowered his voice. “Is there a man—Wint Chase—staying here?”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Moody grinned. The grin revealed a startlingly perfect set of false -teeth, as beautiful as those of a girl of twenty. Their very beauty made -them hideous in Mrs. Moody’s mouth. She nodded.</p> - -<p>“I want to see him.”</p> - -<p>“He’s upstairs. I’ll show you.”</p> - -<p>She turned around and took a lamp from a shelf behind her and lighted -it. Then, with this in her right hand, and her petticoats gathered up in -her left, she emerged from behind the bar and led the way to the stairs.</p> - -<p>The four men followed in silence. Kite led, and Routt was on his heels.</p> - -<p>The stairs were uncertain; but they made the ascent without disaster. -Mrs. Moody led the way along a narrow hall to an open door, and stood -aside here so that the others might enter. She was enjoying herself.</p> - -<p>The four men went into the dark room, and the woman followed and set the -lamp on the mantel. This lamp illumined the place.</p> - -<p>The room contained a bed, a chair, and a wardrobe. On the chair were set -two shoes. On the floor lay a hat and a coat and one sock. In the bed, -sprawling on his back upon the dirty coverlet, was Wint.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_75" id="page_75">{75}</a></span></p> - -<p>The woman crossed and shook him by the shoulder. She screamed at him:</p> - -<p>“Wake up, deary! Here’s gentlemen to see you!”</p> - -<p>Routt crossed quickly to her side, his face working. “Here. Let me!”</p> - -<p>She pushed him scornfully. “And don’t I know the ways of a drunk, at my -age? Get back with you. It’s me that has a right to bring him out of -it.”</p> - -<p>She shook Wint again; and this time he came slowly back to -consciousness. He gasped, flung out his arms, stirred. His mouth twisted -as though at a bad taste on his tongue. They waited for his eyes to -open, but after a moment he settled back into sleep again.</p> - -<p>The woman looked up over her shoulder. “He’s had a full dose. Since noon -he’s been so.” She shook Wint again, yelled into his ear, cuffed him.</p> - -<p>Thus presently he woke.</p> - -<p>His eyes opened, though he still lay on his back. His eyes opened, and -they wandered idly about the room, fixing a dull gaze now on this face -and now on that. Wint was usually amiable when he was drunk, and so when -he discovered Routt, he grinned and tried to sit up.</p> - -<p>“Good ol’ Jack,” he said thickly. “Tried be a guardian t’ me. I fooled -’m. No hard feelin’s, Jack. Shake, ol’ man.”</p> - -<p>He leaned on one elbow and thrust out an unsteady hand. V. R. Kite -grinned wickedly, and Routt stepped forward and sat down on the bed and -put his arms about Wint’s shoulders.</p> - -<p>“Wint,” he begged. “Stiffen up! We’ve got to get you out of here.”</p> - -<p>Wint shook his head. “I’m comf’ble here. My hostess—” He waved a hand -toward Mrs. Moody. “She’s a lady. I’ll stay right here. I’m always go’n’ -stay here, Jack.”</p> - -<p>Routt shook him gently, cuffed his cheeks smartly. “Wint! Wint! Come out -of it! Come on. Let’s go to my house. Let’s go home.”</p> - -<p>Wint recognized the others. “H’lo, V. R.,” he said amiably. “V. R., why -this sudd’n s’lic’tude?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_76" id="page_76">{76}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>V. R. Kite was not a bashful man. He was enjoying himself. “I came to -take you home—take you to some respectable house,” he declared. “This -is no place for you.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Moody broke into objurgations. But one of Kite’s companions deftly -hustled her into the hall, and silenced her there. Wint persisted:</p> - -<p>“Why don’ this place suit me all right? I wanna know, V. R.”</p> - -<p>Routt looked at Kite, and Kite said oracularly: “Because, my friend, the -voters of Hardiston have elected you their next Mayor.”</p> - -<p>Wint was swaying a little in Routt’s arms; and for a time his face -remained blank. Then it assumed a puzzled look. In the end he asked, his -voice less unsteady: “What’s—that?”</p> - -<p>“You’re elected Mayor, Wint,” Routt told him. “Brace up.”</p> - -<p>Wint sat up slowly, pushing Routt’s arms aside. “You mean—my father, -don’t you?”</p> - -<p>Routt shook his head; and Kite said pompously: “No, not your father. -Yourself. The voters wrote in your name on the ballots....”</p> - -<p>They saw a slow sweep of red flood Wint’s face; and for an instant his -eyes closed as though he were fainting. The flush passed and left him -pale. He got up, stood erect, unsteady, then firm. He shed drunkenness -as though it were a cloak, throwing it off with a backward movement of -his shoulders.</p> - -<p>They watched him, waiting; and V. R. Kite suddenly moved a little toward -the door, half afraid.</p> - -<p>Then Wint burst out on them. He waved his hands furiously. “Routt!” he -shouted. “This is a poor joke. It’s a damn poor joke. You Kite, you old -whited sepulchre. You panderer, you worse than a prostitute—get out of -here! Jack—I counted you my friend. You’re all dogs, cowards, rascals! -Get out! If I choose to lie drunk in this shack—I’ll lie here. None of -you shall stop me. It’s not your affair. It’s mine. Mine! Get out! The -last one of you! Get out!”</p> - -<p>He was so furious that they obeyed him. Routt tried to protest, but Wint -gripped him by the shoulders and whirled him and thrust him toward the -door.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_77" id="page_77">{77}</a></span></p> - -<p>They tumbled over each other into the hall. Even V. R. Kite lost his -dignity. Wint pursued them, cursing them. He drove them to the stairs, -down, stood above them with brandished fists. And when they had gone he -still stood there for a space, trembling and alone.</p> - -<p>Then he turned and went haltingly back into the room. He was no longer -drunk. He was as sober as hell. He went into the room, stood at the -door, frozen, ghastly white.</p> - -<p>The lamp still stood on the mantel, and he crossed to it without knowing -what he did. He stood before it.</p> - -<p>There was a cracked mirror behind the lamp, above the mantel. Wint saw -himself in it.</p> - -<p>He looked into his own eyes for a long instant; and then his face -twitched into a terrible, shamed, disgusted grimace. He lifted the lamp -in both hands and sent it crashing into the grate in the fireplace. It -splintered and shivered into fragments. The flame of the wick still -burned, however, and the oil that had spilled caught fire, so that for a -time the hearth and the grate were wreathed in blue flame.</p> - -<p>Then the oil burned itself out. The room was left in darkness.</p> - -<p>Wint went slowly across to the miserable bed and sat down on it. He -gripped his head in his hands. After a little he lay down on his back on -the bed.</p> - -<p>Presently his misery and shame became so poignant that tears filled his -eyes and welled over and flowed down his cheeks to the pillow. He -ignored them.</p> - -<p>Eventually, the silence in the room was torn by a single, racking sob.</p> - -<p class="fint">END OF BOOK ONE</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_78" id="page_78">{78}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_79" id="page_79">{79}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_80" id="page_80">{80}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_81" id="page_81">{81}</a></span> </p> - -<h2><a name="BOOK_II" id="BOOK_II"></a>BOOK II</h2> - -<h3><a name="CHAPTER_I-b" id="CHAPTER_I-b"></a>CHAPTER I<br /><br /> -<small>MULDOON</small></h3> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">T</span>HE sun woke Wint in the morning; and the awakening was cruel. Level, -white-hot rays burned through his eyelids as though they would char to -cinders his aching eyes. He threw his arm fretfully across his face to -keep off the glare and lay quietly on the shabby bed, groping back into -the night and into the hours of the preceding day in a terrible effort -to remember.</p> - -<p>There was no more drunkenness in him. The shock of what they had told -him had banished that. He was sober. Too sober, in all conscience, for -any peace of mind. It was his loneliness that was most torturing. If -there had been some one near, some one else in the room, for whose -benefit it was necessary to play a part, Wint would have stiffened his -resolution and laughed at the situation. But he could not play a part -that would deceive himself. Alone in the dingy bedroom in that -disreputable place, he burned with shame and tortured pride.</p> - -<p>He began to fit together the pieces of the puzzle. He never doubted that -it was true the voters had elected him. There had been truth in Jack -Routt’s eyes the night before, truth and a sort of triumph. Routt was a -good fellow and a true friend; and he rejoiced, no doubt, that Wint had -been so honored. Wint, thinking this, grimaced. He knew, without -explanations, that his election was a joke; a colossal joke in the first -place upon his father, and a grim jest at his own expense. He could -imagine the cackling mirth of those who had engineered the thing; and -this laughter that he seemed to hear lashed his ears.</p> - -<p>He flung himself over on his face and buried his head in his arms and -tried to think. He was full of rebellion. He would go away, leave this -place, never return....</p> - -<p>After a time, he lifted his head and moved his body and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_82" id="page_82">{82}</a></span> sat up on the -bed, his feet on the floor. He sat up and looked about him and shuddered -in a sick way.</p> - -<p>The light of day made this room more hideous than it had been by -lamplight. The shattered lamp lay in the grate, and there was a charred -place on the floor near the hearth, where the oil had burned itself out, -when Wint threw down the lamp the night before. Above the mantel hung -the cracked mirror. In it from where he sat, Wint could see a distorted -reflection of the ceiling of the room, and an angle of the wall. There -had once been paper on this wall, and it had been cracked by the -shrinking of the plaster, and picked away by casual fingers, and here -and there it hung in short, ragged strips. The bare floor was unclean; -the chair near the bed where Wint’s two shoes now reposed was decrepit -and lacked paint. One door of the big wardrobe hung awkwardly from -weakened hinges. It was a little ajar, and Wint could see a disorder of -rubbish inside. On the floor near the chair lay his hat and coat and one -sock, where he had dropped them when he had come here and stumbled -drunkenly to bed.</p> - -<p>He held his head in his hands, and his fingers clenched in his crisp -hair.</p> - -<p>For some time, his senses had been catching hints of life in the -building below him. The smell of burning grease had come up the stairs -from the kitchen; and the grumble of voices now and then upraised in -protest or abuse had reached his ears. Once he heard, from a distance -and muffled by intervening doors and walls, the clamor of quarreling -dogs. But these things did not penetrate his consciousness until a new -and louder disturbance broke out somewhere below.</p> - -<p>A dog barked, snarling and angry; another yelped. The two joined their -voices in an angry tumult of sound. Then a woman’s voice, the voice of -Mrs. Moody, shouted abuse, and a door opened and cries and barks and -snarls redoubled.</p> - -<p>Wint lifted his head, in sudden recognition. He heard the thud of some -missile that had missed its mark and clattered against the floor; and -then he heard the scramble of hard-toed feet racing up the stairs, and -the snuffing of eager nostrils. His eyes lighted softly; and he called: -“Muldoon!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_83" id="page_83">{83}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>There was a yelp of delight and a new scuffle of feet, and Muldoon -plunged in through the open door and was all over Wint in a delirious -joy at this reunion. The dog leaped up on Wint’s knees; it tried to -climb on his shoulders; its tongue sought to caress his cheeks; it -nipped his hands lovingly; and all the time it whined a low whine of -happiness. Wint, cuffing the hard and eager head, smiled in spite of -himself at the dog’s caresses; he smiled, and caught Muldoon by the ears -and held him away and shook him affectionately.</p> - -<p>“You, dog!” he scolded. “How did you come here? Eh, you?”</p> - -<p>Muldoon wriggled in a desperate effort to explain; and then he stiffened -in Wint’s arms, and turned toward the door with hackles rising. Wint -looked that way and saw Mrs. Moody, panting with the zeal of her -pursuit. The virago came in; she bore a stick of firewood in one harsh -hand; she made for Muldoon, and her old lips dripped blistering abuse.</p> - -<p>Wint drew Muldoon close in his arms and held up a protesting hand. “Wait -a minute, wait a minute!” he warned her. “What’s the matter?”</p> - -<p>She smiled mirthlessly, brandishing her billet and reaching for -Muldoon’s scruff. “I’m a-goin’ to whale that pup, deary,” she told Wint. -“He’s been around here all morning.”</p> - -<p>Wint hugged Muldoon closer. “Of course,” he said, “he knew I was here.”</p> - -<p>She looked puzzled. “He ain’t your’n, is he?”</p> - -<p>“Sure,” Wint told her. “He’s some dog, too.”</p> - -<p>The woman’s anger vanished. “Well, say now, if I’d a knowed that....” -She laughed, her desolately beautiful false teeth glistening between her -wrinkled lips. “He’s drove my dog crazy. He come around here before day, -and Jim heard him and tried to get out. Woke me up. I drove this one -away; but he came back. Jim got out once, and they had it till I broke -’em up. And then a minute ago, Jim got out again, and when I went after -’em with this stove wood, that’n of your’n slipped by me and in and up -th’ stairs.”</p> - -<p>Wint rubbed Muldoon’s head proudly. “He must have<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_84" id="page_84">{84}</a></span> tracked me, found me -out somehow,” he explained. “I left him locked up. Hope he didn’t hurt -your....”</p> - -<p>“Oh, Jim c’n take care of hisself. If he can’t, he’ll have t’ look out.” -She looked around the room curiously. “You had callers last night. D’ye -remember?”</p> - -<p>Wint nodded, bending over the dog. “Yes—I remember.”</p> - -<p>The woman studied him. “Thought mebbe you was too far gone to know -anythin’....” She waited for Wint to speak; but Wint volunteered -nothing, so she remarked: “I see th’ lamp got broke.”</p> - -<p>“I’ll pay for it,” Wint told her. She nodded.</p> - -<p>“That’s all right. All in the bill. You must’ve been tickled to hear -about bein’ elected.”</p> - -<p>Wint said nothing. The woman laughed harshly. “Never had a Mayor of -Hardiston in my hotel before. Had some sheriffs, and a marshal now ’nd -then. But no Mayor!” She shook with mirth at the thought. “I d’clare, -I’ll have t’ raise my rates.”</p> - -<p>Wint looked at her steadily, with expressionless eyes. He was fighting -to hide the humiliation which was stinging him; and he succeeded. His -silence at last frightened the woman; she backed toward the door, -babbling broken sentences. Only when she was in the hall, with an avenue -of flight open to her, did she recover herself. “But I s’pose you’ll -forgit old friends, now that you’re Mayor, deary,” she told him.</p> - -<p>Wint smiled bleakly. “Don’t count on it,” he said.</p> - -<p>She seemed uncertain whether to take this as a threat or reassurance. “I -was always a good friend to you,” she reminded him.</p> - -<p>He nodded. “Yes—you’ve been consistent, at least.”</p> - -<p>She wagged her old head, comforted and grinning. “I guess you won’t -forgit,” she told herself. And after a moment: “Will you be wanting some -breakfast?”</p> - -<p>Wint stroked the ears of Muldoon. “No,” he said. “No.” And he added -thoughtfully: “Thank you very much.”</p> - -<p>“That’s all right, deary,” she assured him, and so turned at last and -went haltingly down the stairs.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_85" id="page_85">{85}</a></span></p> - -<p>When the woman was gone, Wint sat very still for a space, staring at the -empty doorway, thinking. Muldoon was on his lap, and Wint forgot the -dog, although his hand still played automatically with Muldoon’s ears. -The dog was for a time content with this, moving its head now and then -under Wint’s hand to get full value from his caresses; but by and by it -became conscious of his abstraction, and looked up into his face, and -wriggled, and at last muzzled a cold nose under his chin and nudged -upward against Wint’s jaw until Wint emerged from his absorption and -laughed and caught Muldoon’s head in his hands and shook it. “There, -boy,” he whispered. “D’you think I’d forgotten you? No fear, Muldoon.”</p> - -<p>Having aroused his master, Muldoon in his turn decided to feign -abstraction. He lay down, ostentatiously, across Wint’s knees, and he -pillowed his muzzle on his forepaws and lay there with eyes rolling up -in spite of himself to watch Wint’s face. Wint cupped the dog’s lower -jaw in his right hand and shook it gently. “What are they saying about -me uptown, Muldoon?” he asked.</p> - -<p>The dog moved its head, then fell into a motionless pose again. Wint -bent over it, whispering, half to Muldoon and half to himself. -“Laughing, of course,” he said softly. “Laughing! The joke of years!” He -smiled grimly. “Tough on dad. He’d set his heart on this Mayor -business.”</p> - -<p>He looked across to the window, and his eyes hardened. “They meant it as -much as a joke on me as on father,” he reminded himself, and his eyes -burned. He wondered how the plan had been carried through. Caretall and -Gergue must have had their hand in it; they had probably united with V. -R. Kite. It would be reasonably easy, he knew. His father had had no -real popularity. Winthrop Chase, Senior, was not a likable man. He was -not a vote getter. There was a self-conscious condescension about his -good-fellowship.</p> - -<p>Wint had never paid any great attention to local politics. He wondered -idly what a Mayor had to do. He tried to remember some of the things -Mayors had done in the past; and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_86" id="page_86">{86}</a></span> he found his only knowledge of the -subject concerned with a Hallowe’en prank as a result of which he and -two others had been haled before the Mayor’s court and badly frightened.</p> - -<p>“He must do something besides that,” he assured himself. “But Lord—I -couldn’t even do that.”</p> - -<p>What was he to do? That was the thing he had to decide, and he must -decide at once. What could he do? Was there any way by which he could -nullify the election; resign; abdicate; get himself impeached? He -thought of these projects wistfully. They took no concrete form in his -mind. He knew nothing of the machinery of local government, knew nothing -of the avenues of escape which might be open to him.</p> - -<p>He only knew that he would not be made thus the butt of the town’s -mirth. His face flushed at the thought; and he got up abruptly and -walked to the window, Muldoon pacing at his side and looking up -wistfully at his master. He would not do it. They should have their -trouble for their pains. They were fools. Impudent fools....</p> - -<p>One thing he could do; one thing at least. He could go away. Hide. If he -were not here, they could not force him to serve. So much was sure. He -would go away....</p> - -<p>This decision, Wint told himself, had cleared the air. He tried to -believe that it solved all his perplexities; and he bent over Muldoon -and cuffed the dog and romped with it across the room, to Muldoon’s -delirious delight. Then he began to whistle to himself, and so looked -about and sat down on the bed, and drew on the sock which still lay on -the floor. He had difficulty in fastening the sock supporter about his -leg. The leg of the trousers obstructed him. He fussed over the thing -until he was fuming again, and his face flushed with stooping. But at -last the trick was done, and he took his shoes from the chair and put -them on. He found that one of the laces was broken, no doubt by his -drunken fingers when he had unlaced the shoes before removing them. This -discovery whetted his resentment and disgust. He knotted the lace and -hid the knot under an eyelet of the shoe, where it pressed on his instep -and irked him. He kicked the shoe on the floor until it gave him some -measure of comfort.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_87" id="page_87">{87}</a></span></p> - -<p>His hat and coat were on the floor. He put them on, brushing the dust -from the coat with his hands, and afterwards with a flicker of his -handkerchief. Then he crossed reluctantly to the speckled mirror and -looked into it.</p> - -<p>He saw that his face was dirty, and his collar soiled and crushed. He -took the collar off and turned it inside out and replaced it, and it -gave him some faint satisfaction to see the improvement thus effected in -his appearance. But he was still ghastly. There was no water in the -room; and he knew that the bathroom at the end of this upper hall was -not made for cleanliness, so he wet his handkerchief with his tongue and -scrubbed his face clean with that. The result had a forced and unnatural -look, but he was constrained to be content.</p> - -<p>He started slowly for the door, but his feet lagged. It was hard for him -to make up his mind to face the world again. He thought, uneasily, of -remaining here through the day and catching a night freight out of town; -and he turned irresolutely back toward the bed, but Muldoon, at his -knee, barked softly in remonstrance, and Wint bent and patted the dog’s -head and said softly: “Right you are, pup. We’re not afraid of them. But -Heaven help the man that laughs, Muldoon!”</p> - -<p>The dog wagged its whole body, and barked again, as though in approval; -and Wint smiled faintly and went again toward the door. He looked down -and saw that his trousers were wrinkled, and he smoothed and tugged at -them in an effort to give them some appearance of respectability. When -he had done his best for them, he went toward the door again, and this -time he did not stop. He went out into the hall, and to the stair head, -and so down into the office of the hotel.</p> - -<p>Like the bedroom, the office of the Weaver House suffered by daylight. -Even the dingy and unwashed window panes could not keep out the pitiless -sun; and the room’s ugliness was exposed in hideous nakedness.</p> - -<p>The room, save for the fact that the sun instead of a lamp lighted it, -was as it had been the night before. The smoky lamp, still standing on -the table, gave forth a smell of dirty oil which filled the place and -fought with the reek of bad tobacco and the pungent smell of alcohol. -Doors and windows<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_88" id="page_88">{88}</a></span> were tight shut. At their corner of the table, above -their checkerboard, still leaned the two old men. It was as though they -had not stirred, the long night through. As Wint came down the stairs, a -game ended, and their cackling voices broke into the familiar argument, -while their stained old fingers swiftly rearranged the pieces for a new -beginning. Then one moved a piece, and both fell silent, and the new -game began.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Moody sat at her place behind what had been the bar. The only -change in the room since the night before was that instead of the -reading boy, a man sat by the table. This man was unshaven, trembling, -shrunken within his rumpled and baggy garments. His eyes were open, and -his head wagged from side to side as he sat, and his lips moved in an -interminable, mumbling argument with some one invisible.</p> - -<p>Jim, the dog that was just a dog, was not to be seen.</p> - -<p>Wint, with Muldoon at his heels, came down the stairs and stopped in -front of the bar and nodded to Mrs. Moody. He reached into his pocket, -and the old woman got up briskly and grinned at him, the enamel of her -teeth a blinding white flash in her wrinkled old face. Her eyes puckered -when she grinned; and she laid her hands, palms down, upon the bar.</p> - -<p>“Going away, deary?” she asked.</p> - -<p>Wint nodded. “What do I owe you?”</p> - -<p>“Sorry I ain’t got a bite to offer ye,” she apologized. Then, with a sly -glance at the men across the room. “Less’n you wanted to come out by the -kitchen in back. A little drop....”</p> - -<p>Wint shook his head. “Not to-day. How much?”</p> - -<p>She told him and he selected a bill and gave it to her. She took it, and -tucked up her apron and delved into the pocket of her loose skirt and -produced a dirty, cloth bag. This bag was tied with a string at the top; -and she untied the string, and rummaged inside, and found his change, -and gave it to him. He took it from her; and as he did so, he turned at -a shuffling step and saw the drunken man at his elbow.</p> - -<p>This man peered at him; and Wint moved a little away from him. The man -followed a lurching step, and grinned placatingly, and mumbled: “Wint -Chase, ain’t it?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_89" id="page_89">{89}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>Wint nodded. “Yes.” He tried to pass the man and get to the door; but -the man thrust out a shaking hand.</p> - -<p>“Shake!” he invited thickly. “Wanna shake hands with new Mayor. Voted -f’r you, voted f’r you three times.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Moody was leaning across the bar and watching and grinning. Wint -hesitated, and then he took the man’s hand and shook it, and tried to -release it; but the man clung to it, and lunged closer, and put his -other hand on Wint’s shoulder. His weight fell against Wint’s chest.</p> - -<p>“New Mayor,” he repeated uncertainly. “Good, nice new Mayor.” He -chuckled loosely and wiped his wet mouth with the back of his hand and -gripped Wint’s shoulder again, and regarded Wint seriously, studying -him. “Good little man,” he applauded. “Make dam’ good Mayor f’r this -little town.”</p> - -<p>He rocked on his feet, and Wint tried to put the man away without -offending him, but the man staggered and clasped his arms around Wint’s -neck and giggled weakly on Wint’s breast.</p> - -<p>“This’ll be a nice, wet li’l town now, eh, boy!” he exulted. “Eh, boy? -Nice, wet li’l town....”</p> - -<p>Wint, with a sudden revulsion that sickened him and stiffened his angry -pride, thrust the man away and stepped quickly out into the street. He -felt Muldoon brush against his legs, and he looked down at the dog and -set his jaw.</p> - -<p>“You, dog,” he whispered. “They’ve tried one joke too many. Eh, pup? -We’ll stay and turn the joke on them, Muldoon. What say?”</p> - -<p>Muldoon whined approvingly, fidgeting on eager feet; and Wint bent and -clapped him on the shoulder. “Come on, you,” he said softly. “Come on. -Let’s go home.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_90" id="page_90">{90}</a></span>”</p> - -<h3><a name="CHAPTER_II-b" id="CHAPTER_II-b"></a>CHAPTER II<br /><br /> -<small>JOAN</small></h3> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">W</span>INT left the Weaver House at a little before noon, Muldoon trotting -sedately at his heels. The street outside the hotel was empty; and Wint -was glad of this. He followed it to the railroad tracks, intending to -cross the yards and take a back street toward his home. But at the end -of the street, he encountered Peter Gergue.</p> - -<p>Gergue saw him coming, and stopped, and fumbled in the tangle of hair at -the back of his head until Wint came near. Wint would have avoided him, -but there was no way to do this, and so he said coldly:</p> - -<p>“Good morning, Pete.”</p> - -<p>Gergue grinned slowly. “Why—right fair,” he agreed. “Yes’r, it’s a -right fair morning—if you look at it that way.”</p> - -<p>Wint nodded. He would have passed by, but Gergue stopped him. “I was -coming down after you,” he said.</p> - -<p>“Why?” Wint asked.</p> - -<p>“Oh—I thought you might want company. Heard you was here.”</p> - -<p>“Want anything special?”</p> - -<p>“We-ell—I did think of congratulating you.”</p> - -<p>Wint smiled coldly. “Thanks. That all?”</p> - -<p>Gergue rummaged through his hair. “Thought you might have things to -inquire about.”</p> - -<p>Wint started to say “No” to this, then changed his mind and looked -steadily. “You—you mix in politics, don’t you, Pete?”</p> - -<p>Gergue looked startled. “Why—some,” he admitted. “Why, yes, I might -say—some.”</p> - -<p>“Friend of Congressman Caretall’s, aren’t you?”</p> - -<p>Gergue spat, and nodded slowly. “I like to help him out—when I c’n -manage,” he agreed.</p> - -<p>Wint smiled again. “Then you know how this thing happened.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_91" id="page_91">{91}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“Some,” said Peter.</p> - -<p>“Explain it to me,” Wint invited. “How was it worked? And—why?”</p> - -<p>Gergue grinned slyly. Then he laughed, a shrill burst of merriment of a -sort unusual in this man. When this mirth passed, he touched Wint’s -lapel. “Cleanest piece of work I ever see,” he declared.</p> - -<p>“How was it done?”</p> - -<p>“Word o’ mouth! Word o’ mouth! Cong’essman knew folks was expecting -something f’om him. He kept ’em expecting. Told everybody he was going -to vote for a man named Chase. Got ’em worked up, sittin’ on needles and -pins and cockle burrs to know where the trick come in. Everybody knowed -they was some trick. Then—last minute—he passed the word to V. R. -Kite, and him and Kite passed the word around. Everybody figured it -would be a joke on your paw. Whole town took it laughing, and went and -done what Cong’essman told ’em t’ do. Writ in your name....”</p> - -<p>Wint smiled frostily. “Great joke, wasn’t it?”</p> - -<p>Gergue chuckled. “Fine. Take V. R. Kite. Tickled him half t’ death. Like -t’ killed Kite.”</p> - -<p>“Caretall and my father are against each other, of course.”</p> - -<p>“Sure. Your paw comes to the Cong’essman, high and mighty, offering him -this ’nd that. That wa’n’t no way to go at the Cong’essman. Amos ain’t -used to it.”</p> - -<p>Wint nodded. “But why me?” he asked. “Why pick on me?”</p> - -<p>Gergue waved his hand. “That made it more like a joke on your paw. -Everybuddy knowed what your paw thinks of you. Figured it’d pupplex him. -It did, too, Wint. It certainly did pupplex your paw.”</p> - -<p>“It would,” Wint agreed. “But—I should think Caretall would as soon see -my father elected as me.”</p> - -<p>“Yo’r paw had a little too much wind in his sails. Needed a little -coolin’ off. Amos gave it to him.”</p> - -<p>“But how about Kite?” Wint asked. “Why was he so ready to fall in with -it?”</p> - -<p>Gergue looked at Wint sidewise. “Why, he don’t like y<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_92" id="page_92">{92}</a></span>o’r paw so very -much,” he explained, with an appearance of frankness, “and besides that, -Kite’s wet, and your paw’s dry. That stands t’ reason.”</p> - -<p>“He figured I would be wet, of course.”</p> - -<p>Gergue nodded emphatically. “Natural,” he said. “Natural, he figured -that way.”</p> - -<p>“Did Caretall have that idea, too?”</p> - -<p>Gergue wagged his head. “We-ell, now,” he parried, “Amos don’t lay so -much on that end of it. He’s a wet man, in politics; but he don’t touch -it hisself. I guess he just wanted t’ give you a leg up—see what you’d -do. Amos keeps his eye on the young fellows, that way.”</p> - -<p>They had crossed the tracks while they were talking, and now they met -two men. Wint knew these men casually; they knew him. They were workmen; -and they saw Wint and Gergue together, and grinned, and one of them -called: “Morning, Mr. Mayor.”</p> - -<p>Wint smiled at them amiably. “Good morning.”</p> - -<p>“Congratulations!”</p> - -<p>“Thanks.” Wint’s cheeks were burning. The men passed by, and he and -Gergue started up the hill by a back street that led toward his home. -Neither of them spoke. Presently they began to meet other men. One or -two men scowled at Gergue, stared angrily at Wint; but for the most part -they smiled covertly, and voiced congratulations. Their words seemed to -Wint to mark covert jibes.</p> - -<p>After a time the two came to a cross street that led toward town; and -here Gergue halted and looked at Wint curiously. “Was there anything -else?” he asked.</p> - -<p>Wint shook his head.</p> - -<p>“You wasn’t thinking, maybe, of walking uptown?”</p> - -<p>“Not now.”</p> - -<p>“Going on home, I guess.”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>Gergue nodded. “All right. When you come uptown, you might stop in and -see me.”</p> - -<p>“I’ll see,” Wint told him.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_93" id="page_93">{93}</a></span></p> - -<p>“Amos aims to do right by you,” said Gergue.</p> - -<p>“Much obliged.”</p> - -<p>“You don’t want to hold this against him.”</p> - -<p>Wint smiled slowly. “Good-by,” he said.</p> - -<p>Gergue nodded. “By-by,” he responded. “I’ll see you again.”</p> - -<p>He turned toward town, and Wint watched him for a moment, and then went -on toward his home. Muldoon trotted sedately before him, ranging now and -then across the street or into a yard to investigate some affair of his -own. Wint walked swiftly, for he had an uneasy feeling of nakedness in -the light of open day, as though every one he encountered must see the -shame that was torturing him. He came to his home through a short cut -that brought him by way of an alley to the kitchen door; and when he -opened the door and stepped into the kitchen, he saw Hetty Morfee there. -Hetty was rolling biscuits on a board, her sleeves rolled to the elbows -on her creamy arms; and she turned at the sound of his entrance and -stood with the rolling pin in one hand, brushing back the hair from her -eyes with the other, and laughing at him softly.</p> - -<p>“Oh, you Wint!” she said.</p> - -<p>Wint closed the kitchen door behind him and faced the girl. “Is mother -here?” he asked.</p> - -<p>“She’s in next door.” She nodded her head reproachfully. “You certainly -have started something, Wint.”</p> - -<p>“Where’s father?”</p> - -<p>“Uptown. He telephoned just now to know if you had come home. He ain’t -coming home for dinner.”</p> - -<p>Wint dropped his eyes for a moment, then lifted his head. “All right,” -he said. “I—I suppose he’s mad as a hatter.”</p> - -<p>Hetty chuckled softly. “Mad as two of ’em,” she declared. “You certainly -have started something this time, Wint.”</p> - -<p>He looked toward the biscuit board. “Are those for lunch?”</p> - -<p>“Uh-huh.”</p> - -<p>“How soon will they be ready?”</p> - -<p>“Half an hour. You hungry?” She studied him, solicitude lurking in her -eyes.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_94" id="page_94">{94}</a></span></p> - -<p>“Yes. I didn’t have any breakfast.”</p> - -<p>The girl moved toward him with the quick instinct of woman. “You poor -kid! I’ll get you something now.”</p> - -<p>He lifted his hand impatiently. “Never mind. Or—just a glass of milk.”</p> - -<p>She laughed, crossing the room toward the pantry. “You just sit down and -see.” And while he still stood irresolutely in the middle of the floor, -she was back with bread and butter and a glass of jelly and a bowl of -milk. She spread these things upon the table, and cut the bread for him, -and made him sit down and eat while she hovered over him, her eyes never -leaving the brown head as he bent above his plate. Now and then she -laughed softly, and more than once she repeated: “You surely have -started something this time.”</p> - -<p>He ate ravenously. He had not realized his own hunger. But after the -second slice, she stopped him. “Now that’s enough,” she declared. -“You’ll spoil your dinner.”</p> - -<p>He laughed, the first time he had laughed that day. “I guess not,” he -declared. “I could eat a house.”</p> - -<p>She smiled, carrying the viands back to their places. “Where was you -last night?” she asked curiously.</p> - -<p>He looked up at her, half resentful, half glad of her friendship and -understanding. “Weaver House,” he said.</p> - -<p>She made a little grimace. “Golly! You must’ve been pie-eyed for fair.”</p> - -<p>He flushed, but he nodded. “Yes.”</p> - -<p>“And look what they’ve done to you. It don’t pay, does it, Wint?”</p> - -<p>He laughed. “I suppose not.”</p> - -<p>“What are you going to do?”</p> - -<p>“I don’t know.”</p> - -<p>“Your paw’s awful mad.”</p> - -<p>He got up stiffly. “I suppose so. Well—he’s been mad before.”</p> - -<p>“And your maw’s upset.”</p> - -<p>“I’ll be up in my room,” he said. “Call me when dinner’s ready.”</p> - -<p>She was back at her biscuits, laying them delicately in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_95" id="page_95">{95}</a></span> pan. “Sure. -Go ahead.” The door closed behind him. When she heard the click of a -latch, the girl stopped her work for an instant, and looked over her -shoulder at the closed door. She remained thus for a space; then brushed -her arm across her forehead as though a lock of hair distressed her, and -went on with her task.</p> - -<p>Wint went to his room, and threw aside his soiled garments, and bathed -and was half dressed when Hetty called up the stairs that dinner was -ready. He came down into the hall as his mother entered the front door. -When she saw him, she lifted her hands, and ran at him, and poured out -upon him a torrent of querulous complaint. “Wint, where have you been -all this time? Your father is so mad. He’s terrible mad at you. I never -saw your father so worked up, Wint. I don’t see what you had to go and -do a thing like that for anyhow, Wint. I told Mrs. Hullis this morning I -just couldn’t see how you could do it. Your father was so set on getting -elected, and everything; and he’d made so many plans, and when he came -home last night I said to him—”</p> - -<p>Hetty called from the dining-room door: “Dinner’s ready, ma’am.”</p> - -<p>“All right, Hetty, I’m a-coming,” Mrs. Chase assured her. “Wint, you -come along. I want to talk to you. I don’t see what you’re going to do -about it. I don’t see—I said to your father last night that I just -couldn’t see how you could—”</p> - -<p>Wint broke in: “Mother—please! It wasn’t my doing. I had nothing to do -with it.”</p> - -<p>“I said to your father last night, when he came home,” she insisted. “He -came home so mad, and everything. He was in a terrible state, Wint. He -ramped and tore around here like he was a crazy man; and I said to him -that I didn’t see how a son could do a thing like that to him. He was -tramping up and down, and he kept talking about you, and I said to him -that I—”</p> - -<p>“I tell you I had nothing to do with it, mother.”</p> - -<p>“I think Congressman Caretall ought to have something better to do than -to come home here and stir up a son against his father. I told your -father so; and I said<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_96" id="page_96">{96}</a></span>—”</p> - -<p>“He didn’t stir me up against father, mother. It was a trick, a -political game. I didn’t know anything about it till they told me I’d -been elected.”</p> - -<p>“I said to him that I just couldn’t believe it. And he said if it wasn’t -true why weren’t you here at home where you belonged? He said you were -probably down at Caretall’s, laughing at your father. And I said I just -couldn’t see how a son could do a thing like that to a father like him. -Because your father has been good to you, Wint. He’s been mighty good to -you; and he’s stood a lot. I said to him that he’d stood a lot, and he -said you were probably off drinking again somewhere, and that you’d—”</p> - -<p>Hetty came in from the kitchen with the plate of biscuits, and set them -before Mrs. Chase, and looked at Wint and laughed and pressed her hands -to her ears and grimaced at Mrs. Chase’s unconscious head. Wint -protested:</p> - -<p>“Mother, I—”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Chase broke in. “Hetty, those biscuits are just fine. I declare, -your things always seem to come out better than mine. I wish I could do -it that way. I wish your father was at home, Wint. He likes hot biscuits -so. But goodness knows, he wouldn’t have any appetite to eat anything -to-day. Hetty told me when she called me to come home that he’d -telephoned he wasn’t coming. She told me you had come, and I came right -over to tell you that I just didn’t see how you could—”</p> - -<p>Wint was glad at last to finish and escape. He went up to his room, his -mother’s words pursuing him. The reaction had set in; and he was -terribly tired, and sick and full of sleep. He flung himself on his face -on the bed, and he tossed there for a space, thinking miserably, and so -at last he fell asleep.</p> - -<p>He was awakened by a thrumming knock on his door, and sat up and called -huskily: “Who’s that?” The door opened, and his father came in.</p> - -<p>His father came in, and shut the door behind him. Outside, Wint saw his -mother. She was saying something; and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_97" id="page_97">{97}</a></span> the closing door cut off her -words. His father ignored her; he slowly turned and faced Wint.</p> - -<p>It was late afternoon, almost dusk. Shadows had begun to fill the room. -Wint saw that his father’s face was black; and he got up from the bed -and stood there for a moment, and he saw that his father was trembling. -He took a step forward. “Father,” he said unsteadily, “I want to tell -you I had nothing to do with this. I’m sorry. And I’ll do whatever you -say to make things right.”</p> - -<p>The restraint which the elder Chase had imposed upon himself fled before -the wind of passion. He lifted his clenched hands as though he would -bring them down upon Wint’s head. “You! You!” he cried. “You’re my -son—and you join with drunkards and vagabonds and thieves to make a -laughingstock of me.”</p> - -<p>Wint protested. “I did not! I knew nothing.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t lie to me, Wint,” his father cried. The elder man’s anger was -terrible. It swept away the poise with which he faced the world, it left -him nothing but his wrongs; and these wrongs and his own rage somehow -transfigured and ennobled him. In spite of himself, Wint had never -respected and loved his father so much as then. He cried again, almost -pleadingly:</p> - -<p>“Dad....”</p> - -<p>“Be quiet!” his father cried. “Don’t speak. It is my time to speak. I -have kept silent too long. You have disgraced me with your drunkenness; -and now you make a joke of me before the world. You....”</p> - -<p>“I tell you, I knew nothing of this till it was done.”</p> - -<p>“You lie. You lie, Wint! And even if it were true, you have made it -possible by—by your debaucheries. You have given them the chance—you -have made me the laughingstock—” he flung his arms wide. “Why even the -Cincinnati papers have the story, Wint. They—the whole damned country -knows....” His voice broke suddenly; his hands dropped at his side. -Resentment fought with affection in Wint; and pride stiffened his voice -as he said again:<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_98" id="page_98">{98}</a></span></p> - -<p>“I told you I’d do anything, dad.”</p> - -<p>“Anything? What good will that do? You and Caretall—laughing at me! I -won’t stand it! I’ll break Caretall if it kills me. Caretall is a -scoundrel, a crook. He’s debauched the town....”</p> - -<p>He stopped suddenly, he became cold and still. “Come down to supper, -Wint,” he said shortly. “After that, you can get out. I’ve warned you -enough—the last time. I’m through.”</p> - -<p>Wint stiffened. “Dad....” he said softly.</p> - -<p>His father made a fierce gesture. “Be quiet! I tell you I am through.” -He whirled to the door, and opened it, and was gone before Wint could -speak again. But while Wint still stood quiet, he returned and called: -“I know where you were last night. That was enough. That alone. I’m -through. Through!”</p> - -<p>This time he did not return. And Wint waited for a space, and then, -mechanically and automatically, he picked up his hat, and put it on, and -went down the stairs. His mother and father were in the dining-room. He -heard his mother’s voice. But he did not go in.</p> - -<p>He went to the door and out, and down the walk to the street. As he -reached the pavement, the door opened behind him, and he looked back and -saw his father standing there. For a moment, the two looked at each -other; then the elder man turned his head, and went back into the house -and closed the door.</p> - -<p>Wint walked steadily down the street. He did not know where he was to -go; he did not think of this. And so it was without his own volition -that he came to Joan’s home, and saw the girl sitting in a chair upon -the veranda, a book in her lap.</p> - -<p>Her eyes met his. Her eyes were very serious and sad; but Wint turned -in, and came to the steps, and stood there before her. She smiled a -little wistfully; and he said, under his breath: “Joan.”</p> - -<p>She made no move to answer him. He said again: “Joan....” And then: -“Joan....<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_99" id="page_99">{99}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>She bent her head a little, but her eyes held his. “Wint,” she said, so -softly he could scarce hear her words. “Wint—I’m sorry. But—I can’t go -on. I can’t—trust you, Wint. This is good-by.”</p> - -<p>He felt himself shrink a little at the word; and he stood still for a -moment till his senses steadied. Then he lifted his head a little.</p> - -<p>“I don’t blame you,” he told her.</p> - -<p>She said again: “Good-by!” And he nodded and echoed quietly:</p> - -<p>“Good-by, Joan.”</p> - -<p>For another moment, their eyes held each other. Then his dropped, and he -turned and went down to the street again.</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>Half an hour later, Mrs. Moody was lighting the smoky-lamp in the office -of the Weaver House when Wint came in. She saw him and grinned, and her -teeth reflected the lamp’s light like pearls. “Why, hello, deary! Back -again?” she called.</p> - -<p>He nodded. “The same room, please,” he told her.</p> - -<p>She bustled across to the stairs, and paused there and looked at him -wisely “A little drop first, in the kitchen?” she invited.</p> - -<p>He shook his head. “No—nothing.”</p> - -<p>And so presently he found himself in the place where he had slept that -sodden sleep the night before.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_100" id="page_100">{100}</a></span></p> - -<h3><a name="CHAPTER_III-b" id="CHAPTER_III-b"></a>CHAPTER III<br /><br /> -<small>THE STRATEGY OF AMOS</small></h3> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">W</span>INT had returned to the Weaver House in a numb revulsion of feeling. He -was hurt and angry at the whole world; and he was wholly at sea as to -what he should do. His instinct was to fight, to fight the thing out, to -fight his father and to prove to Joan that she was mistaken in her -condemnation. It was this instinct, with an unspoken thought that he -would face the thing honestly, that sent him back to the hovel where he -had spent the night before. That was where he belonged, he told himself. -It was to such places that his father and Joan had consigned him. So be -it. He found a grim sort of satisfaction in flaunting the stigma of his -shame.</p> - -<p>The greatest single force in Wint’s life had always been his resentment -of dictation. A devil of contrariness possessed him; a devil of false -pride that made him go counter to all warnings for the sheer joy of -opposition. Thus his best friends became his enemies; for their good -advice and counsel thrust him into evil paths; and by the same token, -those who thought themselves his enemies were as often as not his best -and truest friends. There was a stubborn streak in Wint that ruled him; -it was rare that the gentler side of him had the ascendancy. One of -those rare moments had come when he faced his father on this day. He had -been humble, shamed, regretful, ready to make any amends. But the elder -Chase, writhing under the ridicule to which the day had subjected him, -had been in no mood for gentleness; and the result of the interview of -father and son had been a parting which left them both sore and -resentful.</p> - -<p>The first faint anger in Wint’s heart grew swiftly. When he had seen -Joan, and she had sent him away, he coupled her with his father in his -thoughts. They were both against him; both<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_101" id="page_101">{101}</a></span> thought him nothing better -than a drunkard; both thought him a treacherous and ribald fool. And the -consciousness of this lifted his head in anger, and stiffened his heart, -so that he swore he would fight out the battle and prove to them they -were wrong, and then throw his newly won victory in their faces. They -thought him a drunken sot; very well, he would fight the fight on that -basis. They thought the Weaver House was the place where he belonged; -very well, he would fight his fight from that brothel. And it was in -such fashion as this, wearing his own disgrace like a plume, that he -returned to Mrs. Moody’s disreputable hostelry.</p> - -<p>When he was alone in his room, he sat down on the edge of the bed and -lighted a cigarette. He rested his elbows on his knees, the cigarette -dangling from his clasped fingers, and considered. And as he thought, -his face hardened, hardened with the effort to control his own pity for -himself. He was immensely sorry for his own plight, immensely resentful -of the misunderstandings of which he was a victim. And he was terribly -lonely. He missed companionship—Jack Routt, Gergue, even Muldoon. -Muldoon would have been the most welcome of them all, but he had left -Muldoon at home. He regretted this; and his regret at last became so -keen that he could not bear it. With a sudden resolution, he tossed the -half-burned cigarette into the grate, and went down the stairs and -crossed the railroad and bent his steps toward home. Muldoon, at least, -would not condemn him. Muldoon was a faithful sort; a good pup....</p> - -<p>He took alleyways and unfrequented streets, and avoided chance -encounters. Thus he came near his home without meeting any one, and he -went in through the alley and halted under a cherry tree that shaded -Muldoon’s kennel, beside the coal house, and whistled softly. The dog -might be in his kennel; he might be in the house; he might be roaming -abroad in search of his master.</p> - -<p>He whistled three times, and got no response. Muldoon was somewhere -beyond hearing. He might be in the house; and if he were and heard -Wint’s whistle, Wint knew he would bark a demand that he be allowed to -come out.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_102" id="page_102">{102}</a></span></p> - -<p>So Wint whistled more shrilly; a long, familiar call.</p> - -<p>For a time he got no answer to this. He tried again, and this time he -heard the faint sound of a muffled bark from inside the house. This bark -came nearer, became clamorous, located itself at the kitchen door, where -Wint could hear Muldoon’s claws rattling on the panels.</p> - -<p>He started toward the kitchen, then halted. For the windows were -lighted; and at one of them Hetty Morfee appeared. She was wiping -dishes, and when she came to the window she held a plate, gripped in a -dishcloth, in her left hand, and shaded her eyes with her right as she -tried to peer out into the night.</p> - -<p>Muldoon’s close-cropped head appeared beside her at the window for an -instant, and he barked again. Wint shrank back into the shadow. He did -not wish to be discovered and he was unwilling to risk encountering his -father or his mother by going to the house. He shrank back into the -darkness; but he whistled again, and this time Hetty left the window and -opened the door, and Muldoon came out like a projectile, and found Wint -under the cherry tree, and slavered over him.</p> - -<p>Wint was so absorbed in the dog that he did not see, until too late, -that Hetty had followed Muldoon. She came on him, under the tree, -laughing softly. “It’s you, is it?” she called.</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“What’s the matter?”</p> - -<p>“I came for Muldoon. He’s mine.”</p> - -<p>She chuckled lightly. “You’re the original Mister Trouble, Wint. Your -paw says he never wants to see you again, and your maw’s gone over to -tell the neighbors all about it.”</p> - -<p>“Where’s father?”</p> - -<p>“He stomped off uptown after supper.”</p> - -<p>Wint fumbled with the dog’s head. “Thanks for letting Muldoon out,” he -said.</p> - -<p>“That’s all right. Don’t you want some supper? Come on in.”</p> - -<p>“No.”</p> - -<p>“Where are you going to spend the night?</p> - -<p>“The Weaver House.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_103" id="page_103">{103}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>She gave an exclamation of disgust. “That dirty joint!”</p> - -<p>“They say that’s where I belong. I can stand it if they can.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, don’t be a nut!”</p> - -<p>He turned away into the alley, Muldoon at his heels. She called after -him: “What’s your hurry?”</p> - -<p>“Good night.”</p> - -<p>“Your paw’ll come around.”</p> - -<p>Wint said nothing. He was moving away. She ran after him and caught his -arm. “Wint! Don’t be a nut! Come on back! He’ll come around.”</p> - -<p>He released his arm and shook his head. “That’s up to him,” he said. -“I’ve eaten dirt. All I intend to.”</p> - -<p>She lifted her shoulders, laughed. “Oh—all right. If there’s anything -you want from here, let me know and I’ll get it for you.”</p> - -<p>“Thanks. And—good night!”</p> - -<p>“Good night,” she said; and moved back into the shadow of the coal shed -and watched him disappear. Leaning there, one hand fumbling at her -throat, she was a wistful and unhappy figure. But when Wint was gone, -she laughed harshly, and turned back to her work in the kitchen.</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>If Hetty had wished to confirm Wint in his resolution to go his stubborn -way, she could have taken no better means than to repeat her warning: -“Don’t be a nut!” He took a certain delight in being thus unreasonable. -What he did was his own affair; it concerned no one else. And he -returned to the Weaver House in a surprisingly peaceful frame of mind -and climbed to his room and went to bed with Muldoon curled on the floor -beside him, and slept soundly and healthfully.</p> - -<p>He woke in the morning to find Muldoon sitting by the bed, watching him -and waiting for him to stir. When he opened his eyes, Muldoon wriggled -and yawned and licked his hand, and Wint chuckled, and got up briskly, -and dressed himself and went downstairs. The office was empty when he -came down, for the hour was early; and he went out without seeing any -one, and followed the railroad tracks to the station. There was<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_104" id="page_104">{104}</a></span> a lunch -cart near the station; and he crowded in among the toil-grimed crew of -the night freight and ate a Hamburg steak sandwich garnished with a -biting slice of onion, and drank a great mug of steaming coffee. Some of -the men recognized him, and they talked to him with an unwilling respect -in their manner. He liked this. They did not seem to be laughing at him, -although they professed interest in the manner of his election, and -asked him how he had worked it, and what he was going to do now. He told -them, honestly enough, that he had known nothing about it beforehand; -and he told them, with equal honesty, that he was asleep in the Weaver -House when the word was brought to him. They seemed surprised that he -should state these things without attempt at palliation; and they seemed -to approve of him for doing so. Their attitude gave him renewed -confidence, so that he went up toward town with his head high, ready to -look men in the eye.</p> - -<p>He began to meet people at once. They were for the most part men going -to their work; and some of them eyed him angrily, and some seemed -inclined to laugh at him; but most of them, like the railroad men, gave -evidence of a certain new respect. They hailed him with effusive -cordiality as “Mr. Mayor,” but they seemed a little afraid of the sound -of their own words, a little afraid of what his attitude might be.</p> - -<p>Wint had made his plans. He must get some clothes from his home, must -cut himself off completely from his father. To this end he sought Jack -Routt. Routt, like every one in town, went to the Post Office each -morning for his mail; and Wint found him there.</p> - -<p>Routt shook his hand heartily. “Wint, congratulations!” he said, under -his breath. “This’ll be a great thing for you. It will steady you, -Wint.”</p> - -<p>Wint shook his head, some of the sullen anger of the night before -returning. He had no wish to be steadied, and he said so. “I can take -care of myself,” he told Routt.</p> - -<p>Jack nodded. “So you can. But you need something to hold you down. And -this’ll do it.” He nudged Wint in the ribs, smiling slyly. “Y’ know, -you’ve been hitting it too strong<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_105" id="page_105">{105}</a></span> lately. You don’t know when to stop, -Wint. This will put the brakes on. Make you tend to business.”</p> - -<p>Wint brushed his hand across Routt’s face abruptly. “Cut it,” he said. -“Say, Jack, I want you to do something for me.”</p> - -<p>“Anything in the world.”</p> - -<p>“My father is sore. He thinks I was in on this. So he kicked me out last -night.”</p> - -<p>“Kicked you out?” Routt was startled and indignant. “Why, say, -that’s—Where did you go? Why didn’t you come over to my place?”</p> - -<p>Wint said consciously: “No—I went to the Weaver House. They know me -there.”</p> - -<p>Routt looked quickly around to see if any one had heard. “Sh-h-h!” he -warned. “Say, that was a fool thing to do. Don’t let any one find it -out. You want to walk straight now—”</p> - -<p>Wint cut in. “I want you to go out home and get my steamer trunk and -pack it with some things. There’s a blue suit in my closet. And shirts, -and so on. Get my overcoat, too. Mother will show you—or Hetty.”</p> - -<p>Routt looked at him quickly. “Hetty who?”</p> - -<p>“Hetty Morfee.”</p> - -<p>Routt looked at Wint and laughed softly. “Oh—she’s working for you?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“Nice kid, isn’t she?”</p> - -<p>“Yes. And—as I said—she’ll help you if mother won’t.”</p> - -<p>Routt nodded. “All right,” he agreed. “I’ll go out this morning. -Where’ll I send the trunk? Weaver House?”</p> - -<p>“I’ll send for it. You just pack it.”</p> - -<p>Routt touched Wint’s arm. “I’ll do it,” he said again. “But Wint,—for -the love of Mike, don’t make a fool of yourself! Thing for you to do is -to take hold, run the town right, and make a name for yourself. It’s a -great chance, Wint. Make everybody see what you’ve got in you. And it’ll -be the making of you, Wint.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_106" id="page_106">{106}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>The distribution of the morning’s mail to the boxes was ended just then, -and the windows opened. Routt broke off and went to get his mail, and -Wint, still resentful at Routt’s insistence on the moral advantages of -his situation, went to the window. Dave Howells, one of the postal -clerks, was there; and before Wint could speak, he had offered his -congratulations. These continual good wishes were beginning to irk Wint. -He nodded impatiently. “Dave,” he said, “I want you to hold my mail -hereafter. Don’t send it to the house.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, we always put it in your father’s box,” Howells told him.</p> - -<p>“Well, don’t do that. Hold it. I’ll call for it.”</p> - -<p>The clerk wanted to ask questions, but decided not to do so. He took out -a card and wrote something on it. “I think there’s a letter for you in -the box now,” he said. “I’ll give it to you.”</p> - -<p>Wint nodded; and a moment later the man handed him an envelope, and Wint -turned away from the window. He met his father, face to face, at the -door of the Post Office. Neither of them spoke.</p> - -<p>Wint had dropped the letter into his pocket without looking at it. When -he reached the hotel on the corner, he turned in, and sat down on one of -the deep, leather chairs in the lobby, and drew out the envelope. The -address, he saw, was typewritten. The letter had been mailed in town. -The envelope was plain; and when he opened it he saw that the paper it -contained bore no distinguishing mark.</p> - -<p>The letter, like the address, was typewritten, and Wint read it once, -and read it again with slowly kindling resentment. It said:</p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p>“<i>Dear Wint</i>:—</p> - -<p>“You have made ducks and drakes of your life. And you have made -yourself the butt of the town’s jokes. And you have made those who -loved you the objects of derision.</p> - -<p>“But your election as Mayor gives you the finest chance a man ever -had to retrieve those old mistakes, to make a man of yourself, and -to make a fine town of Hardiston.</p> - -<p>“Take hold. Work hard. Live straight. And be sure that<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_107" id="page_107">{107}</a></span> there are -some true friends who will watch you lovingly and sympathetically, -and hope and pray for your success.”</p></div> - -<p>This letter was unsigned. Wint read it a second time, and then with -tense, stiff fingers he tore it into little bits and dropped these bits -into a wide, brass cuspidor beside his chair. As the scraps of paper -fluttered from his hand, he clenched his fists; and he looked about to -see if any one had been watching.</p> - -<p>He hated this preaching, this morality, this harping on the hope of his -redemption. He was all right; no harm in him. But they would not leave -him alone. They nagged at him; nagged.... He hated it.</p> - -<p>He wondered, as an undercurrent to this rage, who had written the -letter. It might have been his father, or his mother, or Routt. Routt -was a sanctimonious ass about some things. Or it might have been.... He -thought it was probably the minister of his father’s church; and he -grinned with dry relish at the thought. The old man must have been sadly -shocked at Wint more than once; and this letter sounded just like him. -Blithering, self-righteous....</p> - -<p>He lunged up from his chair, boiling furiously. All his determination to -stick it out was gone. He would not do it, would not make a righteous -spectacle of himself for the edification of these old women. He went out -and turned up the street past the Court House, walking blindly, storming -inwardly. He would get out of town, shake the dust of the place off his -feet. Let them find a new Mayor.</p> - -<p>He was still fuming thus when, in front of the Court House, he met Peter -Gergue. Peter rummaged through his back hair and grinned at Wint. “Saw -you coming,” he explained. “Thought you might be looking f’r me. So I -came down.”</p> - -<p>“I’m not looking for you,” said Wint.</p> - -<p>Gergue nodded. “All right,” he assented. “Mind if I walk along with you? -Going on this way?”</p> - -<p>Wint halted in his tracks. “What’s up?” he asked sharply. “What do you -want?”</p> - -<p>“Me?” Peter ejaculated. “Why—me? I don’t want nothing.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_108" id="page_108">{108}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“What are you so anxious to keep an eye on me for, then? I don’t want -you.”</p> - -<p>Gergue hesitated, and he looked across the street toward his office; and -at last he leaned toward Wint and said slyly: “Tell you th’ truth, it -ain’t me. Amos is over at my place. He see you coming, and he was -worried f’r fear you’d come up and find him there. He knows you’re mad -at him. Don’t want to see you. Don’t want to listen to you. Knows you -got a fair kick, and he don’t like to listen to kicks.”</p> - -<p>Wint looked across the way, and then at Peter; and then, without a word, -he started across the street. Peter went hurriedly after him. “Say,” he -begged, “you ain’t going—”</p> - -<p>“I’m going to tell that old scamp what I think of him.”</p> - -<p>Peter pleaded. “Oh, now, Wint—he’ll be mad at me.” He laid a -restraining hand on Wint’s arm. Wint shook it off.</p> - -<p>“What do I care what he thinks of you?” he demanded. “Let go.”</p> - -<p>“You don’t want t’ see him, Wint.”</p> - -<p>Wint went stubbornly ahead. He turned into the stairs that led up to -Peter’s office; and Gergue sighed.</p> - -<p>“Glory! Well—all right, then. I’ll trail along,” he said; and then he -smiled at Wint’s ascending back with amiable satisfaction and followed -Wint up the stairs.</p> - -<p>Wint had never been in Peter’s office before. He halted in the doorway, -struck by the slack disorder of the place. There were spider webs in -every corner; there was dust everywhere. The soft floor had been worn by -many feet till every knot stood up like a rounded knob, and every nail -upreared a shining head. The door of the wardrobe hung open, revealing -some battered books inside. The old, oilcloth-covered table at the -window was littered with papers and rusty pens, and sagged weakly under -the weight of the books upon it. At this table, when Wint came in, sat -Congressman Amos Caretall. The Congressman saw Wint, and got up -hurriedly, eyes squinting, head on one side. He looked distinctly -apologetic; and when he saw Peter behind Wint, he eyed his satellite -reproachfully.</p> - -<p>Wint stormed across the room to face the Congressman; but<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_109" id="page_109">{109}</a></span> even while he -approached the older man, some of his anger died in him. Amos was so -frankly unhappy, he was so apologetic, the tilt of his head was so -plaintive. Nevertheless Wint cried: “What right had you to use my name -in this way, Congressman?”</p> - -<p>Caretall shook his head humbly. “Not a right in the world, Wint.”</p> - -<p>“It was a dirty trick. Underhand.”</p> - -<p>The Congressman nodded. “I know it, Wint,” he assented. “I c’n see that -now. All the trouble it’s made and everything. If I’d knowed.... But you -see, a man gets to playing the game, and he don’t stop to think like he -oughter.”</p> - -<p>“You hadn’t any right to do it,” Wint insisted; but he was weakening. -Nothing is so disarming as acquiescence; and when a man condemns -himself, it is human nature to wish to defend him.</p> - -<p>“I know it,” Amos repeated. “I ain’t got a word to say, Wint. Except -that I’ll help to straighten things out so you won’t have to serve.”</p> - -<p>Wint looked puzzled for a moment. “I—what’s that?”</p> - -<p>“I say, I’ll help you fix things so you won’t have to take it.”</p> - -<p>“What makes you think I don’t want to take it?”</p> - -<p>Amos spread out his hands like a man who has nothing to conceal. “Why, -that’s common sense. I’d ought to have knowed. It’s a hard job. Prob’ly -you couldn’t swing it. Anyway, it means work, and stickin’ to the -grindstone; and you’re a young fellow. You like your good times. You -wouldn’t want to be tied down to anything this way.”</p> - -<p>Wint laughed derisively. “You think you know a whole lot about me, don’t -you?”</p> - -<p>Amos smiled. “Well, Wint,” he returned. “I’ve seen some of life. I know -a lively young fellow like you don’t want to take on a job that means -work. And you’re right, o’ course. It ain’t the job f’r you. You ain’t -fitted for it. You couldn’t manage it. You’re right. I hadn’t ought to -have got you into this. But I’ll help get you out. That’s th’ least I -can do.”</p> - -<p>Wint looked at the Congressman with level eyes for a moment; and then he -turned and looked out of window, saying<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_110" id="page_110">{110}</a></span> nothing. Amos caught Peter -Gergue’s eye, and Peter winked at him. Amos said humbly: “I sure am -sorry about this, Wint. It’s made it hard for you. You can’t stay here -now. You might go over to Washin’ton, Wint. I c’d get you somethin’ -easy, there.”</p> - -<p>Wint turned back to him abruptly; and there was a catch in his voice. -“Congressman,” he said, half laughing, “you owe me something.”</p> - -<p>Caretall nodded. “That’s right, Wint. ’Nd I’m ready to pay.”</p> - -<p>“All right. Here’s what I want you to do.” He hesitated, extended his -hand. “I know I’m not fit for this job, sir,” he said reluctantly. -“But—if you’ll give me a hand and help along—I’d like to tackle it.”</p> - -<p>Amos looked doubtful. “Now, Wint—don’t you get wrong notions. No sense -you’re sticking in this mess. I’ll get you out without any—”</p> - -<p>Wint interrupted him angrily: “You can’t get me out. Nor any one else. -I’m in and I’ll stay in. But—I’d like to have your advice and help when -I need it.”</p> - -<p>And the Congressman yielded. He took Wint’s hand. “All right,” he -agreed. “I’ll back you. I don’t know as you’re right, and I don’t know -as you’re wrong. If you can get away with it.”</p> - -<p>“I intend to.”</p> - -<p>Amos nodded. “Sure you intend to. But can you? Well—we’ve got to see.” -He hesitated, seemed to be thinking. “I hear your father and you’ve -broke,” he said.</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“That’s too bad. Where are you living?”</p> - -<p>“The Weaver House,” said Wint defiantly. But his defiance was misplaced. -Congressman Caretall nodded approvingly.</p> - -<p>“That’s fine,” he said. “Old Mother Moody sets a right good table, when -she’s a mind to. I wish I c’d live down there myself. It’s a good plan.” -He looked at Wint and winked slyly. “Always a good plan to play to the -workingman,” he explained. “Good idea of yours, Wint. Living down there. -Get the workingmen and the railroad men and all to sympa<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_111" id="page_111">{111}</a></span>thizing with -you. They’ll play you for a martyr, and back you strong. You’ll make a -good politician, Wint. I c’n see that.”</p> - -<p>Wint shook his head. “It’s not politics,” he said. “I—don’t intend to -stay there. Just till I get settled uptown. Somewhere.”</p> - -<p>Amos studied him. “Pshaw, now! That’s too bad. It’d been a good play, -Wint.”</p> - -<p>Wint laughed. “I’ll play the game some other way.”</p> - -<p>The Congressman nodded. He remained silent for a moment, then said -thoughtfully, “I was thinking.... You and me has got to do a lot of -talking, planning. I wish you could come and stay with me till your paw -comes ’round.”</p> - -<p>Wint shook his head. “Thanks,” he said, smiling. “That’s good of you. -But I’ll—” He hesitated; for through the window he had seen, across the -street, Jack Routt and Joan together. They were talking briskly; and -Joan was laughing at something Routt had said. Wint stared at them, with -slowly burning eyes; and before he could continue Gergue nudged him in -the side and told the Congressman smilingly:</p> - -<p>“That ’uz a bad break, Amos. He can’t come live with you.”</p> - -<p>Wint looked at him. “Why not?” he asked; and Amos said to Gergue:</p> - -<p>“That’s right, Peter. I’d forgot.”</p> - -<p>“Why not?” Wint repeated impatiently; he glanced again toward the two -across the street.</p> - -<p>“Why, he means Miss Joan wouldn’t like it,” the Congressman explained.</p> - -<p>“Why wouldn’t she?”</p> - -<p>Gergue pointed across the street. “She’d soon teach you manners,” he -chuckled. “The Congressman here’s got a nice-looking daughter of his -own, you know.”</p> - -<p>Wint’s hand clenched at his side. “You’re all wrong there,” he said -curtly; and then to Amos: “I think I’ll accept your invitation, after -all,” he said.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_112" id="page_112">{112}</a></span></p> - -<h3><a name="CHAPTER_IV-b" id="CHAPTER_IV-b"></a>CHAPTER IV<br /><br /> -<small>INTERLUDE</small></h3> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">T</span>HE weeks between his election and his inauguration Wint spent as a -guest at Amos Caretall’s home. At which the townsfolk put their tongues -in their cheeks and smiled behind the back of the elder Chase. This open -alliance between Wint and the Congressman was taken as confession that -Wint’s election had been planned between them; and after a day or two -Wint perceived the hopelessness of denial, and perceived, too, that -those who believed him concerned in the trick respected him the more for -it. Therefore, Wint ceased to deny; and it was one of Amos Caretall’s -rules never to discuss a thing accomplished.</p> - -<p>Between Amos and the young man, a strong friendship began to develop in -these weeks. Congressman Caretall was a good politician, largely through -the advice and counsel of Peter Gergue; but he was also a man of level -head and good common sense, and he found beneath Wint’s pride and -stubbornness a surprising store of good qualities. A week after Wint -went to live at his house, he said as much to Gergue.</p> - -<p>“He’s a fine boy, Peter,” he declared. “Looks to me like a colt that -hadn’t been gentled right.”</p> - -<p>Gergue nodded slowly and scratched the back of his head, tilting his hat -forward with his knuckles. “He has his points,” he agreed. “But—he -ain’t set in th’ traces yet, Congressman.”</p> - -<p>Amos looked at the man. “What’s wrong?”</p> - -<p>“Noth’n’,” said Peter. “Noth’n’. But—there will be.”</p> - -<p>Jack Routt brought Wint’s trunk to the Caretall house and, before he -left that day, he took occasion to drop a word of warning in Wint’s ear. -“Look out for Agnes,” was his warning. “She’s the darndest little flirt -you ever saw.”</p> - -<p>Wint lifted his head angrily. “Cut it out, Jack!”</p> - -<p>Routt laughed. “I’m only giving you some good advice,” he insisted. “You -know—a certain young lady will not be<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_113" id="page_113">{113}</a></span> pleased if you pay Agnes too -much attention. And Agnes loves to make trouble.”</p> - -<p>Wint repeated: “Shut up! Drop it!” And Routt lifted his shoulders and -obeyed.</p> - -<p>Two or three days after the election, Wint remembered that he was -supposed to be working in his father’s office at the furnace. With an -unadmitted twist of conscience, he went down to the office, half hoping -to see his father and find some common ground for a reconciliation. But -the elder Chase was not there, and the office manager greeted Wint -coldly and told him that his place had been filled. Wint had ten days’ -salary due him, and the manager paid it punctiliously. Wint took the -money without thinking, thrust it in his pocket, and went back uptown.</p> - -<p>While he was in college, he had been on an allowance; since then his -father had paid him a salary out of proportion to his deserts. This was -one of the vanities of the elder Chase. His own youth had been hard and -straitened; and he took a keen delight in lavishing upon Wint the money -he himself had lacked. He did this, not to please Wint, but to please -himself; and whenever Wint crossed him, he was accustomed to bring up -the matter, to remind Wint of his good fortune as though it were a -reproach.</p> - -<p>“Be sure I never had money to spend, when I was your age,” he was fond -of saying. “And you roll in it. You ought to be ashamed, Wint. You ought -to be ashamed.”</p> - -<p>Then he would give Wint twenty dollars and tell him to mend his ways; -and afterward he would complain to Mrs. Chase of Wint’s ingratitude.</p> - -<p>Wint had always taken this money without scruple. Whenever inner doubts -perplexed him, he would say: “He’s got more than he can use. I might as -well have it as any one else.” In all honesty, he knew the falsity of -such an argument; but he used it successfully to stifle the reproaches -of his own heart.</p> - -<p>A day or two after his visit to the office, however, Amos Caretall asked -him: “Wint, you need any money?”</p> - -<p>Wint shook his head.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_114" id="page_114">{114}</a></span></p> - -<p>“Didn’t know but you might,” Amos insisted. “Carry you over till your -salary starts.”</p> - -<p>“I’ve got enough,” Wint said. “Dad was always pretty liberal. Gave me -more than I could spend.”</p> - -<p>Amos did not seem surprised at this. He nodded his head. “That’s good,” -he agreed. “If any one had told me, I wouldn’t have believed it. -Wouldn’t have believed Senior had so much sense. Keeps you in his debt, -like, don’t he? Keeps you d’pendent on him?”</p> - -<p>Wint had never thought of it in that way, and he did not like the -thought. He looked uneasy. Amos went on, puffing at his old black pipe: -“Guess he figures to get it all back some way. ’F he sh’d come and ask -you for something, after you’re in, you’d naturally have to give it to -him. Yes, Senior’s a smart man.”</p> - -<p>They were sitting in front of the coal fire in Amos’ sitting room; and -for a time after that, neither of them spoke. Wint was thinking hard, -and in the end he asked quietly: “Know any way I can earn a living till -I’m inaugurated?”</p> - -<p>Amos swung his head around, tilting it on one side, and squinting -thoughtfully at Wint; and presently he smiled approvingly. “Guess you -might,” he said. “Might do some o’ my letter writing. You’d learn -things, that way. I never had no secretary. I’m allowed one. You c’n -have the job, long’s I’m here.”</p> - -<p>Next morning Wint mailed a money order to his father without -explanation, and thereafter he drew a salary from Amos until his salary -as Mayor began.</p> - -<p>From his work for Amos, Wint learned many things. He got for the first -time an insight into the scope of the Congressman’s work, into the -extent of his interests and influence. One of the things he learned was -a sincere respect for Caretall’s ability, and he also came to admire the -shrewdness of Gergue. Wint did a deal of thinking in those weeks.</p> - -<p>Living, as he did, as one of Caretall’s family, he was thrown constantly -with Agnes; and the girl put herself out to please him. She and old -Maria Hale worked together in this. The girl discovered Wint’s favorite -dishes, and Maria produced them<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_115" id="page_115">{115}</a></span> and brought them to a perfection that -Wint had never known. It was Agnes’ task to take care of the dusting and -housework; and she began, after a time, to put an occasional cluster of -flowers from the greenhouses next door in his room. When they talked -together, she deferred to him with a pretty fashion of tilting her head -and widening her serious eyes that he found exceedingly attractive. It -stimulated his self-respect; and at the same time it gave him a new -respect for her. Since she so obviously approved of him, there must be -more to her than he had supposed. She was, he decided, a person of -judgment. He had always thought her a giddy little thing with a brisk, -gay tongue and laughing eyes. He found in her an unexpected capacity for -silence and for attention. She encouraged him to talk about himself, -about his plans; she sympathized with him, and advised him when he asked -her advice. They became surprisingly good friends.</p> - -<p>She suggested, one evening, that they telephone Jack Routt to bring Joan -for a game of cards. Wint shook his head; and the girl, without asking -questions, made her curiosity so obvious that Wint told her that Joan -had cast him off. He leaned forward, elbows on knees and fingers -intertwined, staring idly into the fire, while he told her; and the girl -leaned back in her chair and listened and studied him, and when he -finished she laid her hand lightly on his arm.</p> - -<p>“It’s a shame, Wint,” she said.</p> - -<p>Wint shook his head. “Oh—she was right!”</p> - -<p>“She wasn’t right. She ought to have stuck by you, and helped you fight -it out.”</p> - -<p>Wint thought so too, and his respect for Agnes rose. But he said -insistently: “No, she was right.”</p> - -<p>Agnes patted his arm, and then leaned back in her chair again. “It’s -fine of you to think so,” she said.</p> - -<p>One night Wint asked her to go uptown with him to the moving-picture -theater. She was delighted, and she was gay as a cricket on the way. At -the entrance of the theater, they came face to face with Jack Routt and -Joan.</p> - -<p>Wint felt his cheeks burn. Agnes greeted the other two with a burst of -rapid chatter that covered the awkward moment.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_116" id="page_116">{116}</a></span> Routt studied Wint, and -Joan nodded to him without speaking. Then Routt and Joan went inside, -and Wint and Agnes sat three rows behind them.</p> - -<p>While the picture was flashing on the screen, Wint watched the heads of -the two. He could not help it; and when their heads, silhouetted against -the light, leaned toward one another for a whispered word, he felt -something boil within him. His reaction was to bend more attentively -toward Agnes; and the gay little girl beside him responded to this new -mood so that when the film was done and they filed out, she and Wint -were the most obviously happy young couple in the house. They had ice -cream together at the bakery next door, and walked home in comfortable -comradeship, the girl’s hand on his arm.</p> - -<p>That night, Wint’s sleep was disturbed and wretched; and next day when -he met Routt at the Post Office, he stiffened with resentment. But Routt -caught his arm and drew him to one side. “See here, Wint,” he said, -“Joan tells me you and she have quarreled.”</p> - -<p>Wint nodded.</p> - -<p>“You ought to go to her and make it up, Wint. I don’t know what it’s -about, but you ought to make it up with her.”</p> - -<p>“I’ve nothing to make up.”</p> - -<p>“She’s a dandy girl.”</p> - -<p>“I’ve nothing against her.”</p> - -<p>“It makes her sore to have you chase around with Agnes.”</p> - -<p>“There’s no reason why it should,” Wint said stiffly. “She has no hold -on me.”</p> - -<p>Routt hesitated. “Well, Wint,” he said uneasily, “if that’s so, you’ve -no claim on her.”</p> - -<p>“Of course not.”</p> - -<p>“Then you don’t mind my—showing her some attention? I don’t want -anything to come between us, Wint.”</p> - -<p>Wint laughed. “Go as far as you like, Jack,” he said cheerfully. “You -can’t hurt my feelings.”</p> - -<p>Routt gripped his hand. “That’s great, Wint.” He looked about them, and -then added slowly: “I think she likes me, Wint. I’m—in to win.”</p> - -<p>“Go as far as you like,” Wint repeated.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_117" id="page_117">{117}</a></span></p> - -<p>They separated, and Wint went back to the house and remained in his room -half the morning. He was tormented by angry pride and irresolution; he -could not decide what to do. A recklessness took possession of him; he -repented of his determination to stick, and fight out this fight to the -end. He sought for some way out....</p> - -<p>Muldoon had become a part of the Caretall household with Wint; and he -looked out of the window now and saw the dog starting toward town at -Agnes’ heels. He made a move to whistle Muldoon back, then thought -better of it. Joan might see Muldoon with Agnes; he hoped she would, -hoped it would make her miserable.... He wanted Joan to be unhappy.</p> - -<p>As the time for his inauguration as Mayor approached, Wint became more -and more uneasy. He felt as though he were about to submit to bonds that -would pin him fast; he felt as though he were on the steps of a prison. -A fierce revolt began to brood in him and grow and boil.</p> - -<p>He broke out once, in a talk with Caretall. He would throw the whole -thing over, leave town, go away, never to return.</p> - -<p>Amos agreed with this project perfectly. He agreed that Wint was not the -man for the job, that it would mean hard work, and difficulties; he -thought Wint was wise not to attempt it. He offered to straighten out -any tangle and free Wint from the obligations of the office; and he -offered to lend Wint money that Wint might make a start elsewhere.</p> - -<p>His great complaisance angered Wint, so that he stubbornly declared that -he would stick if every man in town urged him to go.</p> - -<p>On the morning of the day before he was to take office, he met Jack -Routt uptown, and Jack took his arm. They walked together toward Jack’s -office, and went in and sat down.</p> - -<p>It was evident that Routt had something on his mind. He talked of the -weather, of Agnes, of Joan; and Wint, watching him, saw that Routt was -holding something back, and at last asked impatiently: “Jack, what’s on -your mind?”</p> - -<p>Routt looked surprised. “Why—nothing.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, there is.” Wint laughed at him. “What’s the matter? Open up.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_118" id="page_118">{118}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>Routt hesitated; but at last he said frankly: “Well, Wint, I was -wondering....”</p> - -<p>“About what?”</p> - -<p>“Have you been hitting the booze lately?” Routt asked.</p> - -<p>Wint shook his head; his eyes hardened a little.</p> - -<p>Routt seemed pleased. He thrust out his hand. “I’m darned glad, Wint,” -he said. “Congratulations! You ought to leave it alone. You’re right.”</p> - -<p>Wint flushed angrily. “I haven’t sworn off,” he said shortly. “It—just -happens—” He stared at Routt. “You didn’t bring me up here to ask -that?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, I did.”</p> - -<p>“Why?”</p> - -<p>Routt shifted in his chair and lighted a cigarette. “Never mind,” he -said. “Forget it, Wint.”</p> - -<p>Wint laughed unpleasantly. “Come on. I’m a grown man. What’s eating -you?”</p> - -<p>Routt lifted his shoulders. “Well—fact is, some of the boys wanted to -get up a little supper to-night, at the lodge rooms, in honor of -your—inaugural. I told them nothing doing. Said you were off the stuff. -They didn’t believe it; and I promised to ask you.”</p> - -<p>Wint looked at him angrily. “You’re not my wet nurse, Jack. That supper -idea tickles me. It’s on.”</p> - -<p>Routt protested. “No, Wint. I won’t stand for it. You’ve stayed off the -stuff this long; and it’s the best thing for you. You can’t stop when -you once start. So—leave it alone.”</p> - -<p>Wint got up hotly. “Go to the devil!” he snapped. “Don’t be an old -woman. Who’s running the thing?”</p> - -<p>“Dick Hoover. But you leave it alone....”</p> - -<p>“Rats! Tell Dick I’ll be there. Or I’ll tell him myself.”</p> - -<p>Routt lifted his hands in surrender. “Oh—I’ll tell him,” he agreed. -“But you’re a darned fool, Wint.”</p> - -<p>“Rats!” Wint repeated; and he grinned. He was unaccountably elated, as -though he had shaken off restraining bonds. “Rats!” And he went out to -the street with his head high.</p> - -<p>Routt picked up the telephone and called Hoover. He was smiling.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_119" id="page_119">{119}</a></span></p> - -<h3><a name="CHAPTER_V-b" id="CHAPTER_V-b"></a>CHAPTER V<br /><br /> -<small>ALLIANCE</small></h3> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">W</span>INTHROP CHASE, SENIOR, was thrown by his son’s election to the office -he had counted as his own into a passion in which rage and humiliation -were equally commingled.</p> - -<p>He was a man fed fat with vanity. He took himself very seriously. He -lived a decent and respectable life in the eyes of all men, and he felt -himself justly entitled to the respect of all men. He had, before this, -seen the smiles of those few who dared mock him; but he had believed -them a small minority. When three quarters of the town united in the -jest at his expense, he was outraged inexpressibly. And when the city -papers took up the story and for a time the whole state tittered over -it, Chase trembled and shuddered with his own agony.</p> - -<p>His first reaction had been anger at his son; and when he heard Wint had -been found, sodden and stupid, in that room at the Weaver House, he cast -the boy out of his life, hiding his own honest grief and sorrow under a -mantle of resentment and accusation. For he loved Wint, and had wished -to be proud of him.</p> - -<p>In the beginning, his chief resentment centered on Wint, and he had -toward Amos Caretall only that anger which one feels toward a -treacherously victorious opponent. But about the time Wint sent him that -money order, and stood on his own feet before the world, Chase’s heart -softened in spite of himself. He sought to make excuses for his son, and -in this effort he found Caretall a convenient scapegoat. By degrees he -convinced himself that Caretall had led Wint astray, playing on the -boy’s vanity and pride; and after that came the half conviction that -when Wint denied all knowledge<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_120" id="page_120">{120}</a></span> of the coup, the boy had told the truth. -Then all Chase’s anger centered on Amos; and as the first sting of his -disgrace passed by, he began to look about him and seek to rebuild the -shattered structure of his plans.</p> - -<p>He had encountered Amos more than once upon the street since the -election, though neither had carried their greetings further than a nod -or word. But there came a day when Chase met the Congressman face to -face in the Post Office at a moment when there were no others there; and -when Chase nodded, Caretall stopped and tilted his head on one side and -squinted in a friendly way at Chase.</p> - -<p>“No hard feelings, is there, Senior?” he asked.</p> - -<p>Chase looked at him, started to speak, flushed, checked himself; and at -last said huskily: “Congressman, I want to talk with you.”</p> - -<p>Caretall nodded. “That’s fair.”</p> - -<p>“Where can we talk?”</p> - -<p>Amos scratched his head. “Tell you,” he suggested. “I’ll go along up to -Pete Gergue’s office. You go down t’ your place, ’nd then come in the -back way. Guess we don’t want it known we’re gettin’ t’gether.”</p> - -<p>“Very well,” Chase said stiffly. “I’ll be there in half an hour.”</p> - -<p>When he climbed the stairs, Amos had sent Gergue away and was sitting at -the oilcloth-covered table, slowly whittling a charge for his pipe. He -got up bulkily at Chase’s entrance, and motioned the other man to a -chair across the table from his own. Chase sat down and Amos, lighting -his pipe between his sentences, said slowly: “Chase....” a scratch of -the match. “You don’t want to hold this against me.” A succession of -deep puffs. “It’s politics. All in th’ game.” A puff. “You was getting -too strong for me. I had t’ lick you.” Puff, puff, puff!</p> - -<p>Chase struck his fist with quiet vehemence on the table. “It was a dirty -trick, Amos.”</p> - -<p>Amos shook his head, vastly pained. “Now, Senior,” he protested, “don’t -go talking that way. ’Twas all in th’ game. All in the game.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_121" id="page_121">{121}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“It was a dirty trick,” Chase insisted. “You played on my good feelings; -you pretended to agree to an alliance with me; you got me off my -guard—”</p> - -<p>Amos held up a heavy hand. “Wait a minute,” he protested. “Wait a -minute, Senior. Let me get this here straight. You come to me with a -prop’sition. Wanted to get together. Said you had me licked. I told you -if you was elected Mayor, we’d hitch up. Ain’t that right now, Senior?”</p> - -<p>Chase moved angrily. “Strictly true,” he confessed. “Strictly true. -That’s why I call it tricky. You came to my own meeting and said you -were going to vote for me.”</p> - -<p>“Guess I said I was going to vote for a Chase, didn’t I? Guess I did. -And that’s the way I voted.”</p> - -<p>“The town thought you meant me.”</p> - -<p>“Not long, they didn’t. Word went around what I meant, all in good -time.”</p> - -<p>Chase got to his feet, his head back, his face flushed. He leaned down -to face Amos, and he slapped his right fist into his left palm. “I tell -you it was a trick,” he insisted. “You know it. It was unworthy. And I -give you due warning, Caretall—I’m out for your scalp now. I propose to -get it. Take your measures accordingly.”</p> - -<p>Amos puffed hard at his pipe. He, too, rose; he tilted his head -thoughtfully on one side and squinted at Chase. “I don’t like t’ hear -you talk that way, Senior,” he said slowly. “You come to me and talked -to me till you rightly showed me we ought to get together. I’m -ready—even if you did get—”</p> - -<p>Chase flung up his hand. “Stop!” he cried. The self-control which he had -imposed upon himself was gone. “Stop! Man, man! D’you think I’m one to -lick the hand that stabs me? You lie to me, trick me, make a fool of me -and a joke of me before the state; and to cap it all you steal my own -son out of my house—”</p> - -<p>“Heard you was the one to throw him out,” Amos interjected, but Chase -went hotly on:</p> - -<p>“You steal my own son, take him into your own home, turn him against me, -persuade him to help destroy me....” His voice broke with his own rage -and grief. “I tell you,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_122" id="page_122">{122}</a></span> Amos,” he said again, leaning steadily forward, -“I’m going to get you. Fair warning. Take your measures accordingly.”</p> - -<p>Amos looked out of the window; he puffed at his pipe; and at last he -faced the other man again, and smiled. “Well, Senior,” he said slowly, -“if the land lies so—thanks for the word. As for them measures—I’ll -take them like you say.”</p> - -<p>For a moment longer, the eyes of the two men held each other. Then Chase -turned stiffly on his heel, and stalked to the door and went out.</p> - -<p>As he disappeared, Amos called: “G’d day!” But Chase made no answer, and -Amos, left alone, grinned slowly to himself and shook his head.</p> - -<p>After that interview with Amos, Chase began to emerge from the turmoil -of anger and shame in which he had been fighting since the election. His -head cleared and his brain cooled, and he began to plan, with a certain -newly acquired shrewdness, his next steps against Caretall. In many -matters, heretofore, the elder Chase had been as simple as a boy. Now he -was becoming crafty. In the past he had honestly believed that the life -of self-conscious rectitude which he had led was of a sort to inspire -respect and affection. Now he knew that he was wrong, knew that he must -always have been disliked or despised by half the town. He had always -been benignly courteous; and this courtesy, which was more than half -condescension, had made more enemies than friends. He had played a -straightforward game; and he had lost.</p> - -<p>Like other men before him, in the determination to change his tactics, -he went too far. He threw himself into the fight to injure Caretall with -an utter disregard for the conventions he had once observed; he sought -allies where he might find them; and for the first time in his life, he -tried to put himself in another man’s place and guess what the other man -would do.</p> - -<p>The man into whose place he sought to put himself was Amos Caretall; and -the result of his considerations of Amos’s possible future plans threw -Chase into the arms of his ancient enemy, into the shrunken arms of V. -R. Kite.</p> - -<p>The feud between Kite and Chase had never been a concrete<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_123" id="page_123">{123}</a></span> thing. It was -based upon a thousand minor incidents, none of them important in itself. -Kite, as the leader of the “wet” forces in the town, and as the -proprietor of half the liquor-peddling establishments, was a man very -quick to resent “dry” activities. Chase had always been actively “dry.” -And Kite, curiously enough for one of his vocation, was a very -thin-skinned man. He found offenses in words that were meant for -kindness; he found a sneer in an honest smile.</p> - -<p>It was a part of the manner of the elder Chase to smile and nod -benevolently upon those whom he encountered. This was automatic with -him; and he smiled at Kite with the rest. Kite, a man of fierce and -violent temperament, knew that Chase had no kindly feeling toward him; -and so he saw in these smiles only sneers. He had complained to Amos -Caretall: “He’s always grinning at me,” when Amos asked why he hated -Chase; and this was an old grievance with the liquor man.</p> - -<p>Kite had been one of those who rejoiced most highly in Chase’s -humiliation; and for a week or two after the election, he went out of -his way to meet Chase upon the street. On such occasions, he paid back -with interest those grins he had resented; he spoke to Chase with -exaggerated courtesy and extreme solicitude. He inquired after the -other’s health end spirits; he sympathized with Chase in his defeat.</p> - -<p>These sports palled upon him only when he perceived the growing change -in Chase. For Wint’s father was in many ways at this time like a child -that has been punished for a fault it does not understand. The elder -Chase was groping for friendliness; he sought it wherever it could be -found; and he took some of Kite’s satiric inquiries in good faith and -responded to them with such honest confidence that Kite was touched and -faintly uneasy.</p> - -<p>A few days after Chase’s talk with Amos, he sought out Kite in the -little Bazaar which the latter conducted. It was an institution like a -five and ten cent store, and did a flourishing business. Next door to it -was a restaurant, also owned by Kite, and reached by a communicating -passage. In a room behind this restaurant, knowing ones might be served -with anything in reason. But Kite went there only for his meals,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_124" id="page_124">{124}</a></span> and -most of the hours of business found him at his desk in the rear of the -Bazaar.</p> - -<p>Chase frankly sought him there. He drew a chair up to face the wrinkled -little man; and Kite was surprised, and cocked his head on his thin neck -and tugged at his drooping side whiskers until he looked more like a -doubtful turkey than ever. “Howdo, Chase?” he said.</p> - -<p>Chase nodded. “Kite,” he began frankly, “I want to talk to you.”</p> - -<p>Kite tried to grin derisively; he tried to reawaken the old enmity in -his breast. But there was something appealing about Chase, and so he -said nothing, only waited.</p> - -<p>“Kite,” said Chase, “Amos Caretall played a good trick on me.”</p> - -<p>Kite looked startled; then he grinned. “Yes, Chase, he did that,” he -said.</p> - -<p>“You helped him.”</p> - -<p>Kite frankly admitted it.</p> - -<p>“You helped him,” said Chase, “because you thought with Wint in as -Mayor, the town would stay as wet as you want it.”</p> - -<p>Kite hesitated, then he nodded. “Yes,” he agreed. “Yes, that’s so, -Chase. What about it?”</p> - -<p>Chase leaned back. “Amos made a fool of you,” he said. “He’s going to -turn this town dry, with the man you helped elect.”</p> - -<p>Kite flushed; he leaned toward Chase with narrowed eyes peering out from -an ambush of wrinkles; and then suddenly he threw back his head with his -long, turkey neck rising raw and red from his collar, and he laughed -cacklingly, so that customers in the front of his store looked that way -to share the joke. Chase frowned angrily. “Well?” he snapped, “what’s -funny about that?”</p> - -<p>Kite dropped a dry old hand on Chase’s arm. “Oh, Chase,” he choked -through his mirth, “the notion of Wint making this town dry....”</p> - -<p>Chase flushed. He started to speak. Kite interrupted: “Now don’t get -mad. Course, he’s your son, but he does like his drop now and then, -Chase.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_125" id="page_125">{125}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“I tell you, Amos is planning to do it.”</p> - -<p>There was something so deadly sure in Chase’s tone that Kite sobered and -looked toward him. “Say, what makes you say that?” he demanded. “How do -you know?”</p> - -<p>“Amos has sense. He sees this question is the big one in this state. -He’s out for Congress again. He’s not going to have it thrown at him -that his man let this town soak itself illegally.”</p> - -<p>For the first time, Kite began to look worried. “Amos wouldn’t do that. -He told me—”</p> - -<p>“Told you? He told me many things, too. But none of them were true.”</p> - -<p>Kite, suddenly, burst into flame like an oily rag. He threw up a -clenched fist. “By God, Chase, he don’t dare try it!”</p> - -<p>“Dare? He’ll dare anything.”</p> - -<p>Kite stammered with the heat of his own anger. “He don’t dare!” he -insisted. “Why, Chase—if he tries that—I’ll—I’ll—” With no sense -that his words had been said before, he exclaimed: “I won’t live in the -town, Chase. I’ll get out! I’ll shoot him! Or myself.”</p> - -<p>Chase leaned forward. “I tell you, he’s aiming to do it,” he said -steadily. “So sit down.”</p> - -<p>Kite gripped his arm. “Chase, you got to drill some sense into that son -of yours. You got to tell him—”</p> - -<p>“He’s not my son now; he’s Amos’s. Living with Amos, doing what Amos -says. Don’t forget that.”</p> - -<p>There was a bitterness in Chase’s voice which silenced Kite for a -moment. Then the little man touched Chase on the arm. “See here,” he -said softly, “you don’t like Amos any better’n I do.”</p> - -<p>Chase smiled mirthlessly. “I’m out for his hide,” he declared.</p> - -<p>Kite nodded, chuckling grimly. “He thinks he’s a big man,” he said. “He -thinks he can run over us, play with us, use us and then give us the -brad. But I tell you right now, Chase....” He lifted his open hand as -one who takes an oath. “I tell you right now, Chase, if he tries that -little trick<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_126" id="page_126">{126}</a></span>—you and me’ll get together, and we’ll hang his old hide -in the sun to dry.”</p> - -<p>“He’ll try it,” said Chase steadily.</p> - -<p>Kite stuck out his hand. “Then we’ll skin him.”</p> - -<p>“That’s a bargain,” Chase declared, and gripped the other’s dry and -skinny fingers.</p> - -<p>It was in this fashion that these two enemies joined hands against the -common foe.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_127" id="page_127">{127}</a></span></p> - -<h3><a name="CHAPTER_VI-b" id="CHAPTER_VI-b"></a>CHAPTER VI<br /><br /> -<small>THE WHISTLE BLOWS</small></h3> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">T</span>HE festivities in Wint’s honor on the night before his inaugural were a -great success, from every point of view.</p> - -<p>There was nothing formal about them. They occurred in an upper room in -one of the newer business blocks on Main Street. Only half a dozen young -fellows attended them; but these were all chosen spirits, and congenial.</p> - -<p>At half past nine, they were all pleasantly illuminated by their -libations and the general good cheer of the occasion. At eleven, two of -them were asleep quite peacefully in each other’s arms upon a couch at -one side of the room. These two snored as they slept. The others were -playing cards, and the refreshments which had been provided were in easy -reach. Wint and Jack Routt were among those playing cards. Routt never -passed a certain stage of intoxication, no matter how much he drank. He -reached this stage with the first swallow.</p> - -<p>With Wint, it was otherwise. In such matters, he progressed steadily -toward a dismal end. As eleven o’clock struck, he had just passed the -quarrelsome stage and was beginning to pity himself. He opened a hand -with three queens, but when Routt raised his bet, Wint threw down his -cards and put his head on his arms and wept because he could not win. -Then he took another drink.</p> - -<p>After a little, he cried himself to sleep.</p> - -<p>Toward one o’clock, Routt and Hoover took Wint home to Amos Caretall’s. -The streets, at that hour of the night, were utterly deserted. There was -a moon, and the street lamps were unlighted as an economical consequence -of this heavenly illumination. Wint was between Routt and Hoover. At -times<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_128" id="page_128">{128}</a></span> he took a sodden step or two; at other times he dragged to his -knees upon the ground, wagging his head from side to side and singing -huskily.</p> - -<p>Hoover was almost as badly off as Wint; and now and then he joined in -this song. Jack Routt was cold sober, and coldly exultant. His eyes -shone in the moonlight; and he handled Wint with rough tenderness.</p> - -<p>When they were about half a block from the Caretall home, Wint became -very sick; and Hoover sat down in the middle of the sidewalk and giggled -at him while Routt, leaning against a tree above the sprawling body of -his friend, waited until the paroxysms were past and then caught Wint’s -shoulders again and dragged him to his feet.</p> - -<p>Wint had thrown off some of the poison; he was able now to help himself -a little more than before; and they got him to their destination. There -Routt propped him against a tree before the house and shook him and -tried to impress upon him the necessity of silence.</p> - -<p>“Don’t you sing, now, Wint,” he warned. “Brace up. Have some sense. Keep -quiet.”</p> - -<p>Wint pettishly protested that he liked to sing, and that he was a good -singer; and he tried to prove it on the spot, but Routt gagged him with -the flat of his hand until Wint surrendered.</p> - -<p>“Cut it out, Wint,” he insisted. “You’ve got to be quiet while we get -you to bed.”</p> - -<p>Then Routt felt a hand on his shoulder, and some one drawled: “You’ve -done your share, Routt. Go along. I’ll tuck him in.”</p> - -<p>He turned and saw Amos Caretall. Amos was in a bath robe of rough -toweling over his nightshirt; and his feet were in carpet slippers. -Routt was tongue-tied for a moment; then he found his voice. “I’m mighty -sorry about this, sir,” he said. “I tried to keep him from drinking too -much. But you can’t stop him. He’s such a darned fool.”</p> - -<p>Amos grinned at him in a way that somehow frightened Routt. “He sure is -the darndest fool I ever see,” he agreed. “But don’t you mind, Jack. -Boys will be boys. You and—who<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_129" id="page_129">{129}</a></span> is it?—oh, Hoover. You and Hoover run -along home. I’ll tend to him.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t you want me to help get him in the house?”</p> - -<p>“I’ll get him in. I’ve handled ’em before.”</p> - -<p>Routt hesitated: but there was nothing to do but obey, and he obeyed. -Congressman Amos Caretall, in carpet slippers, nightshirt, and faded -bath robe, watched them go; and then he turned to where Wint had -slouched down against the tree and said kindly:</p> - -<p>“Well, Wint—come on in.”</p> - -<p>Wint wagged his head and began to sing. The Congressman bent over him -and slapped him expertly upon the cheeks with his open hands, one hand -and then the other. The sting and smart of the blows seemed to dispel -some of the clouds that fuddled Wint, and he grinned sheepishly, and got -to his feet. Amos put his arm around him. “Come on, Wint,” he said -again.</p> - -<p>They went thus slowly up the walk and into the house. Amos shut the -front door behind them, and led Wint to the stairs and up them.</p> - -<p>In the upper hall, one electric bulb was burning; and as they came into -its light, Agnes came out of her room. Her soft, fair hair was down her -back; her eyes were dewy with sleep; and a flaming, silken garment was -drawn close about her. “What is it, dad?” she asked: and then saw Wint -lurching along on her father’s arm with nodding head and dull and -drunken eyes, and she laughed softly and stepped toward him and shook -her finger in his face. “Oh, you Wint! Naughty boy!” she chided.</p> - -<p>Her father said sharply: “Get into your room, Agnes!” The girl looked at -him, and at the anger in his eyes she turned a little pale and slipped -silently away.</p> - -<p>Amos took Wint to his room, where Wint fell helplessly across his bed -and began instantly to snore. The Congressman looked down at him for an -instant with a grim sort of pity mingled with the anger in his eyes. -Then he bent and loosened Wint’s shoes and drew them off; and afterward -he took off the boy’s collar, and unbuttoned his garments at the -throat,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_130" id="page_130">{130}</a></span> and unbuckled his belt so that his sodden body should nowhere -be constricted.</p> - -<p>“I guess that’ll do, Wint,” he said slowly then. “You’re too heavy for -me to handle. Besides, Wint—you ain’t right clean.” He stood for a -moment longer, then turned toward the door. At the door he looked back -once, snapped out the light, and so was gone.</p> - -<p>Wint’s snores were unbroken.</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>The Caretall home stood in that end of town where the largest of the -furnaces is located. A railroad siding passes this furnace, and a -switching engine is busy here twenty-four hours of the day. The engine -occasionally finds occasion to whistle; and the furnace itself has a -whistle of enormous proportions; a siren whose blast carries for miles -across the hills. This siren blows at every change of shift, it blows at -casting time, and it blows at the whim of the engineer who may wish to -startle some casual visitor or friend.</p> - -<p>Persons who have lived long in this part of Hardiston grow accustomed to -this great whistle. They sleep undisturbed when it rouses the night -echoes; and they talk undisturbed when it shatters the peace of the day. -It is even told of some of them that when the furnace went out of blast -and its whistle was stilled, they used to be awakened in the middle of -the night by the failure of the siren to sound at the accustomed time.</p> - -<p>Wint’s own home was in the other end of town. He had not lived long -enough near the furnace to accustom himself to its noises; and they -disturbed him. They penetrated his stupefied sleep on the night of this -debauch. The steady roar of the great fires, which could be heard three -or four miles on a still night, played on his worn nerves and tortured -them; the sharp toots of the switching engine made him jump and quiver -in his sleep like a dreaming child; and when he woke in the morning to -find Amos shaking him by the shoulder, he was miserable and sick and his -head throbbed with the beat of a thousand drums, and seemed like to -split with agony. He wished, weakly, that it would split and be done.</p> - -<p>When he opened his bloodshot eyes, Amos laughed and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_131" id="page_131">{131}</a></span> jerked him upright -and shook some of the slumber out of him. “Come, Wint,” he commanded -heartily. “I’ve got a cold tub all ready. Jump in it. Got to get in -shape, y’know. Inaugurated t’day.”</p> - -<p>Wint groaned and held his head in both hands. “Hell with it,” he -scowled. “Inaugural. Whole damn business. I’m not goin’ to do it. Goin’ -sleep. Hell with it, I say.”</p> - -<p>He tried to drop back on the bed, but Amos laughed and caught him and -dragged him to his feet. “Come out of it,” he enjoined. “You’ll be all -right.”</p> - -<p>Wint shook his head stubbornly; then cried out with pain at the shaking. -The fumes of the liquor were gone out of him; he was only dreadfully -sleepy and dreadfully sick. He felt as though he were pulled and -tortured by pricking wires that tore his flesh, and his eyelids were as -heavy as lead and as hot as coals upon his bloodshot eyes. But he opened -them, and said heavily: “No, Congressman Caretall. It’s off. I won’t do -it. I’m through.”</p> - -<p>It was as Amos groped for a next word that the siren began to blow. This -was the signal for the morning’s casting. The engineer must have been in -good spirits that morning, for he gave more than full measure on the -blast. The whistle shrieked and roared till the very windows rattled and -shivered in their places; and Wint, at the first sound, whipped up his -hands to shield his agonized ears, and dropped on the bed and held his -head and groaned until his groan became almost a shriek with the pain. -Then, when the siren died into silence, he got dully to his feet, and -glared at Amos, who said huskily: “I’d like t’ kill man that did that. -Like to dynamite that whistle. Anything—make it keep quiet.”</p> - -<p>Amos suddenly smiled; then he chuckled. “Well, Wint,” he said quickly, -“there’s ways to make it keep quiet.”</p> - -<p>Wint looked at him with torpid interest. “I’ll bite,” he said. “Tell me -one.”</p> - -<p>Amos waved his hands. “Why, f’r instance, the Mayor has power to enforce -the abatement of a nuisance. Make them shut off that whistle, if it’s a -nuisance. Anything like that.”</p> - -<p>Wint swayed on his feet, and steadied himself with a hand<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_132" id="page_132">{132}</a></span> on the foot -of the bed. “Can the Mayor do a thing like that—on the square?”</p> - -<p>“Why, sure,” said Amos.</p> - -<p>Wint grinned; a cracked and painful grin, but mirthful too; and he took -a step forward. “Then say,” he exclaimed. “Then say! There’s something -in this Mayor job, after all....”</p> - -<p>“Sure there is!”</p> - -<p>Wint gripped Amos’ arm. “Lead me to that cold, cold tub,” he enjoined.</p> - -<p class="fint">END OF BOOK II</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_133" id="page_133">{133}</a></span> </p> - -<h2><a name="BOOK_III" id="BOOK_III"></a>BOOK III<br /><br /> -<small>INTO HARNESS</small></h2> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_134" id="page_134">{134}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_135" id="page_135">{135}</a></span> </p> - -<h3><a name="CHAPTER_I-c" id="CHAPTER_I-c"></a>CHAPTER I<br /><br /> -<small>ON HIS OWN FEET</small></h3> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">T</span>HE inauguration of a small-town Mayor is no great matter for -excitement. But Hardiston was interested in Wint, and wanted to have a -look at him, so everybody came to see him step into his new -responsibilities.</p> - -<p>The Hardiston council chamber was on the second floor of the fire house. -This was a three-story building of red brick, and a place of awe and -wonder for the small boys of the town. The fire engine and the hose cart -were kept on the ground floor, in front. Behind them were the stalls for -the four sleek horses; behind the stalls again, a number of iron-barred -stalls for human beings. Here were housed the minor criminals, arrested -by Marshal Jim Radabaugh for petty peculations or disorders, and waiting -for their hearings before the Mayor. These little cells were not -designed to house prisoners for any length of time, and for the most -part they were furnished simply with heaps of straw pilfered from the -supply that was kept for the fire horses. The town drunkard, when the -marshal got him, was treated as well as the fire horses; and this is -more than may be said in larger towns than Hardiston.</p> - -<p>At the left-hand side of the building there was an entrance hall, -through which one passed to reach the stairs that led up to the council -chamber. In the middle of this square hallway hung a rope, with a knot -on the end. This rope disappeared through a hole in the ceiling. If you -pulled it in the proper fashion, the bell in the steeple began a -chattering, staccato beat like the clanging of a gong. This was the fire -bell; and when it rang the fire chief came from his feed store across -the street, and the firemen came from the bakery, and the hardware -store, and the blacksmith shop where they worked;<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_136" id="page_136">{136}</a></span> and the fat fire -horses—they doubled in the street-cleaning department—came on the -gallop from their abandoned wagons in the streets. Then everybody got -into harness of one kind or another and went to the fire.</p> - -<p>Everybody in town wanted to ring that fire bell. Any one who discovered -a fire and reached the fire house with the news was privileged to do it. -There was a tradition that a boy once tried to ring the bell and was -jerked clear off the floor by the rebound after his first tug at the -rope. This added to the wonder and the mystery of it. The boys used to -hang around the doorway, watching this rope, and occasionally fingering -it in a gingerly way, and wishing a fire would start somewhere so that -they might see the bell rung.</p> - -<p>It was through this hall where the rope hung that the people of -Hardiston crowded to see Wint inaugurated. They went up the worn, wooden -stairs into the council chamber, and they packed themselves in on the -benches in the rear of the room. This was not only the council chamber; -it was the seat of the Mayor’s court. There was an enclosure, surrounded -by a railing. When some of the bigger, or perhaps it was only the -braver, men of the town came in, they sat inside this railing, tilting -their chairs back against it, with a spittoon drawn within easy range. -The crowd came early; and they talked in cheerfully loud tones while -they waited. One by one the aldermen drifted in, the new ones and the -old. And Marshal Jim Radabaugh was there; and the clerk and the other -officials arrived and took their places within the enclosure. They were -carelessly matter of fact, as though the inauguration of a new Mayor was -an everyday matter. The boys, perched on the window sills, whistled, and -giggled, and then subsided into frightened silence to watch with staring -eyes.</p> - -<p>Amos Caretall had let Wint sleep as late as possible this morning. Wint -needed the sleep, and Congressman Caretall made it his business to study -the needs of his fellow men. His Congressional creed, which he -summarized upon occasion, was as simple as that. “If a bill’s aimed to -make you folks at home here more comfo’table, I’m for it,” he would -say.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_137" id="page_137">{137}</a></span> “If it ain’t, I’m against it; and that’s all the way of it with -me.” So he let Wint sleep this morning until the last minute, then shook -him into wakefulness.</p> - -<p>Even then, Wint might have thrown the whole thing over but for that -whistle. He was sick and sore, his head hurt, and his eyes could not -bear even the dim light of his bedroom. He told Amos he would not go -through with it, that he would not be inaugurated. Then the whistle -blew, and when Amos said it would be a part of his powers as Mayor to -stop that plagued whistle if he wanted to, the idea struck Wint’s sense -of humor. He grinned, and decided there was something in being Mayor, -after all, and climbed unsteadily out of bed.</p> - -<p>After the tub of cold water which Amos had waiting for him, he felt -better. After old Maria Hale’s breakfast—fried eggs, and country-cured -ham, and three cups of strong coffee—he felt better still. But he was -not yet himself. Physically, he was acutely comfortable, blissfully -comfortable. His legs and his arms felt warm; they tingled. His head did -not hurt; it was merely numb. It was true that his tongue was furry and -thick, so that he had to talk very carefully when he talked at all; but -save for this precision of speech, there was no mark on him of the night -before. He was young enough to recover quickly, his cheeks were red, his -eyes were lazily clear.</p> - -<p>But it was not to be denied that his head was numb. He was in something -like a daze when he went out with Amos and started toward the -fire-engine house. The day was bright and warm for the season, and the -sun was cheerful. Wint enjoyed the walk. But he had to keep his eyes -shut much of the time. The light hurt them. When he heard Amos speak to -some one they passed, he also spoke. When Amos talked to him, he -answered. But his answers were idle and unconsidered; he was too -comfortable to think.</p> - -<p>They went up some stairs after a while, and Wint understood that they -had arrived. He heard people talking all together, and then one at a -time. Men said things, and Amos nudged him, and he made replies. He -could hear what others said to him. They mumbled hurriedly, as though -over some<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_138" id="page_138">{138}</a></span> too-familiar formula. There was nothing particularly -impressive, or dignified, in the proceedings. The light from the windows -at the back of the room hurt Wint’s eyes, so he still kept them half -shut. The people before him were merely black shadows, silhouetted -against this glare. He could not see who any of them were.</p> - -<p>After a time, some one—it sounded like a small boy—yelled: “Speech!” -And others took up the cry, and Amos nudged Wint. So Wint stood up again -and said with that careful precision which the condition of his tongue -demanded: “I’ve nothing to say. I’ll let what I do, do the talking for -me.”</p> - -<p>That seemed to be satisfactory. Every one cheered, so that the noise -hurt his ears. Then he sat down. A moment later, every one got up, and -he got up, and they all began to crowd around him, and to crowd toward -the door. Somebody came up and shook hands with Wint, and he recognized -the voice of V. R. Kite. He had never liked Kite; the man was like a -foul bird. A buzzard. The idea pleased Wint. He said cheerfully:</p> - -<p>“To hell with you, you old buzzard.”</p> - -<p>He heard Amos chuckle, somewhere near him. Every one else stood very -still. So Wint strode past Kite to the stairs, and Amos followed him, -and Peter Gergue followed Amos. They went back home to Amos’s house. -Once, on the way, Wint asked:</p> - -<p>“That all there is to it?”</p> - -<p>Amos said: “Land, no, that’s just the beginning.”</p> - -<p>Wint chuckled. He was beginning to enjoy himself. But he was very -sleepy. When they got home, he went to bed and slept till dinner was -ready, and he slept all the afternoon, and he went to bed for the night -as soon as supper was done.</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>Amos had been thinking he ought to get back to Washington. He was glad -Wint went off to bed, because there were two or three matters he wanted -to attend to. One of these matters had to do with Jack Routt. Amos was -not sure of his ground in that direction, but he had his suspicions. He -sent for Peter<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_139" id="page_139">{139}</a></span> Gergue after supper, and Gergue came quickly at the -summons. They sat down before the coal fire, and Peter filled his pipe -in careful imitation of Amos, and the two men smoked together in silence -for a space, while Amos considered what to say.</p> - -<p>Peter was one of those unfortunate men who do not like silences. This -put him at a disadvantage before Amos, who could be silent indefinitely. -It was Amos’s chief superiority over Peter, and it gave the Congressman -his mastery over the man. This night as always, it was Peter who spoke -first. He puffed at his pipe, and he said:</p> - -<p>“Well, Amos, you’ll be gittin’ back to Washin’ton.”</p> - -<p>Amos turned his head, tilted it on one side, and squinted at Peter. “I -guess so,” he agreed.</p> - -<p>“Thought you’d be going,” said Peter. “Wint’ll miss you.”</p> - -<p>“Do you think he’ll know he misses me?” Amos asked.</p> - -<p>“If he did,” said Peter, “he wouldn’t admit it.”</p> - -<p>The Congressman nodded. “Wint’s a cur’ous cuss. Peter.”</p> - -<p>“Yeah.”</p> - -<p>“He’s a nice boy—give him a chance.”</p> - -<p>“We-ell, he’s got his chance.”</p> - -<p>“What’s he going to do with it, Peter?”</p> - -<p>Gergue rummaged through his black hair thoughtfully. “Guess that depends -on what he’s let do with it. Somebody come along and tell him he ought -to make a good Mayor, and he’ll make a bad one, just to show he can’t be -bossed.”</p> - -<p>“That’s right.” Amos agreed. He considered, grinned to himself. “You -know, Pete, if we could get Kite to sign on as Wint’s guide, -philosopher, and friend. Wint’d do all right.”</p> - -<p>Gergue considered, and he chuckled. “Sure. If he went contrary to what -Kite said. And he would. Wint’s always on the contrary-minded side of a -thing.”</p> - -<p>“Now why is that?” Caretall asked.</p> - -<p>“That’s because he’s who he is, I sh’d say.”</p> - -<p>Amos puffed deep at his black pipe. “Trouble is,” he commented, “Kite -wouldn’t take the job. Not after what Wint handed him to-day. You heard -that?”</p> - -<p>Gergue grinned widely. “Yeah. The old buzzard. Say,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_140" id="page_140">{140}</a></span> that surely does -hit Kite. The way he holds his head. I’d always thought of a turkey, but -I guess a buzzard does it too. Like he was always looking over a wall.”</p> - -<p>“What I’d like to see,” said Amos, “is some one that would guarantee to -give Wint bad advice.”</p> - -<p>“We-ell,” Peter told him, “I can do some of that.”</p> - -<p>“Trouble is, there’s others will tell him to do the right thing.”</p> - -<p>“You talk like James T. Hollow,” said Gergue. “Always trying to do -what’s right.”</p> - -<p>“I wonder,” said Amos casually, “whether them that tell him to keep -straight figure he’ll do what they say?”</p> - -<p>Peter understood that there was something back of the question; he -studied Amos’s impassive face. Then he thought for a minute, and nodded -his head.</p> - -<p>“You mean Jack Routt,” he said.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” the Congressman agreed.</p> - -<p>Peter considered. “I don’t quite know about Jack,” he said. “He lets on -to be Wint’s friend. But he don’t help Wint any. Jack’s got a way of -telling Wint to do a thing that works the opposite every darned time.”</p> - -<p>“I’ve a notion,” said Caretall, “that if Routt was to tell Wint to take -care of his health, say, Wint’d go shoot himself, just to be different.”</p> - -<p>“That’s right,” Gergue agreed; and the two men sat for a time without -speaking, their pipes bubbling, the smoke drifting upward lazily.</p> - -<p>“Question is,” said Caretall at last, “what are we going to do about -it?” Gergue made no comment, and Amos asked: “What do you think, Peter?”</p> - -<p>“I don’t see through Routt,” said Gergue. “I don’t see what he’s got on -his mind.”</p> - -<p>“Looks to me that he’s plain ornery,” Amos suggested.</p> - -<p>“I guess that’s right.”</p> - -<p>“But that don’t get us anywheres. I’d like to have him let Wint alone.”</p> - -<p>“He’d ought to.”</p> - -<p>“How can we make him let Wint alone?” Amos asked.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_141" id="page_141">{141}</a></span></p> - -<p>Peter considered that, fingers rummaging about the back of his head. -“Routt’s looking for something,” he said. “Maybe he wants to be -prosecuting attorney. Or something. I don’t know.”</p> - -<p>“He never will be,” said Amos.</p> - -<p>“I guess that’s right.”</p> - -<p>“Not as long as I can swing any votes here.”</p> - -<p>“Question is,” said Peter, “whether he knows you feel that way.”</p> - -<p>“No,” Amos told him. “He don’t know.”</p> - -<p>Peter looked sidewise at Amos. “He might be bought,” he suggested. “Or -he might be scared. I don’t know. He may be yellow. If he is, you could -scare him.”</p> - -<p>Amos’s pipe went out, and he rapped it into his palm and treasured the -charred crumbs to prime his next smoke. “Peter,” he said thoughtfully, -“I’d like to see Jack. To-night.”</p> - -<p>Gergue was a good servant. He got up at once. “All right, Amos,” he -said.</p> - -<p>Caretall went with him to the door. “I’m taking the noon train, -to-morrow,” he told Gergue.</p> - -<p>“I’ll be there,” said Peter.</p> - -<p>Amos shut the door behind him and went back to the fire. He sat there -for a while, considering. Then he went out into the hall and called -Agnes. She was in her room; and she came running down, very gay and -pretty in a blue-flowered kimono, her hair down her back in a golden -braid. Amos looked at her thoughtfully. There was always a wistful -question in his eyes when he looked at Agnes. He met her at the foot of -the stairs, and he asked:</p> - -<p>“Agnes, how’d you like to go to Washington?”</p> - -<p>Now the girl had gone to Washington one winter with Amos. And she had -not liked it. Amos was just a small-town Congressman, one of scores. And -his daughter was just a pretty girl, and nothing more. Amos was a small -toad in that big puddle; Agnes had found herself not even a tadpole. -And—that did not please Agnes. Here in Hardiston, she was the daughter -of the biggest man in town; and she was the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_142" id="page_142">{142}</a></span> prettiest girl in town, -some said. At least, they told her so. Jack Routt, and some of the other -boys.</p> - -<p>“I wouldn’t like it at all, dad,” she told Amos laughingly. “Washington -is a dead old place beside Hardiston.”</p> - -<p>“I’m thinking of taking you,” Amos said, watching her with something -like sorrow in his eyes.</p> - -<p>“I haven’t any clothes,” she protested. “I’m not ready, at all. I’d -rather not go, dad.”</p> - -<p>“I’d rather you would,” he repeated gently.</p> - -<p>She pouted. “Why? You’re always away. I’d never see you. I’d have -nothing to do at all. I—”</p> - -<p>“I’d rather not leave you and Wint alone here. Wouldn’t be just the -thing,” her father insisted gently.</p> - -<p>She laughed. “You funny old daddy. We’d have Maria for chaperon.”</p> - -<p>“Wouldn’t be just the thing,” Amos said again.</p> - -<p>“I’m not going to eat Wint,” she protested, half angry. “We get along -beautifully.”</p> - -<p>“Guess you’d better go along with me,” Amos told her.</p> - -<p>She stamped her foot. “Dad, I don’t want to.”</p> - -<p>Amos jerked a forefinger up the stair, head on one side, eyes steady. -“Run along and pack, Agnes,” he said. “Won’t be much time in the -morning.”</p> - -<p>Agnes began to cry. Amos watched her for a moment, watched her bowed -head, and a load seemed to settle on the man’s big shoulders. He turned -back to the sitting room without a word. After a while, he heard her run -up the stairs, every pound of her little feet scolding him, as a bird -scolds.</p> - -<p>Amos filled his pipe and began to smoke again.</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>Jack Routt came late. While he waited, Amos had smoked two pipes to the -last bubble. When Jack knocked, he got up lumberingly and went to the -door to let the young man in. “Come in,” he said curtly. “Hang up your -things.”</p> - -<p>He went back and sat down before the fire, and Jack Routt joined him -there. Amos looked up at him sidewise. “Sit down, Routt,” he said. “Take -a chair. Any chair.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_143" id="page_143">{143}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>Routt sat down. “Gergue said you wanted to see me,” he reminded Amos.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” Amos agreed. “I told him to tell you.”</p> - -<p>“Came as soon as I could,” said Routt.</p> - -<p>“That’s all right,” said Amos. “I wasn’t in a hurry. I’m hardly ever in -any hurry. Things come, give them time.” The colloquialisms had fallen -from his speech. Amos talked as well as any one when he chose; when he -was with Hardiston folks, he talked as they talked. Routt was a college -man.</p> - -<p>Routt fidgeted in his chair. He had always been somewhat afraid of Amos. -He wondered what the Congressman wanted now, but Amos did not tell him. -He just sat, staring at the fire, smoking. Like Gergue, Routt was driven -to break the silence.</p> - -<p>“What did you want with me, Amos?” he asked.</p> - -<p>Amos spat into the fire. “Wanted to talk things over, Jack,” he said. -“I’m going to Washington to-morrow.”</p> - -<p>“I’ve been expecting you’d go back.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I’m going.”</p> - -<p>Another silence, while Routt moved uneasily. At last he said: “You put -Wint over, all right.”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” Amos agreed. “I put him over.” He looked at Routt then, with eyes -unexpectedly keen. “Think he’ll make a good Mayor, do you?”</p> - -<p>“Well,” said Routt slowly, “he’ll be all right if he lets the booze -alone.”</p> - -<p>Amos caught Routt’s eyes and held them commandingly. “Jack,” he said, “I -want you to let Wint alone.”</p> - -<p>Routt asked angrily: “Me? What do you mean?”</p> - -<p>“I don’t want you giving him any advice, and I don’t want you getting -him drunk. I want you to let him alone. Is that clear?”</p> - -<p>Routt protested: “I’m the best friend Wint’s got.”</p> - -<p>“You’re the worst enemy he’s got,” said Amos. “And you know it.”</p> - -<p>“You can’t say that,” Routt pleaded.</p> - -<p>Amos did not let go the other man’s eyes. “You got Wint<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_144" id="page_144">{144}</a></span> drunk, day -before election,” he said. “You got him drunk last night. Routt, don’t -you do that again.”</p> - -<p>“I got him drunk? Good Lord, Congressman, Wint’s a grown man. I’m not -his keeper.”</p> - -<p>“I made you his keeper, before election,” said Amos. “I told you to keep -him straight. You didn’t do it. You got him drunk. Now I tell you, let -him alone.”</p> - -<p>“I tried to keep him from drinking,” Routt urged.</p> - -<p>“You said to him, ‘Don’t you drink, Wint. It ain’t good for you. You -can’t stand it.’ So he drank, to show you he could stand it. Just as you -knew he would.” Amos got up with a swiftness surprising in that -slow-moving man. He said harshly: “Routt, get your hat and get out. And -mind what I say. You let Wint alone.”</p> - -<p>Some men would have sworn at Amos, some would have defied him. Routt was -the sort to promise anything. He said, with an assumption of -straightforward frankness:</p> - -<p>“Why, of course, if you say so, I’ll keep away from him.”</p> - -<p>“See that you do,” said Amos. “Now—good night.”</p> - -<p>When the door closed behind Routt, Amos stood for a minute in the hall, -thinking. “Now I wonder,” he asked himself. “Will he do it? Was he -scared enough to keep hands off? I wonder, now.”</p> - -<p>Routt, half a block away, was grinning without mirth. “Damn him,” he -said to himself. “Him and Wint too. I’ll....”</p> - -<p>He wondered just what he had best do; and before he reached home, he had -decided to go and see V. R. Kite.</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>Congressman Caretall and Agnes took the noon train, next day. Wint went -with them to the station, and Amos had a last word for him.</p> - -<p>“Don’t you get the idea I’ve left you on your own, Wint,” he said. -“You’ll need help. Things’ll come up. When they do, don’t you try to -stand on your own feet. Just write me—or telegraph. And I’ll come, or -tell you what to do.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_145" id="page_145">{145}</a></span></p> - -<p>“You’ll run into trouble. Don’t you try to fight it alone. Just you call -on me.”</p> - -<p>Then the train pulled out. Wint watched it go; and when it rounded the -curve and disappeared beyond the electric-light plant, he grinned.</p> - -<p>“Run to you when I need help, will I, Amos?” he asked good-naturedly, -under his breath. “I guess not. You’ve left me alone. And I’m going to -stand on my own hind legs. On my own two feet, by God!”</p> - -<p>He turned and went swiftly back uptown.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_146" id="page_146">{146}</a></span></p> - -<h3><a name="CHAPTER_II-c" id="CHAPTER_II-c"></a>CHAPTER II<br /><br /> -<small>JOAN TO WINT</small></h3> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">T</span>HE months of that winter passed quietly in Hardiston. The excitement of -the election was not forgotten; the drama of Wint’s choice as Mayor -became one of the stories to be told about the stoves on cold -home-keeping days. But Wint himself was no longer an object of curious -interest; he was just the Mayor. An inconsiderable figure in the town. -There had been Mayors in the past, and there would be again. Never -amounted to much, one way or another. Hardiston went along just the -same; the winters were just as cold, the summers just as hot, the rains -just as wet, the sun just as warm.</p> - -<p>Hardiston is infamous for its winters and for its summers. In the spring -or in the fall there is no lovelier spot. In the spring, apple blossoms -clothe the hills; in the fall the woods are great splashes of flame -against the dull green of the fields. But in winter the mercury drops -far below zero, and climbs forty degrees in half a day. The snow comes -tempestuously, eight, ten, twelve inches of it; and it melts as quickly -as it comes. The roads turn into mud at the first snow; they remain mud -till the increasing heat of the northing sun bakes them to dust. On -Monday, every water pipe in town freezes tight; on Tuesday, violets -bloom in sheltered corners about the houses. On a cold morning, -adventurous boys skate on the film of ice that forms on streams and -ponds; but by noon the ice is unsafe, and some one has broken through, -and by mid-afternoon, it is freezing hard again.</p> - -<p>This winter in Hardiston was like all others. The new Mayor stuck -strictly to business. Jack Routt let him alone. When boys were arrested -for misdemeanor, or children of a larger growth for more pretentious -wrongs, they were brought before Wint and he passed sentence upon them, -marveling that<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_147" id="page_147">{147}</a></span> he, Wint Chase, should be passing judgment on his fellow -man. At first, this feature of his work shamed him; later it awed him, -and made him look into his own heart and ask whether he were fit for -such a rôle. He tried to make himself fit.</p> - -<p>To act as judge of the Mayor’s court and to preside at council meetings -comprised the bulk of Wint’s official duties. They took only a fraction -of his time. When the electric-light plant went out of commission with a -broken cylinder head, Wint had to do the explaining; when a sewer became -stopped up, he had to see that it was opened; when the old project for a -sewage-disposal plant came up on its annual burst of life, he had to -consider it. When Ned Howell filed his regular yearly suit for damages -done to his pasture by overflow from the sewage-filled creek, Wint had -to attend court and testify. But—there was time on his hands and to -spare. He did not know what to do with himself.</p> - -<p>He did not undertake any crusades. A certain diffidence, in these first -months, restrained him. He was not sure of his ground; he was not sure -of himself. V.R. Kite’s underlings continued to peddle their wares, and -the Mayor’s court had to deal, now and then, with one of Kite’s bibulous -customers. Wint dealt with them, but he did not dig for the root of the -evil, to tear it out. Matters in Hardiston went on much as they had in -the past. Men rose, did their day’s work, ate, and went to bed again. -Women likewise. The annual Chautauqua lecture course began and was -finished; Number Four theatrical companies came to town with Broadway -attractions, played one-night stands, and departed as they had come. The -moving-picture houses had new films every day, and the same audiences -day after day. The dramatic teacher in the high school organized a -pageant, and it was presented to the eyes of admiring parents in the -Rink. The high school played basket ball, the women played bridge, the -men played poker of a night. Now and then the Masons or the Knights of -Pythias gave a dance. The preachers preached sermons in which they tried -to prove there was nothing the matter with the churches. The schools -developed their annual scandal over the discharge<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_148" id="page_148">{148}</a></span> of a school-teacher. -There were the regular rumors of a new factory that was to come to town; -and the rumors fell through in the regular way. Now and then a baby was -born, now and then there was a wedding, now and then there was a -funeral.</p> - -<p>Wint stuck to his guns, and the world rolled majestically and -interminably on.</p> - -<p>When Wint took hold of his job, he wondered what there was for him to -do. Dick Hoover told him. Dick was a lawyer, in with his father, who had -the biggest practice in town. He showed Wint where to look, in the -statute books, for the duties of a Mayor. Wint was surprised to discover -that laws were simple, everyday things, having to do with life as it was -lived. One day when he went to Dick’s office to look up a statute, the -book he sought was in use. To kill time, he took down a volume of -Blackstone and peered into it curiously. He discovered that Blackstone -said water was a “movable, wandering thing,” and the description -fascinated him. He read on....</p> - -<p>The more law he read, the more interested he became. In January, he -asked Dick Hoover if it were possible to study law in leisure hours. -Hoover told him it was not only possible, it was easy. The end of -January saw Wint putting in his spare time on calfskin-bound volumes of -which each page was one-third reading matter and two-thirds footnotes. -The first day he picked up a book of cases was marked with a red letter -on his mental calendar. He found these cases as interesting as fiction.</p> - -<p>He began to read law systematically. Dick Hoover’s father was -interested, helped him. The elder Hoover told Wint’s father one day:</p> - -<p>“Chase, your boy is going to make a lawyer before he’s through.”</p> - -<p>The senior Chase looked at Hoover, half minded to resent the fact that -his son had been mentioned in his presence. But—the old wound was -healing. Men no longer took occasion to remind him of last fall’s -election with a jeer in their eyes. His conditional alliance with Kite -had languished,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_149" id="page_149">{149}</a></span> because Wint had made no move to make the town dry. -Chase hated Amos Caretall as ardently as ever; but he could not hate his -son. That is not the way with fathers. He loved Wint; he had been, for -some time, secretly proud of him.</p> - -<p>He said to Hoover: “He’s smart enough, if he sticks to it.”</p> - -<p>“He’s sticking,” Hoover told Wint’s father.</p> - -<p>Winthrop Chase, Senior, nodded indifferently, hiding the light in his -eyes. “He never stuck to anything before,” he said, and turned away.</p> - -<p>He thought of telling Wint’s mother, that night, but did not do so. When -he spoke of Wint to her, it precipitated one of her endless remarks. -They wearied him. But he had to tell some one, so he told Hetty Morfee, -when he went to the kitchen for a drink of water. Hetty was washing -dishes at the time, and she stopped with a plate in one hand and a -dish-rag in the other, and listened, and said with a cheerful -wistfulness in her voice:</p> - -<p>“Wint’s smart, sir. You’ll be proud of him.”</p> - -<p>Chase was proud of him, but he would not admit it to himself, much less -to Hetty.</p> - -<p>“He’s smart enough,” he told her. “But he’s ... He’s....”</p> - -<p>He turned abruptly and went out of the kitchen without saying what Wint -was, and Hetty looked after him with understanding in her smile. Then -her face became still and somber again. There was growing in Hetty’s -eyes a certain unhappy light. A desperate fashion of unhappiness, which -no one was sufficiently interested to notice. She was not so cheerful as -she used to be. And there was a helplessness about her.</p> - -<p>Word of Wint’s new industry spread slowly through Hardiston. It was Dick -Hoover himself who told Joan of it. Dick was a Mason, and he took Joan -to a Masonic dance one night. She spoke of Wint. “I have heard that he -is studying law,” she said. “Is it true?”</p> - -<p>So Dick told her. “True as Gospel,” he said. “And he’s darned quick to -pick it up, too. The principles.... Of course, it will take time. But -I’d just as soon have him try a case for me now, as some of these....<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_150" id="page_150">{150}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>He went on enthusiastically. Hoover was always enthusiastic about -things. He was an extremist. His friends were the finest chaps in the -world, his enemies were the least of created things. But he had few -enemies. People liked him, and he liked people. Joan liked him; liked -him particularly this evening because he talked to her of Wint.</p> - -<p>Joan Arnold was, in a way of speaking, a girl to tie to. There was a -peculiar steadfastness in her. She was a little taller than Wint, and -she was habitually grave and quiet, especially when she was with him. In -his presence she had always been faintly abashed and reticent as a girl -is apt to be in the presence of a man she cares for. Joan had always -cared for Wint. In spite of the fact that she was a year or two his -junior, they had played together as children: and they had grown up -together. When they were little children, they fought as only good -friends can fight. When they were a little older, Wint scorned her -because she was a girl. A year or so later, she scorned Wint because she -was at the age when girls resolve to have a career and never marry at -all. But in their late teens, they were devoted to each other, so that -the mothers of the town smiled when they passed by, and nodded to each -other, and whispered, with the delight women take in such matters, that -they were a nice-looking couple together. Wint’s short, sturdy strength -matched well the girl’s slightly larger stature and her quiet poise.</p> - -<p>The first passage of affection between them had come when she was -eighteen, when he went away to college. Before that they had been much -together, but none save the most casual words had passed between them. -The night before Wint went away, he went to see her. He was feeling -adventurous and heroic and important as a boy does feel when he leaves -home for the first time. He talked vastly, of big things he meant to do, -of his dreams. She thrilled to his dreams with the half of her that was -still child; she smiled at his enthusiasm with the half that was already -woman. They were sitting on the porch of her home. There were locust -trees about the veranda. They sat in a two-seated swing, facing each -other, Wint leaning toward her earnestly.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_151" id="page_151">{151}</a></span></p> - -<p>He became melancholy, and she comforted him softly. He did not want to -go away, he said. She told him he would be happy. The movement of the -swing made him lean toward her. There was a moon, and the September -evening was warm, and the very air seemed trembling in a rhythm that -beat upon them both.</p> - -<p>When he got up to go, she got up at the same time, and the swing lurched -and threw them together. Ineptly, he kissed her, fumblingly, on the -cheek. She did not move, she trembled where she stood. He took her -awkwardly in his arms, as though afraid she would break, and kissed her -cheek again. He rubbed his cheek against hers. She looked at him with -wide eyes, lips a little parted, and he kissed her lips. They were cool, -unused to kisses.</p> - -<p>The months thereafter, till Wint was expelled from college, passed -smoothly with them. Too smoothly, too placidly. They wrote short, broken -letters; they saw each other when Wint came home. They thought they were -very happy; yet each was conscious of a lack in their happiness. There -was no fire in it, none of the exquisite anguish of love. They missed -this, without knowing what they missed. All went too well with them.</p> - -<p>Joan wept on her pillow when he was expelled, but she did not let him -see her weep. She reassured him. There was an unsuspected strength in -her. Women are full of these surprises. They are indescribably dainty -creatures, habitually clad in fabrics like gossamer, seeming light as -air and fit to vanish at a breath, who reveal—in a bathing suit, for -instance—a surprising physical solidity. It was so, spiritually, with -Joan. She was so quiet and so still that Wint, if he had thought at all, -would have supposed she was a simple girl and nothing more; but in the -revelations of his disaster, she showed a poise and a power which -heartened him immensely, and made him a little afraid of her. She was a -tower of strength for him to lean upon, a miracle of understanding and -of sympathy.</p> - -<p>He had expected her to be shocked and revolted at the shame of his -expulsion; she was simply sorry for him, and loved him none the less. -Wint knew, then, how much he loved her.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_152" id="page_152">{152}</a></span> There is nothing that so -inspires love in a man as to find himself beloved. This is the conceit -of the creature!</p> - -<p>Joan had told Wint that she was done with him, when the story of his -drunken sleep in the Weaver House went abroad through Hardiston. -But—she had done it for his sake. She thought there was good in him. -How could she love him else? She thought it might come out if he had to -fight; she thought his very stubbornness might save him. Joan had no -illusions about Wint. She knew he was prideful and stubborn. But—she -loved him. And so had told him she would have no more of him. With a -reservation in her heart....</p> - -<p>Thus what Dick Hoover told her made Joan happy; happier than Hoover -could possibly guess. Another girl would have cried herself to sleep -with happiness that night, but Joan was not given to tears. She lay -awake for a long time, thinking....</p> - -<p>Three or four days later, she met Wint on the street. They had met thus, -often, for Hardiston is a small place. But heretofore they passed with a -word, unsmiling. This time, Wint would have passed her in that fashion; -but Joan stopped and spoke to him.</p> - -<p>“Wint,” she said.</p> - -<p>He had been sick with hunger for a word from her for weeks. He stopped -as though she had struck him, and his cheeks burned red as fire. He -could not have spoken, for his life. He stood, hat in hand, face -crimson, staring at her.</p> - -<p>Joan knew what she wished to say. “I want you to know that I am proud of -you, Wint,” she said.</p> - -<p>His impulse was to laugh, to reject her friendliness. The old Wint, -stiff with pride, would have done this. But the old Wint was gone; or at -least, he was going. This Wint who stood before Joan tried to find -something to say, but all he found to say to her was:</p> - -<p>“Oh!”</p> - -<p>Joan smiled at him. “There was a time when I wouldn’t have dared say -this, Wint,” she said. “But I do dare now. Stick to the fight, Wint. -This is what I want to say.”</p> - -<p>He said, sullen in his embarrassment: “I’m going to.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_153" id="page_153">{153}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“There was a time when you were not going to—just because I—your -friends—told you to stick.”</p> - -<p>Wint looked away from her. “Well, that’s all right,” he told her -uncomfortably.</p> - -<p>“There’s never any harm in having friends, Wint, and taking their -advice,” she said.</p> - -<p>The old impatience burst out for a moment. “Don’t preach,” he said -harshly.</p> - -<p>“I’m not going to preach.” She was afraid she had spoiled it all. But he -reassured her, hot with shame at his own decency.</p> - -<p>“It’s all right, Joan,” he said. “I know you mean to help. I’ll try.”</p> - -<p>“Do try,” she echoed softly.</p> - -<p>He nodded, and she watched him, and at last added:</p> - -<p>“I’d like to have you come to see me some time.”</p> - -<p>He hesitated, then he said swiftly: “All right. Some time. Good-by!”</p> - -<p>He jerked his head in farewell and hurried away as though he were afraid -of her. Joan watched him go, and she pressed her hand to her lips as -though to still them.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_154" id="page_154">{154}</a></span></p> - -<h3><a name="CHAPTER_III-c" id="CHAPTER_III-c"></a>CHAPTER III<br /><br /> -<small>ROUTT TO KITE</small></h3> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">W</span>HEN Wint left Joan, after their encounter on the street, he was walking -in a daze. He stumbled, his head was down, his eyes were blank. He was -stunned and humbled; and after he had left her, he began to feel -defiant. He thought of words with which he could have crushed her and -silenced her. Presuming to forgive him, to praise him. What right had -she to do that anyway? He ought to have laughed at her.</p> - -<p>Not that Wint did not love Joan. He did; but he was still, at this time, -a boy and nothing more. And he had rather more than a boy’s usual -measure of stubborn contrariness in him. When his father, and his -mother, and Joan, and every one else he cared for had bade him mend his -ways, he had refused to mend them, and the thing had been a scandal on -every tongue in Hardiston. When, in like fashion, father and mother and -Joan bade him go to the dogs, whither he seemed surely bound, he had -braced himself, fought a good fight, begun to make good. Now Joan was -telling him he had made good, that he was all right. He had a reckless -desire to go to the devil, forthwith, to prove her wrong.</p> - -<p>He had met Joan at the corner by the Star Company’s furniture store, an -institution that was always holding fire sales and closing-out sales -without either fires before or actual closings after. Their talk there -together had not gone unremarked. Every one in town would know of it -within the day. When they separated, Joan went away from town toward her -home, and Wint went up Broadway toward the Court House. Not that he knew -where he was going. But he had to go somewhere.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_155" id="page_155">{155}</a></span></p> - -<p>There were only one or two places in Hardiston to go to when you did not -know where to go. You might go to the Smoke House, and shake dice for a -cigar, or drop a nickel in the slot machine and see how your luck was -running. Or you might drop in at the Post Office in the idle hope that a -special train had come along with a letter for you since the last -regular mail was sorted into the boxes. Or you might stop at one of the -newspaper offices. The editors were always willing to talk, and there -were usually two or three others there before you.</p> - -<p>Wint headed, somewhat aimlessly, for the Post Office. But when he passed -down Main Street, B. B. Beecham, editor of the <i>Journal</i>, called Wint in -to look at proofs of some city printing. Wint always got on well with B. -B. The editor never preached, he never seemed to have any particular -interest in the wrong-doings of other people, he attended to his own -business and let you attend to yours. A square-built man, with a big -barrel of a chest and stocky shoulders, and a strong, amiable -countenance. Wint went in at his hail; and B. B. got the proofs for him, -and Wint began to look them over. B. B. chunked up the fire in the -little round iron stove that had seen so many years of service it was -disintegrating. It was bound together with wire to hold it together; and -there were holes in the front of it through which the fire could be -seen. The stovepipe went up at an angle like that of the leaning tower -of Pisa, then made a back-handed elbow turn and ran along in a hammock -of wire braces to disappear into the wall. B. B. thrust a bit of wood in -through the door, down into the fire, twisted it upward, breaking up the -clotted coals and ashes. Then he put on more coal, and shut the door, -and the fire roared up the chimney. Wint was going over the proofs, -figure by figure. They had to do with bids on a sewer contract. B. B. -sat down at his desk with his back to Wint and busied himself with -something.</p> - -<p>B. B.’s desk was a roll top, its pigeonholes frazzly with letters and -papers jammed into them to the bursting point. The desk itself was -littered with newspapers and notes and notebooks and scratch pads made -out of old order blanks.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_156" id="page_156">{156}</a></span> There was an old iron inkwell, a tin box full -of pins, a pencil or two. In a little hexagonal glass bottle at one -side, a newly hatched humming bird which had fallen from the nest and -been killed was preserved in alcohol. Not so large as a bumblebee, and -not nearly so impressive. For paper weight, B. B. used a witch ball, -taken from the stomach of a steer that Ned Howell had butchered. A -round, smooth, yellowish thing, with a hole picked in to show the hair -inside. It was as big as a small orange, and looked not unlike one, save -that the yellow was dull and muddy. On top of the desk were books, a big -hornet’s nest, an ear of corn. There was a curiously marked squash on -the open iron safe in the corner; and in the rear of the office a -stand-up desk and a smaller one at which a person might sit were -littered with the miscellany of B. B.’s business.</p> - -<p>While Wint was looking over the proofs, an old darky came in from the -street. A ragged old man.... Wint knew him. He lived down the creek in a -log cabin, and caught catfish, and farmed a plot of ground. His hat was -battered, his coat was too big for him, his trousers slumped about his -slumping shoes. His name was John Marshum. He took off his hat and -looked around the ceiling of the office uneasily, as though he expected -it to fall, and Wint and B. B. said hello to him, and he said:</p> - -<p>“Howdy.”</p> - -<p>B. B. asked: “Is there anything I can do for you?”</p> - -<p>The old negro gulped, and said: “I’d like tuh borry a paper and a -pencil, ef you please.”</p> - -<p>B. B. gave him what he asked for, and the old man sat down at the desk -in the back of the room, and bit his tongue, and gnawed the pencil, and -began to write with infinite pains, slowly, the sweat bursting out of -him with the effort. Wint and B. B. went on with their affairs.</p> - -<p>After a while, the old fellow got up and crossed to B. B. and held out -the product of his effort. “Heah’s a paper for you, suh,” he said. When -B. B. took it, the old man hurried awkwardly out of the door and -disappeared.</p> - -<p>B. B. read the paper and chuckled, and Wint asked: “What<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_157" id="page_157">{157}</a></span> is it?” The -editor handed it to him, and he read the scrawl aloud:</p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p>“<span class="lftspc">‘</span>John Marshum was a very plesint vister at this office Thursdy.’<span class="lftspc">”</span></p></div> - -<p>Wint laughed good-naturedly. “The poor old clown. Wants his name in the -paper. You ought to put it in, just to make him feel good.”</p> - -<p>“I’m going to,” said B. B. “Old John’s one of my best friends in the -county. He’s been a subscriber twelve years, and always paid up. You’d -be surprised to know how many don’t pay up. And you’d be surprised how -many people come in, just as he did, to get their names in the paper. I -don’t suppose you ever thought of that.”</p> - -<p>Wint passed the corrected proofs over to B. B. “One or two mistakes,” he -said, and the editor sent the proofs up for correction. “What do you do -with the darned fools?” Wint asked. “Tell them advertising space costs -money?”</p> - -<p>B. B. looked surprised. “No, I print their names. That’s what the -paper’s for—to print people’s names. It makes them feel proud of -themselves, and that’s good for them. It’s one way of helping them -along, doing them good.”</p> - -<p>Wint grinned. “Never did me any particular good to see my name in -print,” he said. “Usually made me mad.”</p> - -<p>“It wasn’t the fact that they printed your name that made you mad. It -was what they printed about you.”</p> - -<p>“Maybe so,” Wint admitted. “I didn’t see that it was any of their -business.”</p> - -<p>“That’s the way the city dailies are run,” B. B. agreed. “But a country -weekly is a different proposition. I never print anything that will make -any one mad. Not if I can help it. Not even a joke. A joke on a man’s no -good unless he can appreciate it himself.”</p> - -<p>Wint eyed B. B. and remarked thoughtfully: “I remember, when they stuck -me in as Mayor, you didn’t print the fact that my father was a -candidate.”</p> - -<p>“No,” B. B. agreed.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_158" id="page_158">{158}</a></span></p> - -<p>“I supposed that was because you and my father are—allies in politics -and such things.”</p> - -<p>“No,” said B. B. “I try not to print things that will hurt people. Mr. -Chase felt badly about that.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t blame him,” said Wint slowly. “You know I had nothing to do -with it.” He had never talked so freely to any one as he was accustomed -to talk to B. B. There was some strain in the editor that invited -confidences. He knew as many secrets as a doctor.</p> - -<p>“Yes, I know,” he said.</p> - -<p>“You know,” Wint went on, abruptly, “people are funny, B. B.”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“I’m funny, myself.”</p> - -<p>B. B. laughed in a friendly way. “Like the old Quaker who said to his -wife: ‘All the world is a little queer save thee and me, my dear; and -even thee are at times a little queer.’<span class="lftspc">”</span></p> - -<p>“No,” said Wint, smiling. “I include myself. I’m queer.”</p> - -<p>B. B. said nothing. Wint started to go on, but the words were not in -him. He had a curious, sudden impulse to ask B. B. about his father; -this impulse was like homesickness. But he fought it back. His jaw set -stubbornly. His father had thrown him out. That was enough; he didn’t -ask to be kicked twice.</p> - -<p>When B. B. saw that Wint was not going on, he spoke of something else. -Then Ed Howe, one of Caretall’s men, dropped in and cut a slice from a -plug and filled his pipe in the Caretall fashion: and Wint listened to -Ed and B. B. talk for a while before he got up and took himself away. He -had found some measure of reassurance in his talk with B. B., not -because of anything that had been said, but simply because B. B. was a -reassuring man. A strong man. A strong man, and a wise man, with open -eyes—and an optimist. Not all men who seem to see clearly are -optimists.</p> - -<p>In front of the Post Office, Wint ran into Jack Routt. Routt had been -out of town for a month or so on a business trip, and Wint had seen -little of him since Amos went away. He was glad to see Jack, and said -so. They shook hands, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_159" id="page_159">{159}</a></span> Wint bought Routt a cigar. Routt studied Wint -curiously. He wondered if it were true that Wint was keeping straight -and doing well. And to find out, he asked laughingly:</p> - -<p>“Been over to see Mrs. Moody lately, old man?”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Moody was that virago who managed the Weaver House, that woman of -the hideously beautiful false teeth. Wint flushed uncomfortably at -mention of her. “No-o,” he said hesitantly.</p> - -<p>“That’s the boy,” said Routt. “You keep away from her. You let the stuff -alone. You can’t monkey with it, the way some fellows can, old man.”</p> - -<p>And he watched Wint. There had been a time when this word would have -acted as a challenge, when Wint would have snapped at the bait. -But—Wint hesitated, he considered, he shook himself a little and said -quietly:</p> - -<p>“I guess you’re right, Jack.”</p> - -<p>“You bet I’m right,” said Routt.</p> - -<p>Wint nodded. “Yes,” he agreed.</p> - -<p>When they separated, Routt went to his office and sat down with his feet -on his desk to consider. And—he scowled. Matters were not going well -with him. It did not suit him for Wint to keep straight. It did not suit -him to lie supine under Amos Caretall’s injunction to let Wint alone. -The Congressman’s command had irked him more than once, and more than -once he had thought of V. R. Kite in that connection, and thought of -going to Kite. He had a fairly definite idea that Amos would never help -him along politically, and Kite might be able to. And—he remembered the -word Wint had fastened on Kite on the day of his inauguration. He had -called Kite a buzzard, and others had taken it up. The name seemed to -fit; it tickled the sense of humor of Hardiston folks. But it did not -tickle V. R. Kite. Kite ought to be ready to take means to crush Wint. -And—that would please Routt. He had held off thus long in the belief -that Wint would be his own ruin. He began to doubt this, now. It might -be necessary to do something.</p> - -<p>Routt was of mean stuff, small and tawdry. He had been what Hardiston -called a mean boy, a trouble-maker. He<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_160" id="page_160">{160}</a></span> had an infinite capacity for -hate, a curious shrewdness that enabled him to fasten on another’s -weakest point. As boys, he and Wint had fought once. They fought over -Joan, because Routt teased her till she cried. Wint had whipped him, -though Routt was the taller and the heavier of the two. Routt had never -forgotten that; but Wint forgot it as soon as the incident was over. -Wint forgot, and Routt remembered. Circumstances threw them much -together; they grew up as friends; Routt behaved himself; people decided -that he had outgrown his meanness. Wint liked him, did not distrust him, -accepted him for what he seemed—a friend.</p> - -<p>But Jack Routt was nobody’s friend. Sometimes, when he was alone, you -might have seen this in his face. It was so now, as he thought of Wint; -his countenance was twisted and distorted and malignant. In later years, -it was to bear the marks of these secret and rancorous moments for any -eye to see. Indelible and unmistakable. But just now Routt knew how to -smile, how to be a good fellow....</p> - -<p>He brought his feet down from the desk with a bang. He got up and -reached for his hat. He had made up his mind; he would go and see Kite.</p> - -<p>Kite was in town. Routt knew he would find the man in the Bazaar, the -town’s five and ten cent store. He went that way, but as he reached the -place, Peter Gergue came along the street and Routt went past without -entering. Just as well Gergue should not know that he was seeing Kite. -Gergue would tell Amos. When Gergue had disappeared, Routt went back and -turned into the Bazaar. Kite’s desk was in the back of the store, but -Kite was not in sight. The little man might be hidden behind the desk. -One of the girls who clerked in the store—her name was Mary Dale, and -she was a pretty, simple little thing—asked Routt what he wanted, and -he stopped to talk to her for a moment. Routt liked pretty girls. He -asked her if Kite was in, and she said he was at his desk, so Routt went -back that way. He drew up a chair to face the little man, and Kite -cocked his head on his thin neck, and tugged at his side whiskers. -“Howdo, Routt,” he said.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_161" id="page_161">{161}</a></span></p> - -<p>“Morning,” Routt rejoined. “How’s tricks, Kite?”</p> - -<p>“All right.” Kite looked suspicious. Routt offered him a cigar, which -Kite declined. Jack lighted it himself, then said idly:</p> - -<p>“Well, I just got back.”</p> - -<p>“Been away?”</p> - -<p>“Yes. Columbus.”</p> - -<p>“Oh!”</p> - -<p>“I see Wint hasn’t closed down on you yet,” Routt drawled.</p> - -<p>Kite flushed angrily. “Of course not. Why should he? He’s no fool.”</p> - -<p>“I said he hadn’t shut down on you—yet,” Routt repeated, and he -emphasized the last word.</p> - -<p>“He likes his drop now and then, same as another man.”</p> - -<p>“Hasn’t been taking many drops lately, has he?”</p> - -<p>“I’m not his guardian. How do I know? Long as he lets me alone.”</p> - -<p>Routt grinned. “I heard he didn’t let you alone, day he was inaugurated. -Called you a buzzard, didn’t he?”</p> - -<p>“The man was drunk.”</p> - -<p>“Name’s kind of stuck, though. A darned, rotten thing like that will -stick.”</p> - -<p>Kite was trying to keep calm, but he was an irascible little man. He -snapped at Routt: “What do I care for names? They break no bones.”</p> - -<p>“Well, that’s so,” Routt agreed good-naturedly.</p> - -<p>“Long as he lets me alone, I’m satisfied,” Kite said again.</p> - -<p>Routt nodded. “How long do you figure he’ll let you alone?” he asked.</p> - -<p>Kite’s temper got away from him. “By God, he’d better let me alone!” He -banged a clenched fist on the table. Routt drawled:</p> - -<p>“Don’t get excited.”</p> - -<p>“I’m n-not excited,” Kite stammered. “But he’ll let me alone. He don’t -dare to bother me. Why, Routt, if he tries anything, I’ll—I’ll get out -of town. I won’t live in the place. I’ll take my money out of the dirty -little hole.”</p> - -<p>“We-ell,” said Routt, “you could do that, of course. That<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_162" id="page_162">{162}</a></span> would suit -him. He’d get his own way, then. You could get out. Or you might fight -him.”</p> - -<p>“Fight him?” Kite snapped. “I’ll fight him to the last dollar.” He -controlled himself with an effort. “But he’s not going to start -anything. I know him. He’s inoffensive. A boy.”</p> - -<p>“Amos Caretall is no boy,” Routt reminded him. “And Amos is backing -him.”</p> - -<p>Kite remembered that Winthrop Chase, Senior, had told him this same -thing; had warned him that Amos meant to use Wint to clean up the town. -He and Chase had made an alliance on that basis. If Wint tried a -crusade, they would go after Amos together, and hang his hide on the -fence. They had sworn that together.... Now Routt was saying the same -thing. He had been feeling fairly secure; he and Chase had made no move. -Chase had wanted him to start a back fire against Amos, but Kite had -been ready to let well enough alone.... Now Routt ... Routt was one of -Caretall’s men. He would be likely to know what the Congressman planned. -Kite demanded angrily:</p> - -<p>“What makes you think Amos is planning anything? He and I understand -each other.”</p> - -<p>Routt laughed. “Amos would double cross his best friend and call it a -joke,” he said amiably. “You know that. Didn’t he double cross Chase?”</p> - -<p>“Sure. I helped him,” said Kite defiantly.</p> - -<p>“Next thing,” Routt told him, “he’ll double cross you.”</p> - -<p>Kite leaned across and gripped Routt by the arm. “What makes you say -that? You and Amos are together.”</p> - -<p>“We were,” said Routt, “but I told him a few things he didn’t like. I’m -no particular friend of Amos.”</p> - -<p>Kite said: “I’m not either. But as long as he plays fair with me, I’ll -play fair with him.”</p> - -<p>“What if he don’t?”</p> - -<p>“I’ll smash him.”</p> - -<p>“You can’t smash Amos,” said Routt, “but you can hurt him.”</p> - -<p>“How?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_163" id="page_163">{163}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“Smash young Wint.”</p> - -<p>Kite snorted. “Pshaw! Wint’s a boy.”</p> - -<p>“He’s growing up. One of these days, he’s going to send for Jim -Radabaugh and tell him to clean up the town....”</p> - -<p>“By God, if he does,” Kite swore, “I’ll tear him all to pieces.”</p> - -<p>Routt got up. “When you start in to do that,” he said, “send for me. I -might be able to help.”</p> - -<p>“I won’t need any help to rip Wint Chase wide open.”</p> - -<p>“You send for me,” said Routt insistently.</p> - -<p>“All right. I’ll send for you.”</p> - -<p>“I’ll be here,” Routt promised. When he went out through the store, he -stopped and told Mary Dale she was the prettiest girl in town. Mary was -pleased. She knew he didn’t mean it; she was simple enough, if you like; -but she knew there were probably other girls just as pretty as she was. -Nevertheless, she was glad Jack had told her she was pretty. She thought -it meant he was pleased with her.</p> - -<p>As a matter of fact, it only meant that he was pleased with himself. But -that was a thing Mary Dale could not be expected to understand.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_164" id="page_164">{164}</a></span></p> - -<h3><a name="CHAPTER_IV-c" id="CHAPTER_IV-c"></a>CHAPTER IV<br /><br /> -<small>WINT TO JOAN</small></h3> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">W</span>INT had lived very comfortably that winter, in Amos Caretall’s home, -with old Maria Hale to take care of him. In the beginning, when Amos -went away, he had protested at this arrangement. He told Amos he would -go to a hotel, to a boarding house, hire a room somewhere.... He said he -would not impose on Amos by living on his bounty.</p> - -<p>Amos laughed at him and said Wint would not be living on any one’s -bounty. “I aim to charge you board and keep,” he said. “And that’s -velvet for me, because I’d keep the house going anyway. Got to, to keep -old Maria. If I ever let go of her, somebody’d grab her in a minute.”</p> - -<p>Wint knew it was Amos’s habit to keep the house open and Maria in it, -even when he and Agnes were both away; so he accepted the proposition. -The board which Amos required him to pay was nominal; and Wint wanted to -pay more. Amos shook his head.</p> - -<p>“First thing you want to learn, Wint, is never to pay a man more than he -asks, for anything. He’ll think you’re a blamed fool.”</p> - -<p>So Wint had been comfortable. Maria knew how to cook, she kept the house -neat, she picked up after Wint’s disorderliness. And she mothered Wint -as her kind know how to do.</p> - -<p>He was comfortable, but he was lonely, desperately lonely. Wint was a -convivial young man. He liked to be with people. He had never been much -in his own exclusive company. Some one said that it is not good for man -to be alone; but it is equally true that it is not good for a man never -to be alone. Solitude is good for the soul. It gives an opportunity for -a certain amount of thought, for taking stock of one’s self. If every -one could be persuaded to an hour’s solitary self-consideration each -day, the world would be bettered thereby.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_165" id="page_165">{165}</a></span> It is hard to deceive -yourself. Wint found out the truth of this in his solitary evenings that -winter. He found himself forced to face facts, and face them squarely; -he found himself forced to recognize his own mistakes.</p> - -<p>Thus his loneliness did him no harm; but it did make him uncomfortable. -The fact that he was much alone resulted from two or three circumstances -and causes. His father had cast him out; so he saw his father and mother -not at all. And he had been accustomed to see them every day, all his -life. It is true there had usually been little pleasure for him in these -encounters. His father’s harshness, his mother’s garrulous tongue had -irked and angered him. They had worked at cross-purposes, as families -are apt to do. There had been little obvious sympathy and understanding -between them. Nevertheless, Wint found that he missed them; that he -missed his father’s overbearing accusations, and he missed his mother’s -interminable talk. Once or twice, when he met her on the street, he -stopped to talk with her; and he took a certain comfort from the flow of -breathless reproaches which poured out upon him at these times. Mrs. -Chase was as unhappy that winter as a mother must be when her son is set -apart from her; but she was loyal to her husband, and reproached Wint -for his disloyalty.</p> - -<p>Wint missed Joan, too. He missed her enormously. There was never any -doubt that Joan was half the world to him. He had longed for her -desperately at times; he had wanted to go and abase himself before her. -But he would not; he was strong enough to keep to his own path. And Joan -kept to hers.</p> - -<p>The fact that Wint and Joan were thus at odds made Wint an awkward -figure in any group of young people, because Joan was almost sure to be -there. He knew this as well as any one. So when Dick Hoover asked him to -go to the dances, he refused because Joan would be there; and when Elsie -Jenkins asked him to a card party, he refused again, and for the same -reason. But he did not tell Dick and Elsie what this reason was. As a -consequence, people stopped asking him to the festivities of Hardiston, -and Wint was left solitary.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_166" id="page_166">{166}</a></span></p> - -<p>Solitary, and lonely. He was so lonely, that night of Elsie’s party, -that he walked past her house for the sheer, hungry joy of looking in -through her windows at the throng inside. He often walked about the town -in the evenings, thus. Sometimes it was to pass Joan’s home.... And he -did a deal of thinking, and of wondering; and he made a resolution or -two....</p> - -<p>When Joan spoke to him, asked him to come and see her, Wint experienced -a strange revulsion of feeling. He was unhappy, and he told himself he -would never go; and he went uptown and dropped in on B. B. Beecham and -had that innocuous and idle talk with the editor, which never touched on -his troubles at all. Nevertheless, Wint emerged from the <i>Journal</i> -office in a more cheerful frame of mind. People were apt to be more -cheerful, and more optimistic, and more resolved, after talking with B. -B. This was one of the virtues of the man.</p> - -<p>Wint decided, after leaving B. B., that he would go and see Joan. Some -time.... He decided he would not be in any hurry about it. Next month, -perhaps, or next week, or in a day or two....</p> - -<p>As might have been expected, the end of it was that he went to see her -that night. For Wint was still half boy, with a boy’s impatience; and he -had been lonely for Joan for so long. After supper, with the long -evening before him, and nothing to do, he thought of going to Joan. He -swore he wouldn’t go; but he wanted to, so badly. Why shouldn’t he? She -had asked him. He wouldn’t and he would, and he wouldn’t and he -would....</p> - -<p>In the end, he decided to walk out to her home and see if he could see -her, through the window. There was snow on the ground, it was fairly -cold. He bundled up in overcoat and cap and filled a pipe and lighted -it, and set out. He would just walk past the house, come back another -way, go to bed.... That would do no harm.</p> - -<p>But even while he tried to tell himself this was what he meant to do, he -knew that he would not come back without seeing Joan—if the thing were -possible. And when he got to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_167" id="page_167">{167}</a></span> the house, he saw that it was possible. -The shades were up at the sitting-room window; he could see her, reading -before the fire. She was alone.</p> - -<p>So Wint went reluctantly up the walk from the street, and he hesitated -at the steps, and then he went up the steps, stamping, and knocked at -the door. He heard Joan stirring, inside. Then the door opened, and Joan -was there before him. The light behind her shone through her hair; her -eyes were dark and steady.</p> - -<p>The light fell on his face, and she said quietly: “Hello, Wint. -I’m—glad you came.”</p> - -<p>Wint took off his cap, and held it in his hand. She thought he looked -very like a boy. He said nothing; and Joan moved a little to one side -and bade him come in. He went in, like a man walking in his sleep, and -she shut the door behind him. Wint stood in the hall as though he did -not know what to do. He wanted to run; but the door was shut.</p> - -<p>She said: “Take off your coat.” So he did, and laid it on a chair in the -hall, and put his cap on top of it. Joan told him to come into the -sitting room; and he said huskily:</p> - -<p>“All right.”</p> - -<p>So they went in and sat down together before the fire. And Wint wished -he had not come. He crossed his legs one way, then he crossed them the -other. He folded his arms, he folded his hands in his lap, he cleared -his throat, he leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. He did not -look at Joan; but Joan watched him, and by and by she smiled a little, -and her smile seemed like a caress upon his bent head.</p> - -<p>Wint said abruptly: “Your people all right?”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” Joan told him.</p> - -<p>He muttered angrily that that was good; and silence fell upon them -again. He twisted in this silence, like a caterpillar on a pin. He was -immensely relieved when Joan spoke at last.</p> - -<p>“What shall we talk about, Wint?” she asked steadily. “Do you want to -talk about your—fight? What are you doing?”</p> - -<p>“No,” he said dourly, staring at the fire.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_168" id="page_168">{168}</a></span></p> - -<p>Joan watched him, not resenting his sullenness, because she had -understanding. After a little, she said gently: “I saw your mother the -other day.”</p> - -<p>Wint shot a quick glance at her. He could not help it. “That so?” he -asked.</p> - -<p>Joan nodded, and she smiled a little wistfully. “Yes. She misses you. -She and your father....”</p> - -<p>“They haven’t told me so,” said Wint morosely.</p> - -<p>“Have you talked with them?” she asked.</p> - -<p>“No. My father—” For the life of him, he could not stifle the choke in -his voice. “No, I haven’t,” he said.</p> - -<p>“You couldn’t, of course,” she agreed, and she looked at him sidewise. -“Of course, if you went to them, your father would think you were trying -to make up. You couldn’t do that.” There was an anxiety in her eyes; the -anxiety of the experimenter. Wint went by contraries. Joan knew quite -clearly what she wanted; she wanted him to go to his father. Was this -the way to lead him to make the first move?</p> - -<p>She was frightened at what she had done when he looked at her angrily. -“See here,” he said, “do you want me to go to him? Do you think I ought -to?” She was so frightened that she could not speak; but she nodded. -Wint barked at her:</p> - -<p>“Then why don’t you say so? I’m sick of having people make me do things -by telling me not to.”</p> - -<p>“I wasn’t trying to—make you do it, Wint,” she said; and she was almost -pleading.</p> - -<p>“You were; and you know it,” he told her flatly. “Weren’t you, now? -Secretly trying to make me....”</p> - -<p>Joan could not lie to him. “Y-Yes,” she said.</p> - -<p>“Then come out with it,” Wint demanded; and he got up and stamped about -the room, and words burst from him. “Joan,” he exclaimed, “I’ve been a -fool, and I know it. Am one still, I suppose. Hate to be preached to and -told what I must do, and mustn’t. You know that. Result is, I’m always -in trouble. Jack Routt, best friend I’ve got, does me more harm than my -worst enemy—just trying to keep me straight.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_169" id="page_169">{169}</a></span> I’ve always known it, in -a way. Knew I was a fool. But I’ve been just contrary enough to refuse -to be preached to. That’s the way I’m made. Only, for God’s sake, don’t -you start trying to manage me.” He hesitated, groping for words, and his -voice was suddenly weary and lonely as he said: “You ought to be able to -talk straight to me, Joan.”</p> - -<p>She did not answer for a moment; then she said simply: “I’m sorry, Wint. -I was wrong.”</p> - -<p>That took the wind out of him. He had hoped she would argue with him. He -wanted an argument, wanted a hot combat of words; he was full of things -that he wanted to say. To show her.... Justify himself to her. But you -can’t argue with a person who agrees with you. He sat down as abruptly -as he had risen, and stared again at the fire.</p> - -<p>Joan asked, after a time: “Are you sure Jack Routt is really your -friend, Wint?”</p> - -<p>“Of course,” he said, looking at her. “Why not? What do you mean?”</p> - -<p>“I don’t like him.”</p> - -<p>He laughed. “A girl never likes a man’s friends. Jack’s all right. He’s -a prince.”</p> - -<p>“Is he?”</p> - -<p>“Sure he is.”</p> - -<p>Joan said no more about Routt. She spoke of other things, trivial -things; and for an hour she and Wint managed to talk easily enough -without touching on forbidden ground. It was not till he got up to go -that they spoke seriously again. She had helped him on with his coat. At -the door, he faced her; and he asked:</p> - -<p>“Joan, d’you really think I ought to—patch things up at home?”</p> - -<p>She answered him straightforwardly: “Yes, Wint.”</p> - -<p>He looked past her, eyes thoughtful; and at last he held out his hand. -“Well, good night,” he said. “Maybe I will.”</p> - -<p>They shook hands, and he went out and tramped swiftly back to Amos’s -house. There was a bounding elation in him; his head was among the -stars.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_170" id="page_170">{170}</a></span></p> - -<h3><a name="CHAPTER_V-c" id="CHAPTER_V-c"></a>CHAPTER V<br /><br /> -<small>WINT GOES HOME</small></h3> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">W</span>INT had thought of going to his father before he talked with Joan. He -had tried advances now and then. Once he met the elder Chase on the -street and stopped to talk with him, but his father passed by with a -curt word of greeting. Another time, he saw Chase in the <i>Journal</i> -office and went in. Chase and B. B. Beecham were talking together; but -when Wint came in, his father got up and departed. Wint had said:</p> - -<p>“Don’t let me drive you away. I just happened in.”</p> - -<p>But the senior Chase said: “I was going, anyway,” and he went.</p> - -<p>These incidents had roused the old resentment in Wint, but they had hurt -him more than they had angered him. And the hurt persisted, while the -resentment died. He found excuses for his father. He blamed himself; and -he thought of ways of approaching the older man with some hope of -success, and discarded them one by one.</p> - -<p>Seeing Joan gave him new confidence in himself. She had let him come to -see her; his father could do no less. Wint had no illusions as to Joan. -He understood that she wanted to help him, wanted to be proud of him; -but he understood also that he was on probation. He had not proved -himself, in her eyes. That must come with time. They had talked frankly -enough together; but—they had merely shaken hands at parting. That was -all; that was all he had any right to expect. He could wait—and -work—for the rest.</p> - -<p>It was much that she had asked him to come to her. It meant that he was -no longer outcast in her eyes; and the realization of this gave him new -self-respect. It was this very self-respect that enabled him to humble -himself to his father. A man can be servile without being -self-respecting;<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_171" id="page_171">{171}</a></span> but self-respect and true humility are synonyms. Each -implies a true self-appraisal. Wint was a man, doing his work among men. -He was also his father’s son; and it was as a son that he went to his -father at last.</p> - -<p>He found the elder Chase at home one evening. He had made sure that his -father would be at home; but he was glad, when he got there, to find -that his mother had gone next door. His mother could not understand; and -no one else could talk much when she was about. Wint smiled when he -thought of her; then his lips steadied. There was need for talk between -his father and himself.</p> - -<p>His father came to the door; and when he saw Wint, he stared at him -coldly, and did not invite him to come in. Wint, with a sudden twinge of -sorrow, saw that his father had changed and grown older in these last -months. It seemed to Wint that his hair was thinner; there were new -lines in his face; and his old benevolent condescension toward the world -at large was gone. Wint said quietly:</p> - -<p>“I want to come in and talk with you if I may.”</p> - -<p>Chase hesitated, even then; but—he had been lonely as Wint had been -lonely. He stepped to one side and said: “Very well.” Wint went in, and -his father shut the door, and bade Wint come into the room off the hall -that served him as library, and office, and den. He did not tell Wint to -take off his coat, so Wint kept it on. Chase sat down at his desk, Wint -took a chair facing him. He did not know how to begin.</p> - -<p>Chase said: “Well, what is it you want?”</p> - -<p>Wint hesitated, then he smiled a little wistfully; and he said: “I want -to be—friends with you again.”</p> - -<p>His father abruptly looked away from him. Without looking at Wint, he -asked:</p> - -<p>“Why?”</p> - -<p>Wint’s right hand moved in a curious, appealing way. “Isn’t it natural -for a son to—want to be friends with his father, sir?” he suggested.</p> - -<p>Chase said harshly: “I told you, once, that I no longer counted you my -son.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_172" id="page_172">{172}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“Those things don’t go by what we want, sir,” Wint urged. “I—am your -son. And you’re my father.”</p> - -<p>“Have you acted as a son should?” Chase asked coldly.</p> - -<p>“No,” said Wint, without palliation of the finality of the word, and -Chase looked—and was surprised.</p> - -<p>“You’ve realized it, have you?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> - -<p>There was one thing Chase wanted to do; and it made him feel ridiculous -and ashamed of himself to want to do it. What he wanted to do was to -take Wint in his arms. And both of them grown men! He shook his head, as -though to brush this sentimental desire away. Foolishness! The young rip -had made a laughingstock out of him. Yet here he was, ready to give in -at a word.</p> - -<p>He said: “I suppose Amos sent you.”</p> - -<p>Wint bit his lips, and his face set faintly; but his voice was quiet -enough when he answered. “No, sir,” he said.</p> - -<p>“You tell Amos,” Chase exclaimed, “that you can’t pull his chestnuts out -of the fire for him. And he’ll be more anxious to get around me later on -than he is now. Tell him that for me.”</p> - -<p>Wint shook his head slowly. “Amos didn’t send me,” he said again.</p> - -<p>“Thought Amos told you everything to do?” his father asked. “Haven’t got -a mind of your own, have you?”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” Wint told him. “Yes, I think I have.”</p> - -<p>Chase considered, not looking at his son. He could not look at Wint and -still hold himself together. After a while he asked:</p> - -<p>“Well, what do you want? You haven’t told me what you want.”</p> - -<p>“I want to be friends.”</p> - -<p>Chase flung that aside with a swift gesture. “I mean, what do you want -to get out of me?”</p> - -<p>“Nothing.”</p> - -<p>His father got up, glared down at Wint angrily. “Don’t think I’m a fool, -Wint,” he said, in a rush of words. “You made me look like one, but I’m -not. You linked up with<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_173" id="page_173">{173}</a></span> Caretall to make a jackass out of me; you went -out of your way to shame me by your own shamelessness. I kicked you out -with your tail between your legs, as I should have done long before. Now -you come whining home again. Don’t try to tell me you’re not after -something. I know you are. If you don’t want to say what it is, don’t. -That’s your business. But don’t try to make me a fool.”</p> - -<p>Wint had sworn to keep his temper; and he did. But he got to his feet -with a swift, silent movement that startled his father. And when Chase -broke off, Wint said steadily:</p> - -<p>“I’ve told you the truth. It’s true I misbehaved—badly. You have a -right to be angry with me. It’s true I did not know Caretall planned to -stick me in over your head. You know that’s true. As far as the rest of -it goes ... I came here to-night just to tell you that I’m sorry -for—the things I did. And I want you to know I’m sorry. You’re my -father. I’d like to have the right to come to you for advice; and I’d -like to come to you for friendship, if nothing more. That’s all. I’ve -come.” He turned toward the door. “I’ve come, and I’ll go.”</p> - -<p>When Wint turned toward the door, his father’s heart leaped as though it -would choke him. He wanted to cry out to Wint not to go; he did cry out:</p> - -<p>“Wait!”</p> - -<p>Wint stopped and looked at him.</p> - -<p>“Haven’t you given me a right to think—to mistrust you?” the older man -challenged.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said Wint.</p> - -<p>“You’ve shamed me; and you’ve come near breaking your mother’s heart.”</p> - -<p>Wint found it hard to speak; and when he did speak, he said more than he -had meant to say. “I want to make amends, sir,” he told his father.</p> - -<p>“There are some hurts that can’t be mended,” said Chase inexorably.</p> - -<p>Wint nodded; his shoulders slumped a little, and he would have turned -again to the door. “I’ve said all I can say,” he explained, “so I guess -I’d better go.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_174" id="page_174">{174}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>Chase shook his head. “See here, Wint,” he said. “Listen.” There was not -yet friendliness in his voice; but there was a neutral quality that held -Wint. “Listen,” said Chase. “I’ve learned some things, too, Wint. It’s -only fair to say that I can see, now, I was a—bumptious father. And -I’ve not changed. I’m too old to change. Probably there were ways where -I wronged you. I don’t doubt it.”</p> - -<p>“No,” said Wint. “You were always decent to me.”</p> - -<p>“A father can be—decent to his son, without playing fair with him,” -said his father. “A father can—give things to his son, and at the same -time rob him of better things by the giving.”</p> - -<p>“You did your part, sir.”</p> - -<p>Chase hesitated, eyes on the floor. “I did my best for you, Wint,” he -said. “I think I always meant to do what was—best for you. Did you -always try to do what was best for me?”</p> - -<p>“No,” said Wint.</p> - -<p>“I don’t like our being at outs any better than you do,” Chase went on. -“It looks bad; and it’s hard on your mother—and on me. Perhaps on you, -too.”</p> - -<p>Wint said nothing. He was thinking that his father’s thinning hair and -lined face proved that the older man had—found it hard to be at outs -with his son. He was ready to go a long ways to make it up to Winthrop -Chase, Senior.</p> - -<p>His father said abruptly, as though summarizing what had gone before:</p> - -<p>“If you want to come home, Wint, I’ve no objection.”</p> - -<p>Wint had not thought of this possibility, and he said so. “I did not -come for that,” he told the older man. “I—just came to tell you, what I -have told you.”</p> - -<p>“I’m willing to accept what you say at face value,” said his father. “I -understand you’ve—kept sober. I understand you’re studying. I’m ready -to let you prove yourself.”</p> - -<p>Wint smiled with quick satisfaction. “That’s a good deal for you to -offer me, sir,” he said frankly.</p> - -<p>“If you want to come home, you can.”</p> - -<p>“I hadn’t thought of that till you spoke. I don’t know what to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_175" id="page_175">{175}</a></span>—”</p> - -<p>“Your mother would like to have you here,” said Chase huskily, “if you -care to come.” It was as near a plea as he could bring himself.</p> - -<p>Wint nodded with quick decision. “All right, sir,” he said. “I’d like to -come. I’ll bring my stuff to-morrow.”</p> - -<p>They shook hands abruptly, with a curt word that hid their feelings. -“Good night,” said Chase, and Wint said good night, and his father -closed the door behind him.</p> - -<p>Wint felt, while he walked back to Amos Caretall’s house, as though he -had been stripped of a load, had been cleansed, had been made whole. The -world had never looked so clean and bright to him before.</p> - -<p>A few minutes after he left his home, Mrs. Chase came back from the -neighbor’s. She saw at once that something had happened; there was a -change in her husband. He was flushed, and his eyes were shining. She -asked:</p> - -<p>“Why, what’s the matter with you? Has anything happened? Is there -anything wrong? You know, I said to-night, I told Mrs. Hullis, that I -just had a feeling something was going to happen. I told Mrs. Hullis I -just knew things were going to go wrong. Oh, it does look like we have -more trouble all the time.”</p> - -<p>“Wint is coming home, Margaret,” said her husband.</p> - -<p>Poor, garrulous mother! For once she was shocked dumb. Her eyes widened, -and she dabbed at them with her hand, as though a cobweb had stuck -across them. She turned white, and she seemed to shrink and grow old. -And she sat down slowly in the straight, uncomfortable chair she always -used, and put her worried old head down in her arms and cried.</p> - -<p>Chase touched her shoulder, awkwardly comforting her.</p> - -<p>“It’s all right, mother,” he said. “He’s coming home.”</p> - -<p>But Mrs. Chase didn’t say anything. She just sat there, quietly crying. -The tears wet through her sleeve till she felt them damp upon her arm.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_176" id="page_176">{176}</a></span></p> - -<h3><a name="CHAPTER_VI-c" id="CHAPTER_VI-c"></a>CHAPTER VI<br /><br /> -<small>A WORD AS TO HETTY</small></h3> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">P</span>ETER GERGUE wrote to Amos that Wint had gone home; and Amos got a -letter from Wint with the same news, the same day. Wint’s letter was -straightforward, a little embarrassed. “I want you to know,” he wrote, -“that my father and I have fixed things up. I am living at home again. -That doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate your kindness. But I thought I -ought to go home if they were willing to have me, and they were.”</p> - -<p>Peter wrote more at length. Gergue, uncouth to look upon and rude of -speech, was nevertheless an educated man, and a well-read man. There was -nothing bizarre about his letters. He wrote that Wint and his father had -come together. “From what I hear, Wint went home and told Chase he was -sorry, and so on,” Gergue continued. “I guess Chase took on some, at -that; but he came around. He’s wrapped up in Wint, you know, and always -was. This has been a good thing for him. He’s human now. He’s not such a -darned fool. Chase, I mean. If you don’t look out, Chase will give you a -run for your money yet.</p> - -<p>“Wint’s all right, too. Hasn’t touched a drop, far as I can find out, -since you left. He’s studying law with old Hoover, and working at the -job of being Mayor. Not setting the world on fire, either. Just the -routine. Town’s as wet as ever, and looks like it will go on being. I -guess Wint is worried for fear folks will laugh at him if he starts a -clean-up. Or maybe he doesn’t want to. Or maybe he hasn’t thought about -it.</p> - -<p>“He and Routt don’t run around together much. Jack’s been away. I wrote -you about that. He’s back now. Acts same as ever. Mary Dale told me he -was in to see old Kite<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_177" id="page_177">{177}</a></span> one day, and Kite went up in the air. She -couldn’t hear what they were saying. She thinks Jack is made and handed -down. Maybe he is. I wonder what he wanted to go and see old V. R. Kite -for?</p> - -<p>“Kite was sore at you, right after election. Some one told him you was -going to have Wint clean up the town. He made talk that he’d hang your -hide if you did. But he got over that. He’s lying quiet. Doing a good -business, too, I should say. There were seven drunks in Wint’s court -last week.</p> - -<p>“I asked Chase if he figured to run against you next fall. He said he -was out of active politics. Active, he said.</p> - -<p>“Guess you’ve seen about the new city government law. Means we’ll have -to vote for Mayor again, this fall, instead of a year from now. You -figure to run Wint? I guess he’d take it. I guess he’s just getting -rightly interested in the job.</p> - -<p>“See the session’s likely to end along in May. You figure to come home -then?”</p> - -<p>Amos read these letters, read Wint’s twice, and smiled at it; then -re-read Peter Gergue’s. That night at their hotel he told Agnes that -Wint had gone to his own home. “Guess you’d better go back and keep -Maria company,” he said.</p> - -<p>He half expected her to protest. Agnes seemed to be having a good time -in Washington; she was very gay and much abroad. Jack Routt had stopped -off for three or four days, during his absence from Hardiston, and she -and Jack had been constantly together while he was in town. Also, there -had been other amiable young men, before and after Jack. So Amos thought -Agnes was enjoying herself, and hesitated to suggest her going home. But -he made up his mind, before he spoke, that she should go. Amos never got -into an argument unless he intended to win. This habit had established -for him a certain reputation for infallibility.</p> - -<p>But—Agnes did not protest. “I’m glad,” she said. “I’m sick of this -stupid old place.”</p> - -<p>Amos, head on one side, squinted at her humorously. “Well, there are -some stupid things done here, anyways,” he agreed. “When’ll you put out -for Hardiston?”</p> - -<p>She planned to get some clothes. “I’ll be along in May,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_178" id="page_178">{178}</a></span>” Amos told her. -“Guess you and Maria can go it alone till then.”</p> - -<p>Agnes was sure they could.</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>In Hardiston, Wint’s home-going was a nine days’ wonder. People made -comments according to their own hearts. Some were glad, some were -amused, some were caustic. The only one to whom Wint offered any -explanation was old Maria Hale. The old negress loved him like a son; -she was sorry to see him go. There were tears in her eyes when she told -him so; they ran down her black cheeks, like drops of ink upon that -blackness. It is easy to speak openly of simple, human emotions to such -folks as old Maria. Wint said to her: “I want to go home to my father -and mother. And they want me. I’m going to make it up to them for some -of the things I’ve done.” He would not have said as much as that to any -other person in the world. But there was no sense of strangeness in -saying it to the old colored woman.</p> - -<p>She bobbed her withered head, and smiled through her tears, and cried:</p> - -<p>“Da’s right, Miste’ Wint. Yore mammy ’nd pappy shore got to be proud o’ -you, boy.”</p> - -<p>“I hope so, Maria,” he told her, and she patted his shoulder.</p> - -<p>“<span class="lftspc">’</span>Deed and dey will.”</p> - -<p>When he left the house, she came to the door and told him he must come, -now and then, and let her cook him a good supper; and he must come and -see her. She would be lonely, in that big house, without no white folks -around, she said. Wint promised to come; and she waved her blue gingham -apron after him as he went down the street.</p> - -<p>Muldoon was with him, scampering around him and about; and old Maria, -watching Wint and the dog, said to herself as they disappeared:</p> - -<p>“Shore will miss dat boy; but ol’ M’ria ain’t going to pester herself -about not seeing dat dog.”</p> - -<p>She objected to Muldoon because he shed hairs on the rugs. But she had -tolerated him for Wint’s sake. Muldoon thoroughly understood her -feelings; he used to sit with his head<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_179" id="page_179">{179}</a></span> on one side and bark at her -while she brushed up those tawny hairs and scolded at him. She declared -he was laughing at her. More than once, Wint had been forced to make -peace between them.</p> - -<p>Muldoon did not seem surprised that they were going home; he took it -quite as a matter of course. In fact, it is doubtful whether he noticed -the change at all. Home, to Muldoon, was where Wint was. For that is the -way of the dog.</p> - -<p>So Wint went home, and Hardiston talked it over. V. R. Kite was glad to -hear it. It meant, he decided, that Wint had shifted allegiance from -Amos to his father; and while Kite had always mistrusted the elder -Chase, he felt they had a common bond in their mutual antagonism toward -Amos. Kite, in the last few months, had conceived a new respect for -Winthrop Chase, Senior. “Chase,” he was accustomed to say, “is a man of -sense. Yes, sir; a man of sense.”</p> - -<p>Joan was glad; she found occasion to tell Wint so, simply and without -elaboration. Wint said awkwardly: “Yes, I’m glad too. I guess it’s -better.” And they never mentioned the change again. James T. Hollow, the -little man whom Caretall had put up for Mayor against Chase, resented -Wint’s move. “It’s desertion,” he told Peter Gergue. “He is deserting -Congressman Caretall; and after all the Congressman has done for him. -It’s not the right thing to do, Peter.”</p> - -<p>Gergue spat, and rummaged through his hair. “Can’t always do what’s -right,” he said.</p> - -<p>“I’m afraid Amos will resent this,” Hollow went on. Peter said he -shouldn’t wonder.</p> - -<p>“If he does object, guess he’ll know how to show it,” he remarked. And -Hollow agreed, and added admiringly that Amos always seemed to know just -the right thing to do.</p> - -<p>The <i>Hardiston Sun</i> and the <i>Journal</i> were both friendly to Winthrop -Chase, Senior; so Skinner and B. B. Beecham made no comment on Wint’s -change of residence. But the semi-weekly <i>Herald</i>, which was an outcast -with its hand against every man, politically speaking, said, under a -headline: “The Prodigal Returns,” that Wint, “whose break with the elder -Chase dates from the election, when Senior was made a laughing<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_180" id="page_180">{180}</a></span>stock -before the state, has returned to the parental rooftree. Please omit -fatted calves.”</p> - -<p>Sam O’Brien, the fat restaurant man, told Ned Bentley it was a good -thing. “Young Wint’s a fine lad,” he said. “And he’s on the right track. -Does no good, never, to break with your blood and kin.”</p> - -<p>Thus each took his own point of view. It was a poor citizen of Hardiston -who had nothing to say about the matter, except that those most -concerned had nothing to say at all.</p> - -<p>The actual home-coming was simple and undramatic. Wint sent his trunk -out during the day after his talk with his father. In the late afternoon -of that day, he happened to drop in at the Post Office for the late -mail, and met his father there. They greeted each other casually; and -Wint asked:</p> - -<p>“On your way home?”</p> - -<p>“I have to stop at the bakery.”</p> - -<p>“I’ll go along,” said Wint. And he did, while people stared with all -their eyes. Old Mrs. Mueller, the comfortable little woman who owned the -bakery, and who was always associated in Wint’s mind with the delicious -fragrance of newly baked bread, lifted both hands at sight of them -together, then dropped her hands abruptly and wiped them on her apron -and served them without a word. Before the door closed behind them, they -heard her, behind the screen in the rear of the shop, volubly telling -some one the news.</p> - -<p>Wint and his father walked home without speaking once upon the way. They -were both acutely embarrassed and uncomfortable. It was a relief to them -both when they got to the house and Mrs. Chase met them in the hall. -Chase dropped his hand on his son’s shoulder—the involuntary touch, -like a caress, brought the tears to Wint’s eyes—and he said:</p> - -<p>“Here’s Wint, mother.”</p> - -<p>So Wint took his mother in his arms, and she hugged him, hard. “I knew -you’d c-c-c-come home, Wint,” she told him, through her sobs. “I was -telling Mrs. Hullis, only the other day, that I’d—that I was just sure -you’d come home some<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_181" id="page_181">{181}</a></span>—”</p> - -<p>“I’ve come, mother,” said Wint.</p> - -<p>“I knew you’d come, too. I told father there wasn’t anything in you that -would—I told him you’d be sorry, that you’d come and tell him so. Your -father’s a good man, Wint. He’s tried to—”</p> - -<p>Chase broke in. People who wished to say anything to her always had to -break in on Mrs. Chase. He said: “Is supper ready, mother? Wint’s -hungry, and so am I.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, yes,” she said. “It’s all ready. Hetty’s made two big pies, Wint. -Apples, with cinnamon in them. Thick, the way you like them. Some of our -apples, from the big Sheep’s Nose tree in the back yard. They’ve kept -wonderful this winter. We haven’t lost hardly any; and they’re as -juicy—”</p> - -<p>“Lead me to ’em,” said Wint cheerfully. “Is Hetty a good cook?”</p> - -<p>“She’s fine,” his mother assured him. “Hetty’s a fine girl. I never had -a harder worker. She don’t seem right happy, sometimes; but she does her -work, and that’s all a body has a right to ask. She—”</p> - -<p>Hetty herself came to the dining-room door, then, and told them that -supper was ready. Wint said: “Hello, Hetty,” and shook hands with her. -She said:</p> - -<p>“Hello, Wint.” The old note of reckless courage and good nature was gone -from her voice; and when he saw her more clearly, in the lighted dining -room, he saw his mother was right. Hetty did not look happy. Her eyes -were tired; and there were shadows beneath them. Her face was thinner, -too. He thought she did not look well. During supper, while she waited -upon them, he told her so. “You’ve been working too hard, Hetty. You -don’t look like yourself.”</p> - -<p>She said, with a twisted smile, that she was all right. There was a -harsh note in her voice. It disturbed Wint; but he said no more. During -the succeeding days and weeks, he grew accustomed to her changed -appearance. He no longer thought of it.</p> - -<p>In mid-April, Jack Routt came out to the house one night to see Wint. -The visit seemed casual enough. He said he had thought he would drop in -for a smoke and a talk. He came<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_182" id="page_182">{182}</a></span> early, only a few minutes after supper, -and Hetty was clearing away the supper dishes. When she heard his voice -in the hall, she stood very still for a moment, looking that way. Wint -did not see her. Routt laid aside his hat, and then he saw Hetty, and he -called to her:</p> - -<p>“Hello, Hetty.”</p> - -<p>She said evenly: “Hello, Jack.”</p> - -<p>Then Routt and Wint went up to Wint’s room, and Hetty stood very still -where she was for a little time, before she went on with her work.</p> - -<p>Upstairs, Routt was saying: “I’d forgotten Hetty was working for you.”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said Wint.</p> - -<p>Routt lighted a cigarette. “She’s a beauty, isn’t she?”</p> - -<p>Wint nodded. “Not as pretty as she was in school. Remember what a -picture she used to be, hair in a braid, and those cream-red cheeks of -hers?”</p> - -<p>“Guess I do,” Routt agreed warmly. He looked at Wint and grinned. “Don’t -know that I’d want her living in the same house with me,” he said.</p> - -<p>“Why not?” Wint asked.</p> - -<p>“Damned bad for my peace of mind.”</p> - -<p>Wint flushed. He was a curiously clean, innocent chap in some ways. He -felt a little ashamed by the mere existence of the thought which had -prompted Routt’s covert suggestion. “I’m glad you dropped in, Jack,” he -said. “Good to see you here again. Like old times.”</p> - -<p>If he had been less busy with the work of his office, and with his -study, Wint might have thought more about Hetty during the next few -weeks. But—he didn’t. They saw each other daily, and once or twice he -realized that she was not as good-natured as she had been. There were -times when she was sullen.... For the most part, however, he did not -think of her at all.</p> - -<p>Now and then he had short letters from Amos. Dry, friendly letters, with -some impersonal advice sprinkled through them. In the third week in May, -Amos wrote that he would come home, arriving the Thursday following. -Wint was glad he was going<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_183" id="page_183">{183}</a></span> to see Amos again. He had gone to Amos’s -house once or twice for the suppers Maria loved to cook for him, but -when Agnes came home, he gave that up. Agnes bored him. She was too -vivacious. Joan was quieter, calmer, infinitely strengthening and -strong.... Jack Routt was seeing a good deal of Agnes, he knew. Routt -seemed no longer bent on the wooing of Joan, though he had told Wint, -months ago, that he meant to go in and win. Wint joked him, one day, -about this, and Routt said frankly:</p> - -<p>“You and she have made up. I’m not the sort of a chap that trespasses. -When I see I’ve no chance, I know how to make the best of things.”</p> - -<p>Wint thought that was straightforward and decent in Routt.</p> - -<p>Amos was to come home on the afternoon train, Thursday. Wednesday -evening, Wint spent at home. Chase and Wint’s mother went upstairs early -to bed, but Wint was busy with a case book from Hoover’s office, and -remained downstairs, the book open on the table, the lamp beside him.</p> - -<p>He did not realize that time was passing. Wint had a certain faculty for -concentration; and the dead quiet of the sleeping house allowed him to -enclose himself in the world of his thoughts. He heard nothing, saw -nothing, knew nothing but the matter he was reading. He did not hear the -clock strike midnight, and one o’clock.</p> - -<p>But in the end he did hear some one come up on the back porch. That -would be Hetty, coming home. He knew she had gone out for the evening. -Listening to her step, he wondered what time it was, and looked at the -clock and saw that it was within twenty minutes of two in the morning.</p> - -<p>“Great Scott!” he said, half aloud. “As late as that?” And then, -curiously, “What’s Hetty doing out this time of night?” He listened; and -he could hear no more footsteps, but he did catch the murmur of a man’s -voice. Indistinguishable.... Then Hetty’s in a harsh, mirthless laugh. -He got up abruptly and went out toward the kitchen. He could not have -told what impulse sent him.</p> - -<p>When he opened the door, Hetty was standing on the porch, facing him. -There was no one with her. Wint said:<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_184" id="page_184">{184}</a></span> “Alone, Hetty? Time you were -getting in.” He was good-natured.</p> - -<p>She looked at him, and he saw that she was flushed, and her eyes were -reddened, and her mouth was open. Her hair was a little dishevelled. She -looked at him, and laughed, and said loosely:</p> - -<p>“Oh, you Wint. Wint’s caught me. Joke on me.”</p> - -<p>He saw that she had been drinking, and he was inexpressibly sorry and -disturbed. Not that he was a stranger to drink; not that he frowned upon -it from high, moral grounds. But—Hetty had been so beautiful, and so -youthful, and so gay. She was so hideously soiled now. He was not -disgusted; he was infinitely sorry for her.</p> - -<p>Hetty laughed crackingly. “Poor ol’ Wint. ’Member when you came home so? -Hetty put Wint t’ bed. Now Wint’ll have to put Hetty to bed. Mus’n’t let -Chase know, Wint. He’s a moral man.”</p> - -<p>Wint said gently: “Of course not, Hetty.” He took her arm. “Come in.”</p> - -<p>She was unsteady on her feet; and it seemed hard for her to keep her -eyes open. He was afraid she would drop in a sodden slumber before he -could get her upstairs. This fear haunted him during the moments that -followed; it marked them in his memory. He was never going to be able to -forget this business of helping Hetty slowly up the back stairs, and up -to her third-floor room. It was only a matter of minutes; but they were -fearfully long. And he was afraid she would go to sleep; and he was -afraid she would laugh. Once he heard the laughter coming, in her -throat, in time to press his hand over her mouth; and he could never -forget the feeling of her loose, working lips beneath his hand. He was -sweating and sick.</p> - -<p>He got her to her room without turning on the lights. He got her to the -bed and she lay down and seemed instantly asleep. He started for the -door; and she called him back.</p> - -<p>“Shame, Wint,” she said mournfully. “Ain’t going to take off my shoes? I -took off your shoes, Wint. I took off your shoes.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_185" id="page_185">{185}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>She wore low shoes, little more than pumps. He thanked his fates for -that, while his fingers fumbled for the laces. A tug loosed the knots, -the slippers came off easily. Hetty was snoring before he was done, and -he left her so.</p> - -<p>He could hear her snoring, after he got out into the hall. It seemed to -him his father, asleep in the front of the house on the second floor, -must hear. He went down from the third floor to the second on tiptoe -with excruciating care. And on down the back stairs to put out the -lights, and put away his book, and come back up to his own bed.</p> - -<p>He could not sleep for a long time. He was obsessed by a strange and -persistent feeling of responsibility for Hetty. It was as though he felt -himself to blame for this thing that had come to her.</p> - -<p>Jack Routt would have laughed at such a state of mind; but it was very -real to Wint.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_186" id="page_186">{186}</a></span></p> - -<h3><a name="CHAPTER_VII-c" id="CHAPTER_VII-c"></a>CHAPTER VII<br /><br /> -<small>ORDERS FOR RADABAUGH</small></h3> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">W</span>INT had a talk with his father next morning; that is to say, the -morning of the day Amos was to come home. He told the elder Chase that -Amos was coming.</p> - -<p>Chase nodded. “I heard so,” he agreed.</p> - -<p>“I want you to understand my relations with him,” said Wint.</p> - -<p>There was a time when the older man would have said that a son of his -could have no relations with Amos Caretall. But Winthrop Chase, Senior, -had been learning wisdom, and a certain tolerance. Also, he had no wish -to lose Wint again. He told himself this was because Wint’s mother was -growing old, would miss him.</p> - -<p>“Well,” he said, “what are they?”</p> - -<p>Wint had been dreading what his father would say; he had been afraid of -anger, of abuse. He was immensely relieved at the older man’s tone.</p> - -<p>“Simply this,” he said. “He put me where I am. That was tough on you; -but I think it has been good for me. It’s a strange thing to have the -feeling that you can give men orders which they must obey; and that you -have a—a sort of control over them. Dad, do you realize that I have to -send men to jail every little while? It’s a pretty serious thing to send -a man to jail, when you know you ought to be in jail yourself, in a way. -I’ve done some thinking about it; so you see, it’s been good for me. It -never hurts a man to think.</p> - -<p>“The whole thing is, Amos has done me a good turn, sir. I can’t help -feeling grateful to him. Can’t help feeling he’s been a good friend to -me. And—I want to be friends with him. And I want you to know there’s -no disloyalty to you in this friendship.”</p> - -<p>Chase considered for a little; then he said quietly: “You<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_187" id="page_187">{187}</a></span> know, Amos -played false with me. Deceived me—deliberately. And tricked me.”</p> - -<p>“I know it,” said Wint. “It was politics; and in a way, it was dirty -politics. But—he’s been square with me.”</p> - -<p>“I’m not sure,” said Chase, “that the whole business has not turned out -pretty well, for you. For your sake, I’m not sorry.” His voice stirred -and quickened. “But by Heaven, Wint, Amos is no friend of mine! And some -day I mean to break him.”</p> - -<p>Wint said: “That’s all right. It’s a fair game between you. But I don’t -want you to think I’m taking sides with him.”</p> - -<p>“What are you going to do?” Chase asked.</p> - -<p>“I thought of meeting his train,” Wint told him. “And—he asked me to -have supper with them to-night, to talk things over. I thought I would.”</p> - -<p>“Suppose I tell you not to?”</p> - -<p>Wint said wistfully: “I hope you won’t, sir, because—I’m going to.”</p> - -<p>Chase nodded. “I suppose so,” he agreed. “Well, Wint—you’re a grown -man. I shall not try to treat you—like a boy. Not again. I’m leaving it -to you, Wint.”</p> - -<p>Wint said quickly: “I’m glad.” He got up and, without either’s -suggestion, they shook hands, and looked into each other’s eyes for a -moment.</p> - -<p>“All right,” said Chase. “I’ll tell your mother not to expect you for -supper.”</p> - -<p>“Try to make her understand, will you?”</p> - -<p>His father smiled. “Your mother doesn’t always understand,” he said. -“But—she loves you, Wint.”</p> - -<p>“I know....”</p> - -<p>He hesitated, wondering whether he should tell his father about Hetty. -She had been sullen, avoiding his eyes, when she served breakfast. His -father, or his mother, had a right to know.</p> - -<p>Yet Wint could not bring himself to tell them. There would be no charity -in them for the girl. And Wint had an infinite deal of tolerance for -her. Give her a chance. He would not tell them. Not yet, at least. It -could wait for a while.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_188" id="page_188">{188}</a></span></p> - -<p>He was conscious of a need to tell some one. Not for the sake of -betraying Hetty, but to find some balm for his own soul. That sense of -responsibility persisted; he could not analyze it, but he could not -shake it off. A strangely haunting feeling, this.... It troubled him -acutely. His thoughts dwelt on it all that day.</p> - -<p>There was a drunken man in the Mayor’s court that morning. An old man. -Wint knew him. He was that man who had embraced Wint in the office of -the Weaver House, on the morning after the election. The incident seemed -to have happened infinitely long ago; yet it was horribly vivid in -Wint’s memory still. The man had treated him like a boon companion, a -good, understanding comrade. He had assumed a fellowship between them; -the fellowship of drink. The shame of it was that his assumption had -been justified....</p> - -<p>The man reminded Wint of the incident, this day in court. He was -miserably sober when they brought him in, miserably sober, and trembling -to be drunk again. “Don’t be hard on a fellow, your Honor,” he pleaded -with Wint. “You know how it is. You remember. That day; day after you -was elected. You’re a good pal, Mayor, your Honor. Don’t go to be too -hard on a man.”</p> - -<p>He had been in court before; Wint had fined him, had sent him to jail. -The futility of these measures came home crushingly to Wint just now. -The man was not helped by them; he was as bad as ever. Worse, perhaps. A -revolt against this whole system of punishment boiled up in Wint. He -said, without considering:</p> - -<p>“All right. Try to let it alone. Get out.”</p> - -<p>Young Foster, the city solicitor, looked surprised and pained as though -Wint had insulted him. Marshal Jim Radabaugh grinned good-naturedly. The -man himself crowded up to Wint’s desk with his thanks, and poured them -out, and at last whispered humbly:</p> - -<p>“You haven’t got a dime to give a man, have you, Mayor, your Honor? I’m -shaking for a drink. You know how that is. Just a dime, your Honor.”</p> - -<p>Wint gave him a quarter, and Foster said: “Well, I’ll be<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_189" id="page_189">{189}</a></span> damned!” The -man went out, calling blessings on Wint’s head. Foster demanded: “What’s -the idea, anyway, Wint? He’s a common souse.”</p> - -<p>“I’m sick of sending him to jail,” said Wint hotly. “I’m not going to do -it any more. What good does it do?”</p> - -<p>“Keeps him sober, anyway. You as good as told him to go and get drunk -again.”</p> - -<p>“Well, let him,” said Wint. “What else is there for him to do?”</p> - -<p>“Go to work.”</p> - -<p>“He looks fit for work, doesn’t he?”</p> - -<p>“Whose fault is that?”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said Wint, “whose fault is it? Whose fault that he is what he is? -Whose fault that he can buy a drink in a dry town? Whose fault is it, -Foster, anyway?”</p> - -<p>Foster laughed. “Well, what’s the answer?”</p> - -<p>Wint leaned back in his chair, eyes down, considering. He was thinking -of Hetty; he could not help it. And the end of his thinking was this. He -looked at Marshal Jim Radabaugh, and said evenly:</p> - -<p>“Mister marshal, don’t arrest any more men in Hardiston for being drunk -unless they—commit other crimes.” There was a bite in the last word.</p> - -<p>But Jim Radabaugh only grinned and said: “All right, you’re boss.”</p> - -<p>Foster started to protest. Wint asked: “Any more cases?”</p> - -<p>“No. But damn it all, Wint! Listen—”</p> - -<p>“I don’t want to listen,” Wint told him. “I’m through. Court’s -adjourned. Don’t—”</p> - -<p>“You’re turning the town over to the bums,” Foster protested.</p> - -<p>“They can’t run it any worse,” said Wint, and took his hat and departed. -Foster swore. Marshal Jim Radabaugh strolled up to the Bazaar to tell V. -R. Kite this interesting news.</p> - -<p>Wint met Amos at the train, and Amos shook him by the hand and looked -him in the eye and nodded with good-natured approval. “Coming home for -supper?” he asked.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_190" id="page_190">{190}</a></span></p> - -<p>“Surely. I wouldn’t miss Maria’s supper.”</p> - -<p>“You might say you wouldn’t miss us, too,” Agnes reminded him, clinging -to her father’s arm. “Mightn’t he, dad?”</p> - -<p>“Say it, Wint,” Amos suggested. “Only way to have peace in the family.”</p> - -<p>So they let Agnes have her way, and she made the most of it. Peter -Gergue came for supper, too; and Agnes sat at one end of the table, -presiding over the coffee urn with a pretty assumption of the rôle of -matron. She did most of the talking. The men were too busy with Maria’s -fried chicken. But afterward, when they were done, Amos and Peter and -Wint went into the sitting room, and Agnes said she wasn’t going to sit -and listen to them talk politics. She was going to the moving-picture -show. Amos told her to run along. He and Peter shaved their plugs of -tobacco, and crumbled the slices, and filled their pipes; and Wint -grinned at the exactness with which Peter copied Amos’s procedure. He -had filled his own pipe in more conventional fashion, from his pouch, -and was smoking while they were still rubbing the sliced tobacco between -their palms.</p> - -<p>When the pipes were all going, Amos, as was his custom, sat in silence, -waiting for some one else to speak first. Wint imitated him. And Gergue, -who did not like silences, said at last:</p> - -<p>“Well, Amos, you’re home.”</p> - -<p>“Looks that way,” Amos agreed.</p> - -<p>“Hardiston ain’t changed.”</p> - -<p>“No, Hardiston don’t change.”</p> - -<p>“Same old town.”</p> - -<p>“Yeah, same old town.”</p> - -<p>Silence settled down upon them again. Wint was thinking of Hetty. She -had been in his mind all day; she and the miserable man who had faced -him in the court that morning. They were somehow linked in his thoughts; -linked in a fashion that accused him. Accused him, Wint Chase, of -responsibility for them. He groped for understanding, trying to guess -why this was so.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_191" id="page_191">{191}</a></span></p> - -<p>Amos, abruptly, looked at Peter Gergue. “Pete,” he said, “I want to talk -to Wint.”</p> - -<p>Peter got up instantly. “Why, sure, Amos,” he agreed. “I got to see some -men, anyways.”</p> - -<p>“Be in your office in the morning?” Amos asked.</p> - -<p>“Guess likely.”</p> - -<p>“I’ll drop in.”</p> - -<p>Peter nodded, and Amos went with him to the door. When he came back, -Wint was still sitting, nursing his pipe. Amos looked at him, sat down, -looked at Wint again; and at last asked:</p> - -<p>“We-ell, Wint, how’s tricks?”</p> - -<p>Wint said, after a little consideration, that he guessed tricks were all -right.</p> - -<p>“Like being Mayor?”</p> - -<p>“It’s—sobering,” Wint told him. “It’s a good deal of a job. For me.”</p> - -<p>“Tell you,” said Amos. “Any job’s a good deal of a job; if a man takes -it serious.”</p> - -<p>Wint laughed. “Shouldn’t wonder if I took this too seriously,” he said.</p> - -<p>“Can’t be done,” Amos reassured him. “Any man that has to look out for -other men has a serious job.”</p> - -<p>Wint said nothing to that. He was wondering if it were a part of his job -to look out for Hetty, and that drunken man of the court.</p> - -<p>“That’s what being Mayor amounts to,” Amos remarked. “Found it so, -haven’t you?”</p> - -<p>Wint stirred in his chair. “Amos,” he said, “a thing happened last -night. I feel like telling you about it. Don’t need to ask you not to -pass it on.”</p> - -<p>Amos tilted his head on one side, squinting at Wint wisely. “That’s all -right,” he said. “Tell on.”</p> - -<p>The permission relieved Wint immensely; he felt as though he had been -loosed from bondage. He told, in a swift rush of words, the story of -Hetty. How she had come home last night. He went on, told about the man -in court that day. He<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_192" id="page_192">{192}</a></span> told Amos what had happened, what he had done, -the order he had given Radabaugh.</p> - -<p>Amos looked at him curiously. “Told Jim that, did you?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“What did Foster say?”</p> - -<p>Wint grinned. “Said he’d be damned.”</p> - -<p>“I reckon not,” Amos decided, after a moment’s thought. “He won’t be. -He’s all right.”</p> - -<p>“He thought I was foolish. I suppose I was.”</p> - -<p>Amos said slowly: “Depends on why you did it, Wint. Depends on what was -in your mind.”</p> - -<p>That set Wint thinking again, trying to decide just what had been in his -mind. Amos smoked steadily, not looking at Wint at all. At last he said -again:</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir, Wint. Depends what was in your mind.”</p> - -<p>Wint assented thoughtfully. “I suppose so,” he said.</p> - -<p>Amos tried waiting in silence for him to go on; but Wint was busy -thinking; he beat Amos at his own game without knowing it. He drove -Caretall to ask:</p> - -<p>“What was in your mind, Wint?”</p> - -<p>The boy groped for words; he flushed uneasily, as though afraid of being -laughed at. “Well,” he said, “I had a fool sort of a feeling that I was -to blame.”</p> - -<p>Amos nodded slowly. “Well,” he said, “that’s what I meant—in a -way—when I said you had a job that meant taking care of folks. Hetty, -and that old rip—they’re folks, like any one else, like as not.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, they are,” Wint agreed.</p> - -<p>“Taking care of them; that’s your job, Wint. Maybe that just means -fining them, and sending them to jail.”</p> - -<p>“I tell you I won’t do that again,” Wint exclaimed. “I told you the -order I gave Jim Radabaugh.”</p> - -<p>“We-ell,” said Amos slowly. “That’s all right. Far as it goes. Might go -farther.”</p> - -<p>“Farther? How?” Wint demanded. “What can I do?”</p> - -<p>“I hadn’t anything pa’ticular in mind,” Amos said carelessly. “Hadn’t a -thing in mind.” He looked at Wint side<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_193" id="page_193">{193}</a></span>wise. Wint’s face was white with -the intensity of his thought. Amos said slowly: “Looks like a shame to -have drunk folks around in as pretty a town as Hardiston.”</p> - -<p>“A shame?” Wint cried. “It’s damnable.”</p> - -<p>“Guess most folks don’t like it,” Amos reminded him. “Town voted dry. -Guess that shows most folks wanted it to be dry, don’t it?”</p> - -<p>“I suppose it does,” Wint agreed. Amos looked at him; and Wint moved -abruptly in his chair, and his eyes began to flame. The puzzle cleared; -he began to understand. He began to understand himself, his own -thoughts, his feeling that he was to blame for—Hetty. He began to -understand, and his lips set. He said, half aloud: “By God, it means a -fight! A hell of a fight in Hardiston.”</p> - -<p>“Fight?” Amos asked casually, as though he were thinking of something -else. “I like a fight, I’d like to see a good one.” And he added, after -a moment: “I might take a hand; if it weren’t a private fight, or -something.”</p> - -<p>Wint sat forward in his chair, looked around the room. “Where’s the -telephone?” he asked.</p> - -<p>“Telephone?” said Amos. “Why, in the hall.”</p> - -<p>Wint got up and went swiftly out into the hall. Amos listened; and he -smiled, with a twinkling anticipation in his eyes. He heard Wint ask the -operator to locate Jim Radabaugh and get him on the ’phone. Then Wint -came back and stood in the doorway, waiting while she signaled for the -marshal with the red light that was set on a pole in the heart of the -town. Amos did not turn around to look at Wint. Wint did not move.</p> - -<p>After a while, the ’phone rang twice. “That’s us,” said Amos, still -without turning. “Our ring is two.”</p> - -<p>Wint went to the ’phone. Radabaugh, at the other end, said: “This is the -marshal. Who’s talking?”</p> - -<p>“Wint. Mayor Chase.”</p> - -<p>“Oh! All right, Mister Mayor. What’s on your mind?”</p> - -<p>Wint said evenly: “I’ve instructions for you. If you are willing to -carry them out, all right. If not, resign, and I’ll fill your place -to-morrow.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_194" id="page_194">{194}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“You’re the boss,” said Radabaugh amiably. “I do what you say.”</p> - -<p>“Either do what I say or resign,” said Wint again. “I want you to get -busy and break up the liquor business in Hardiston.”</p> - -<p>There was a long silence, and Wint heard the marshal whistle softly -under his breath. Then Radabaugh asked:</p> - -<p>“In earnest?”</p> - -<p>“Absolutely. I want the town cleaned up. I want it bone dry. Will you -take the job? Or quit?”</p> - -<p>“Why,” said Radabaugh, “I’ll just naturally take the job. I’ve been -a-wishing I had something to do.”</p> - -<p>Wint spoke a word or two more, hung up, and came back to Amos. He sat -down without speaking. After a little, Amos asked, looking at Wint -sidewise:</p> - -<p>“Going through with it?”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said Wint. There was more resolution in the simple word than -there would have been in lengthier protestations.</p> - -<p>“We-ell, all I can say,” Amos drawled, “is that this here is going to -make an awful difference to V. R. Kite.”</p> - -<p>It did: a difference to Kite, and to Wint’s father, and to Jack Routt; -and a difference to Wint himself. A difference to Hardiston, too.</p> - -<p>When Wint went home, at ten o’clock, the word was already humming around -the town.</p> - -<p class="fint">END OF BOOK THREE<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_195" id="page_195">{195}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="BOOK_IV" id="BOOK_IV"></a>BOOK IV<br /><br /> -<small>LINE OF BATTLE</small></h2> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_196" id="page_196">{196}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_197" id="page_197">{197}</a></span> </p> - -<h3><a name="CHAPTER_I-d" id="CHAPTER_I-d"></a>CHAPTER I<br /><br /> -<small>MARSHAL JIM RADABAUGH</small></h3> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">J</span>IM RADABAUGH, the city marshal, that is to say, the chief of police, -was a man not without honor in Hardiston. A good fellow, and a cool, -brave officer. That he was a good fellow, every one who knew him could -attest. He had no enemies. It was a pleasure to be arrested by him. -There was an equable good nature in the man, and a drawling humor in the -very tones of his voice which inspired good nature and good humor in -return. He was a lean man, lazily erect, as though it were too much -trouble to be stoop-shouldered. Black hair, black eyes.... A chronic -bulge in his cheek that housed the wad of tobacco which he kept there. -An intimate acquaintance with the intricacies of big-league baseball as -set forth in the public prints; a repository of racing lore; a good pool -player and a redoubtable hand at poker. All in all, a good man to keep -the peace according to his lights.</p> - -<p>People said he was easy-going, but every one knew he was no slacker of -duty or of obligation. Three years back—that was before they elected -him marshal—he had been under fire for the first time. It was on the -interurban street-car line that ran from Hardiston “up the crick.” -Radabaugh sat in the front of the car, facing the rear; and a man in the -middle of the car ran amuck with a revolver, shooting wildly. He killed -one man, wounded another, in the seconds it took Radabaugh to charge -down the aisle and overwhelm him. The conductor of the car, at the -moment, was hiding under a rear seat; and the motorman had jammed off -his power and jumped overboard, into a ditch that had more water in it -than he had counted on. Radabaugh knocked the man over with a cuff of -his fist, and pinned him, and took his gun away.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_198" id="page_198">{198}</a></span></p><p>His friends told him he ought to run for office after that. He said he -didn’t mind. His business was not an exacting one. He and his brother -were tailors, and his brother could handle the bulk of their work -anyway. So Jim ran for marshal, and was elected. Thereafter, when he was -not occupied with his official duties, he used to drop in at the tailor -shop to help things along there. It was no sight for timid customers, -trying on their new suits while Jim’s brother chalked them in mysterious -places, to see Jim come in and go to work. He always came in casually, -spat in the appointed direction, then produced from one pocket and -another his gun, his handcuffs, and his club. He was accustomed to lay -these on one of the bolts of cloth which stocked the shelves, then seat -himself cross-legged on the table, with a little cloth apron on his -knees, and pick up the first task that came to hand.</p> - -<p>His duties as marshal were not pressing, for Hardiston folk commit few -crimes, and usually commit those away from home. When he was wanted -during the day, the telephone operator called the shop. If she wanted to -locate him after dusk, she flashed a signal light which called him to -the telephone. For the most part, his time was his own.</p> - -<p>And this is not to say that Jim Radabaugh had nothing to do. There was -the case, for example, of the darky who was wanted for burglary in one -of the cities in the southern part of the state. Jim got word that he -was drinking in a hovel down by the creek, with two other men. So he -went down there and strolled in and told the man he was wanted. Jim’s -hands, at the moment, were in his coat pockets. The darky pulled a -revolver, jammed it against Jim’s breast, and pulled the trigger. -Nothing happened; that is to say, nothing happened to Jim. The darky’s -gun did not explode, but Jim’s did. It burned a hole in his pocket, and -it bored a hole in the darky, neatly amidships, in such fashion that -there was no further occasion to trouble with that man. His body, laid -open with two slashes of the coroner’s knife that intersected on the -bullet hole, was on view for a day or two in the undertaker’s back room; -and small boys went in to see it. They thought Jim Radabaugh was rather -more than mortal, after that.</p> - -<p>As a matter of fact, it had been a narrow squeak for Jim, as<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_199" id="page_199">{199}</a></span> an -examination of the darky’s weapon proved. That unfortunate man had -apparently been unable to buy revolver ammunition, so he had bought -rifle cartridges of the desired caliber and whittled off the bullets to -make them fit into the cylinder of the revolver. Perhaps he had hurried -with this bit of preparation; at any rate, he left one of the bullets -too long, and when he pulled the trigger, the bullet caught and -prevented the cylinder from turning. Which undoubtedly saved Jim -Radabaugh’s life.</p> - -<p>People agreed that was a good thing; for Jim was a good fellow. Wint’s -orders to clean up the town interested him. They meant some measure of -excitement, and he liked excitement. He told two or three people, that -night, and they spread the news. But Jim took no official step till next -day. Then he set out to serve notice on those most concerned.</p> - -<p>One of these people most concerned was a man named Lutcher. His place of -business was on the second floor of a building that fronted on one of -the alleys in the heart of town. You climbed an outside stair from the -alley to Lutcher’s door. Wint and Jack Routt went there, that night of -Amos Caretall’s first home-coming, from their interrupted billiard game. -Lutcher’s place was perhaps the best in town; that is to say, the -surroundings were least sordid, and the wares he sold most meritorious. -He was financed, of course, by Kite.</p> - -<p>Radabaugh went there first. He had been there before, in his personal -capacity. He had no scruples about such visits. Lutcher was a -lawbreaker, of course; but the lawbreaking was tacitly accepted. There -had been no orders against it. And Jim Radabaugh had no objection to a -drink now and then. So he climbed the stairs from the alley to Lutcher’s -door, and knocked, and Lutcher opened the door and admitted him. This -Lutcher was not a bad fellow, say what you will of his business. A big, -bald man with a husky, whispering voice, and a habit of appearing in his -shirt sleeves. He wore rather attractive silk shirts, chosen with no -mean taste; and his vests were often remarked. Also, he smoked good -cigars, instead of the well-nigh universal stogie of Hardiston; and he -gave these cigars freely to his regular customers.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_200" id="page_200">{200}</a></span></p> - -<p>Lutcher had not heard the news, the night before. So he greeted Marshal -Radabaugh good-naturedly, and told him it was pretty early in the day -for a drink, and that he would lose his reputation if he came here by -daylight in this fashion. Jim laughed at that, and asked cheerfully -whether Lutcher had a good stock on hand.</p> - -<p>“Ice chest full, and a sawdust bin packed with bottles,” Lutcher told -him. “What’s yours? The same.”</p> - -<p>“Any reserve supply?” Radabaugh asked. Lutcher said there was no -reserve; that he was expecting a shipment in a day or two. Radabaugh -nodded.</p> - -<p>“Got bad news for you, Lutch,” he said.</p> - -<p>Lutcher beamed. He was always an amiable man. “Can’t make me feel bad, -Jim,” he said. “Shoot the wad.”</p> - -<p>“Going to close you up,” said Radabaugh.</p> - -<p>Lutcher laughed. “Fat chance, I guess. What’re you trying to do? Work me -for a snifter. All right. Say the word.”</p> - -<p>“Straight goods,” Radabaugh assured him. “Mayor’s orders.”</p> - -<p>“Wint’s orders? That’s a hot one.” Lutcher chuckled, his gay vest -heaving with his mirth. “Why, Wint’s one of my regular customers.”</p> - -<p>“Ain’t been in lately, has he?” Radabaugh suggested.</p> - -<p>“No, not just lately. It wouldn’t look right.”</p> - -<p>Radabaugh nodded. “He’s in earnest, I’d say,” he told Lutcher. “Anyway, -I do what he says. He didn’t say anything about confiscating the stuff, -or destroying it. Said to stop the sale. So I’ve got to seal you up, -Lutch.”</p> - -<p>Lutcher had been losing some of his amiability. He told Radabaugh so. -“I’m a good-natured man,” he said. “But this is no joke.”</p> - -<p>“No,” said Jim. “It’s no joke. Where’s your ice box?”</p> - -<p>“What in time do you think you’re going to do?”</p> - -<p>“Put a seal on it, and on that bin of yours. And drop in and look at the -seals every day or two. And I’ll take charge of shipments that come in, -unless you cancel them. If you bust the seals, I’ll have to take you -into court, and Wint will soak you.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_201" id="page_201">{201}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“You’ve got a Chinaman’s chance,” Lutcher told him scornfully. “Why, -I’ve given that pup his pap for two years. I’m not going to stand for -this. Not for a minute. You tell him so.”</p> - -<p>“If you’d rather have it so,” Jim said mildly, “I’ll pour it all out of -the window, right now.” He said this mildly, but Lutcher knew Jim’s -mildness was apt to be deceptive. In the end, he surrendered to the -inevitable, because it was the inevitable. Jim placed his seals, and -strolled away. Lutcher boiled out after him and hurried off to see V. R. -Kite.</p> - -<p>The marshal bent his steps toward the Weaver House, that infamous -hostelry where Wint had spent the night of his election, and where he -had been found next day. Radabaugh knew Mrs. Moody, the presiding genius -of that place, as well as he knew Lutcher. He had always made it his -business to know such folk. But Mrs. Moody did not receive him with the -good nature Lutcher had shown. She had heard some rumors of what was to -come.</p> - -<p>The sunken office of the old hotel was little changed, when the marshal -strolled in, since that night of Wint’s election. The light of day, -fighting its way through the dingy windows, served only to make the -interior more squalid. The same old men played their interminable game -of checkers on the table in the corner. The miserable dog that bore -Marshal Jim Radabaugh’s name sprawled beneath the table, its bony legs -clattering on the floor when the creature stirred in its sleep. The boy, -that boy who had been so painfully reading the literature of brewing on -the night of the election, was not to be seen. It is to be hoped that he -was out about some wholesome play. Radabaugh had a suspicion, founded on -experience, that the boy was not in school. He never was. Mrs. Moody sat -behind the high, bar-like counter. When Radabaugh came in, she got up -with a quick, deadly movement like the stir of a coiling snake; and she -smiled at the marshal with those hideously beautiful false teeth -gleaming in her aged and distorted countenance.</p> - -<p>“Why, good morning, deary,” she said, terribly amiable. “I don’t often -see you down here any more.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_202" id="page_202">{202}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“Morning, Mrs. Moody,” said Jim. And stalked past the counter toward the -door that led to that back room which overhung the creek. Mrs. Moody -bustled after him and caught his arm at the door.</p> - -<p>“Where you a-going, Jim Radabaugh?” she demanded. “You say what you -want, and say it here.”</p> - -<p>Radabaugh shook his head. He knew such measures as he had used with -Lutcher would not serve with Mrs. Moody. The patrons of the Weaver House -had little respect for such flimsy things as seals. He knew, also, that -there was no possibility of relying upon the word of Mrs. Moody. Many -women, especially such women as she, have the attitude toward promises -that the Kaiser had toward treaties. They consider them interesting only -when broken. Radabaugh meant to destroy her stock of liquor; and he told -her so.</p> - -<p>Then she began to scream at him. The old men at the checkerboard brushed -at their ears as though her screaming were a swarm of flies, harassing -them. Jim pushed her to one side and went through to the back room. When -he set about his business there, she attacked him with a billet of wood; -and Jim subdued the old warrior as gently as might be, and told her to -mind what she did. So she began to weep and wail and scream -hysterically; and Jim emptied bottles through the trap-door into the -creek, knocking off the neck of each bottle so that there might be no -survivors. All the while, Mrs. Moody wailed behind him.</p> - -<p>When it was done, he turned to her, brushing his hands. “Orders are, no -more selling, ma’am,” he said gently. “If you start up again, I’ll have -to take you in.”</p> - -<p>She was trying to placate him now. “Whose orders, deary?” she wheedled. -“Who’s doing this to old Mother Moody, anyhow?”</p> - -<p>“Mayor,” Jim told her; and she wailed:</p> - -<p>“Wint Chase. Little Wint that I’ve put to bed here amany a time. He’d -never go and do this, now. Who was it? Honest.”</p> - -<p>“Mayor,” Jim repeated. “Straight goods. Hardiston has gone dry. This is -serious, too. Don’t you go to start<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_203" id="page_203">{203}</a></span> anything, ma’am. Because I always -did hate to arrest a lady.”</p> - -<p>“You’ll just have to—you might just as well take me right off to the -poor farm, Jim Radabaugh. I’m not making ends meet, even right now.” Her -withered old hands covered her face, and she rocked and wailed: “Eh, -poor old Mother Moody! Poor old Mother Moody! You wouldn’t take me in if -I sold just a little bit, would you, now?”</p> - -<p>He said he would; and when she saw he meant it, she dropped her attempts -to conciliate him; and she cursed him through the corridor and through -the office; and she stood in the door of her hostelry and cursed him as -long as he could hear, so that even Jim Radabaugh’s hardened ears turned -red and burned with shame. It takes a brave man to face without inward -shrinking the revilements of a thoroughly angry woman. Jim was glad to -be rid of her.</p> - -<p>He stopped, on the way back uptown, to warn a fly-by-nighter who ran a -lunch cart near the station and served stronger drinks than coffee. This -man denied any interest in Jim’s warning; and the marshal could find no -liquor about the cart. Nevertheless he served notice, and made a mental -memorandum to see to it that the notice was obeyed.</p> - -<p>Remained only V. R. Kite. Radabaugh grinned as he thought of Kite. Kite -would take this matter hard; and when V. R. Kite took a thing hard, the -sight was worth seeing.</p> - -<p>But Kite was not in the Bazaar when he got there, so Jim strolled back -up street and dropped in on B. B. Beecham. The editor greeted him as -courteously as he greeted every one. “Good morning,” he said. “Have a -chair. Anything I can do for you?”</p> - -<p>Radabaugh spat into the stove. “No,” he said, readjusting the bulge in -his cheek. “Just dropped in. Waiting to see Kite.”</p> - -<p>B. B. nodded. “Anything new with you?” he asked, for everybody was a -source of news to B. B. Beecham. That was why the <i>Journal</i> was popular.</p> - -<p>“We-ell, I have got a sort of an item for you,” Jim told him. “Might be -worth printing, maybe.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_204" id="page_204">{204}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>B. B. asked what it was; and Jim told him. “Wint’s give orders that the -town’s going dry.”</p> - -<p>B. B. said: “H’m! Is that so?” And Jim said it was so.</p> - -<p>“Guess that’ll be an item folks will read,” he remarked.</p> - -<p>The editor shook his head. “We don’t feel we can print such things,” he -said. “You see, it’s bad for Hardiston, outside. Legally, the town is -already dry.”</p> - -<p>“I never did have much of any use for laws,” Jim drawled.</p> - -<p>“I suppose this means some work for you.”</p> - -<p>“Can’t say. Don’t think so. There won’t be much of it done, except a -little, on the sly. Not after the word I’ve passed around.”</p> - -<p>“Well, it won’t do Hardiston any harm. Even as things are, they are -better than they used to be. I can remember thirteen saloons here at one -time. How many have there been, under cover?”</p> - -<p>“Three-four, regular,” Jim told him.</p> - -<p>“Very few people will really miss them,” B. B. said. “People do so many -things, just because they’re in the habit, and the things are waiting to -be done. It’s surprising how much a man can give up without realizing -that he’s giving up anything. I don’t suppose you ever thought of that.”</p> - -<p>“Can’t say I ever did,” said Jim, and spat into the stove.</p> - -<p>“Like the horse in the story. You’ve heard about the horse?”</p> - -<p>“What horse?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, you haven’t heard it? The horse that was trained to live without -eating.”</p> - -<p>Jim looked mildly interested. “I’ll say that was some horse,” he -remarked. “What happened to him?”</p> - -<p>“Why, just as the man got him trained, the horse died,” said B. B.; and -Jim chuckled, and B. B. laughed in the silently uproarious way habitual -to him. Then Jim saw V. R. Kite pass by on the way to the Bazaar and got -up quickly.</p> - -<p>“There’s Kite,” he said. “See you later.”</p> - -<p>He overtook the little man just inside the Bazaar; and Kite heard his -step and turned and looked at him, and Jim saw that Kite knew. But he -only said:<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_205" id="page_205">{205}</a></span></p> - -<p>“Hello, Kite. Want to talk to you a minute.”</p> - -<p>“Come back to my desk,” said Kite, and led the way, walking stiffly, -head high, ever so much like a turkey. Jim marked this peculiarity to -himself.</p> - -<p>“Exactly like a man looking over a high fence,” he thought. “I’ll -declare, it is.”</p> - -<p>Kite sat down, tugged at his side whiskers, and bade Jim speak. The -marshal looked for a place to spit, saw none, swallowed hard, and said:</p> - -<p>“Guess you’ve heard the orders.”</p> - -<p>“What orders?” Kite asked harshly. But his face was livid, and the veins -stood out on his forehead with his effort at self-control.</p> - -<p>“Mayor calls me up last night and tells me to stop whisky selling. -Hardiston’s gone dry.”</p> - -<p>“What has that to do with me?” Kite demanded.</p> - -<p>The marshal did not grin. If Kite wanted to act that way, all right. It -was the little man’s privilege. After all, he was outwardly respectable -enough, a pillar of the church, and all that.</p> - -<p>“Thought you might be interested,” said Jim.</p> - -<p>“I am,” said Kite. “I believe in the free sale of liquor. Every man must -have an opinion, one way or the other.”</p> - -<p>Jim considered that. Then he got up. “Well,” he said, “I’ve passed the -word around. Don’t know any one that’s planning to keep on selling, do -you?”</p> - -<p>“No, of course not.”</p> - -<p>“Because if you do,” said Jim slowly, “tell ’em not to do it. Because if -there’s any turns up, any selling, I’m going to come and ask you about -it, Kite.”</p> - -<p>Kite boiled up out of his chair and waved his fist. “Get out of here, -you rat!” he raged, holding his voice to a monotonous whisper that was -more deadly than an outcry would have been. “Get out of here, before -I....”</p> - -<p>“Before you what?” Jim asked; and Kite checked himself, and pulled at -his side whiskers, and sat down abruptly, staring at the desk before -him.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_206" id="page_206">{206}</a></span></p> - -<p>Jim left him there. As he emerged into the street, he began to whistle. -The whistle was ragged, but the tune could be identified. Jim was -whistling:</p> - -<p>“<span class="lftspc">‘</span>There’ll be a Hot Time in the Old Town To-night.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_207" id="page_207">{207}</a></span>’<span class="lftspc">”</span></p> - -<h3><a name="CHAPTER_II-d" id="CHAPTER_II-d"></a>CHAPTER II<br /><br /> -<small>THE BREWING STORM</small></h3> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">W</span>INT lay awake for a while, the night after he had given his orders to -Radabaugh. He had many things to occupy his thoughts. There was in him -none of the elation which might have been expected; he had no zest for -the fight that was ahead of him. He was, rather, depressed and doubtful -of the wisdom of what he had done, and doubtful of his own strength and -determination to carry it through. He was acutely aware that a great -many people would say: “Well, Wint’s got a nerve. A fish like him, -trying to make Hardiston dry. I’ll bet he’s got a cellar full.” They -would say this, and they would have a right to say it. Wint thought, -miserably enough, that he had been foolish to start trouble. He might -better have let well enough alone.</p> - -<p>The boy’s stubbornness had played him false more than once in the past; -this time it was to do him a good turn. A less stubborn person would -have backed down, under the weight of these misgivings; would have -canceled the orders given Radabaugh, and let matters slide along as they -had slid in the past. But Wint, though he dreaded the ridicule that -would follow what he had done, felt himself committed. They would laugh! -Well, let them laugh! His jaw set; he swore to go on at any cost. On -this determination, he slept at last.</p> - -<p>In spite of his wakefulness, Wint was first downstairs in the morning. -Hetty, sweeping out the sitting room, encountered him. He had not seen -her the day before, except when his father and mother were about. Then -she had avoided his eye. Now she looked at him sullenly, and said:</p> - -<p>“Much obliged for getting me to bed, Wint.”</p> - -<p>“That’s all right, Hetty. I remember you did as much for me.”</p> - -<p>She laughed harshly and defiantly. “Sure I did.” Her<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_208" id="page_208">{208}</a></span> eyes were watchful -and on guard. Wint guessed that she expected him to reproach her, to -warn her, to bid her mend her ways. But he did nothing of the kind.</p> - -<p>“Forget it,” he said. “It wasn’t anything.”</p> - -<p>Something wistful crept into her eyes, as though she would have said -more. But Mrs. Chase came downstairs, and Hetty went on with her work, -while Mrs. Chase volubly directed her.</p> - -<p>After breakfast, Wint and his father walked downtown together. The elder -Chase asked stiffly:</p> - -<p>“Well, how did you find Amos?”</p> - -<p>“Same as ever,” Wint said.</p> - -<p>“Suppose he’s home for the summer.”</p> - -<p>“I guess so.”</p> - -<p>He wondered whether to tell his father what he had done; but something -held his tongue. It may have been diffidence, a reluctant feeling that -to tell his father this would be like an effort to justify himself in -the elder Chase’s eyes. It may have been uncertainty as to what attitude -the older man would take. It may have been a shrewd guess at the truth; -that Chase would attribute the move to Amos, and oppose it on that -ground. Wint had no illusions about his father’s attitude toward the -Congressman. Chase held Amos as his enemy, without compromise.</p> - -<p>As they reached the first stores on the outskirts of the business -section of Hardiston, they met Ned Bentley and another man, and -exchanged greetings. Bentley grinned at Wint in a friendly way, and Wint -knew that Bentley had heard of his order to Radabaugh. The elder Chase -saw something had passed between them, and asked Wint:</p> - -<p>“What’s Bentley so cheerful about?”</p> - -<p>“Why, I don’t know,” said Wint. “He’s usually pretty good-natured.”</p> - -<p>He flushed at his own evasion, but the older man did not press the -question, and a little later they separated.</p> - -<p>Foster, the city solicitor—Foster was an earnest young fellow, and took -his office seriously—was waiting for Wint in what passed as Wint’s -office, off the main room above the fire-engine house. Foster looked -flurried; and he asked quickly:<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_209" id="page_209">{209}</a></span></p> - -<p>“Look here, Wint, Radabaugh says you told him to clean up the town.”</p> - -<p>Wint nodded idly, fumbling among the papers on his desk. “Yes, I did.”</p> - -<p>“Well, what’s the idea?” Foster demanded excitedly. “What’s the idea, -anyway?”</p> - -<p>“The idea is to—clean up the town,” Wint told him.</p> - -<p>“You’re in earnest?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“You mean to stop bootlegging?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“Good Lord!” said Foster.</p> - -<p>The solicitor’s consternation gave Wint confidence. He asked: “Why, -what’s wrong with that?”</p> - -<p>“Wrong? Nothing’s wrong. But you’ll surely start something.”</p> - -<p>“I mean to stop something.”</p> - -<p>“There’ll be an awful row.”</p> - -<p>Wint said quietly: “If you don’t want to come through.... If you don’t -want to make it stick, help me out, why, now’s the time to say so, and -get out.”</p> - -<p>“Good Lord!” Foster cried. “Of course I’ll stick. Nothing suits me -better. I’m.... I tell you, you don’t know what you’ve started. But I’m -with you, Wint. All along the line. Absolutely.”</p> - -<p>Wint said: “That’s good.”</p> - -<p>“It’s a great chance for me,” Foster said.</p> - -<p>Wint chuckled. “Ought to do you and Hardiston both some good.”</p> - -<p>“Prosecuting all those cases.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, there won’t be many cases,” Wint said cheerfully.</p> - -<p>“A lot you know. Why won’t there?”</p> - -<p>“Because,” said Wint, “I’m going to see that the first man in here gets -soaked, good and proper. I’m going to put the fear of—the fear of me -into them.”</p> - -<p>“You can’t scare those fellows.”</p> - -<p>“Well,” Wint admitted, “that may be so. But I’m surely going to try.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_210" id="page_210">{210}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>Foster had amused him, and encouraged him; but when Foster was gone, and -he was left alone, his depression of the night before returned. He -locked his door. He did not want to see people. And he sat down to -think.</p> - -<p>Radabaugh came in a little before noon to report what he had done. Wint -listened, studying the marshal. “Think Lutcher will keep straight?” he -asked.</p> - -<p>“I should think so.”</p> - -<p>“How about Mrs. Moody?”</p> - -<p>“She’ll need watching.”</p> - -<p>“See that you watch her.”</p> - -<p>“I’m right on the job,” Radabaugh assured him easily; and Jim knew the -marshal meant what he said. “I’ve left ’em run before, because there -wasn’t any kick made. If you say shut ’em off, I’ll do it. That’s all.”</p> - -<p>“I do say it,” Wint told him. He got up and gripped the other’s -shoulder, something of the excitement of the coming fight already -stirring in him. “Jim, we’ll make Hardiston dry as a bone.”</p> - -<p>Radabaugh spat. “We-ell,” he drawled, “it don’t take much booze to wet a -bone. But we’ll see to it the stuff don’t go sloshing around the -gutters, anyway.”</p> - -<p>For his lunch, Wint went to fat Sam O’Brien’s restaurant. He liked the -place. The long, high counter, scrubbed white as the deck of a ship; the -revolving stools before the counter; the shelves on which bottles of -mustards and catsups and spices were ranged; and big Sam O’Brien in his -vast white apron presiding over it all. There was a mechanical piano -which played a tune for a nickel in the back of the restaurant, and it -was jangling and tinkling when Wint came in. Half a dozen men were there -before him; and they grinned when they saw Wint, and spoke among -themselves. Sam O’Brien welcomed him with a chuckle. O’Brien was a -jocular man. He set plate and knife and fork and a thick glass of water -before Wint, and spread his hands on the counter, and asked in a booming -voice:</p> - -<p>“Well, how’s your appetite, you bold crusader?”</p> - -<p>Wint flushed, and said uncomfortably: “Cut it out, Sam!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_211" id="page_211">{211}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>The restaurant proprietor had his own ideas of a joke; and he made the -most of them. At Wint’s words, he threw back his head and laughter -poured out of him. He rocked, he slapped his great fist on the counter.</p> - -<p>“Cut it out?” he repeated. “Oh, Wint, you’re the funny man. Cut it out, -he says! The whole blamed town. ‘The booze is getting you, Hardiston. -Cut it out,’ he says!” He bellowed the words. “Cut it out! Cut it out! -Oh, Wint, you’ll be the death o’ me.”</p> - -<p>There was never any use resenting Sam O’Brien. Wint laughed and said: -“I’ll be the death of you if you don’t get me something to eat, Sam. Get -a move on your old carcass.”</p> - -<p>After lunch, he had a word or two with men upon the street; but he did -not want to talk to them. He wanted to get out of their way, out of -sight. His nerves were beginning to jangle; he wanted something to -happen. There was hanging over him a storm; he wanted the storm to -break. He had a thought of going to V. R. Kite and flinging a defiance -in that old buzzard’s gold-filled teeth. He liked to think of Kite as an -old buzzard; the phrase pleased him. Men will always be pleased to find -they have used words tellingly. The gift of speech is what distinguishes -man from the animals; it is right that he should vaunt himself upon it.</p> - -<p>But in the end, Wint did not go to Kite; he went to Hoover’s office and -hid himself in a back room with a law book. Neither Dick nor his father -was there when he arrived; he counted on not being disturbed. He did not -want to be disturbed. He wanted to be let alone. He was mistrustful of -himself, of his motives and of his powers.</p> - -<p>In mid-afternoon, the telephone rang; and he answered, expecting a call -for one or the other of the Hoovers. But when he spoke into the -instrument, some one said: “Is this you, Wint?”</p> - -<p>He said it was; and the some one said: “This is Joan.”</p> - -<p>Wint said: “Oh!” He was uncomfortable, wondering what she wanted, why -she had called.</p> - -<p>“I’ve just heard what you’ve done,” she said.</p> - -<p>“What’s that?” Wint asked. “Done what?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_212" id="page_212">{212}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“About how you’re going to—to clean up Hardiston.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, that,” said Wint. “Yes.”</p> - -<p>“Central told me I could probably get you at the Hoover office.”</p> - -<p>“Yes. Yes, I’m here.”</p> - -<p>“I thought you might like to know that I’m glad you’re going to do -this.”</p> - -<p>“That’s all right,” he said awkwardly. The old, stubborn resentment at -any praise was awake in him; but there was a curious tincture of -happiness, too.</p> - -<p>“It’s a good fight, Wint,” she said. “And—you’ll win.”</p> - -<p>Wint laughed uneasily. “Oh, sure,” he said. He did not want to talk -about it; and Joan understood and said good-by. Wint stared thoughtfully -at the telephone for a while; then he went back to his probing into the -musty recesses of the law which he found so live and vital.</p> - -<p>But he was unable to keep his thoughts upon the book. They wandered. He -kept thinking about V. R. Kite. He kept wondering what Kite would do.</p> - -<p>And he wished insistently that whatever Kite meant to do, he would do -quickly. Wint was tired of waiting for the storm to break.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_213" id="page_213">{213}</a></span></p> - -<h3><a name="CHAPTER_III-d" id="CHAPTER_III-d"></a>CHAPTER III<br /><br /> -<small>A HARD DAY FOR KITE</small></h3> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">I</span>F V. R. Kite had been wise enough to let Wint severely alone, in the -days that followed, it is not at all improbable that Wint’s resolution -would have weakened. But if knaves were wise, they would not be knaves. -So, instead of being left alone with his depression, and his doubts of -himself, Wint was attacked front and flank; and the stimulus of battle -proved to be exactly what he needed to forge his determination and whip -his courage to the sticking point.</p> - -<p>Kite first heard the news of what Wint had done from Lutcher, the -amiable man in the distinctive vest, whose stock in trade Jim Radabaugh -put under seal. Lutcher went straightaway to Kite when Radabaugh left -him; and he found Kite still ignorant of what had come to pass. Lutcher -took a decided pleasure in breaking the news to Kite. He found the -little turkey of a man at his desk in the Bazaar; and he stuck his -thumbs into the armholes of his vest and said in his husky, whispering -voice:</p> - -<p>“Well, Kite, we’re closed up.”</p> - -<p>Kite had greeted Lutcher as pleasantly as he greeted any one. He was a -little afraid of the big, bald man, and Lutcher knew it. He was as much -afraid of Lutcher as Lutcher was of Jim Radabaugh. But he forgot to be -afraid of Lutcher in this moment. He came up out of his chair like a -Jack-in-the-Box—and Kite looked not unlike the conventional -Jack-in-the-Box with his lean neck and his poised head and his side -whiskers flying—and he snapped at Lutcher:</p> - -<p>“What’s that you say?”</p> - -<p>Lutcher grinned, and wheezed: “I say we’re closed up.”</p> - -<p>“Closed up?” Kite repeated, in something like a shout. “Closed up? What -do you mean? Talk English, man.”</p> - -<p>Lutcher ran his thick finger around the soft collar of his<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_214" id="page_214">{214}</a></span> silken -shirt. “I mean Radabaugh’s given orders not to sell any more stuff,” he -said. “What did you think I meant?”</p> - -<p>“You’re crazy,” said Kite flatly. “Radabaugh wouldn’t dare do that.”</p> - -<p>“Well, he’s done it!”</p> - -<p>“Jim Radabaugh? The marshal?”</p> - -<p>“Sure,” said Lutcher impatiently. “Can’t you hear what I say? Came and -sealed me up this morning. Said it was orders.”</p> - -<p>“Orders? Whose orders?”</p> - -<p>“Mayor’s.”</p> - -<p>Kite’s clenched fists went into the air. “He can’t do that,” he said -fiercely. “I won’t stand for it. By God, if he tries to do that, I’ll -leave town. Or I’ll kill the pup. Or kill myself. I won’t stand for it, -I tell you, Lutcher.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t tell me,” said Lutcher, amiable again in the face of the other’s -excitement. “Don’t tell me; tell the Mayor.”</p> - -<p>Kite stood for a minute with staring, thoughtful eyes, as though Lutcher -were not there. Then he grabbed his hat and started for the street. -Lutcher looked after him, grinning with amusement. “The old buzzard does -take it hard,” he told himself. “Well, I should worry. What’s he up to -now?”</p> - -<p>Kite had disappeared. When Lutcher got to the street, the little man was -no longer in sight. Lutcher wondered what Kite had set off to do; and he -loitered for a while in the hope of seeing the little man again. Kite’s -fury amused him. But Kite had not returned when Jim Radabaugh drifted -into sight; and Lutcher did not want to see Jim again, so he effaced -himself. He saw Jim go into the Bazaar, and come out again, and stop at -the <i>Journal</i> office; and after a little, Kite came down the street from -the Court House, and Radabaugh emerged from the <i>Journal</i> office, and -followed Kite into the Bazaar. Lutcher wished he could be near enough to -hear what they said, but there was no chance of it, so he departed.</p> - -<p>Kite held on to himself while he talked with Radabaugh; but when the -marshal was gone, the little man, in the shelter of his desk, fretted -and jerked in his chair in a tempest of furious anger. There was no -doubt about it; he did take this<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_215" id="page_215">{215}</a></span> news hard. But one watching with a -seeing eye might have discovered in Kite’s anger something else; a touch -of panic.</p> - -<p>Perhaps fear is always a part of anger; perhaps it is one of the springs -from which anger flows. But in the case of Kite, his fear and panic -tended to quiet him and steady him and bid him go slowly and watch his -every move. There had been a day when he would have leaped into such a -fight as this, a terrible and furious figure. But Kite was getting old. -There was something senile and pitiful in his fury now.</p> - -<p>There in the rear of his busy little shop, with customers going and -coming and the clerks laughing together, Kite twisted his fingers -together and beat at his head with his clenched hands and tried to think -what to do. He had been so sure that Wint would never take this step; he -had been so sure that with Wint as Mayor, Hardiston would be safely and -securely wet. He had been so sure of Amos Caretall’s good will. Chase -and Jack Routt had warned him; but he had not believed their warnings, -because he did not wish to believe. Wint was a drinker; it was just -common sense that Wint would let the town go on as it had gone in the -past. Kite had counted on it.</p> - -<p>And now Wint had betrayed him. That was the word that sprang into Kite’s -mind. Wint had betrayed him. He felt an honest indignation at the Mayor. -He was more indignant than he had been when Wint called him a buzzard. -He had accepted that good-naturedly enough. Hard names broke no bones; -besides, Wint had been quite obviously suffering from an overnight bout, -that morning. Kite knew the mood; he was not surprised; and he was not -resentful. But this was different. Damnably different. This was out and -out treachery, betrayal. He had helped elect Wint; now Wint turned -against him.</p> - -<p>Kit felt acutely sorry for himself; he felt acutely reproachful toward -Wint. And when Jack Routt dropped in, half an hour after Radabaugh had -gone, with a triumphant light in his eye, Kite told him so.</p> - -<p>“I didn’t think Wint would do it,” he said dolefully. “Routt, I didn’t -suppose Wint would do this to me.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_216" id="page_216">{216}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>Routt chuckled. “It’s not Wint’s doing,” he said. “I told you this was -coming, you know. It’s Amos.”</p> - -<p>But Kite was in no mood for rage at Amos. “I don’t know,” he said. “This -looks like Wint’s doing. It’s a boy’s trick. A man like Amos would have -seen the harm for Hardiston in such a move. No, Jack, Wint did this, -himself.”</p> - -<p>Routt shook his head. “I know better. You get after Amos, and Wint will -come to heel. I know them both, I tell you.”</p> - -<p>“I can’t believe it,” Kite insisted. “What motive could he possibly -have?”</p> - -<p>“Trying to get on the band wagon,” Routt told him. “That’s Amos. Trying -to get on the dry band wagon.”</p> - -<p>“No, no, it’s Wint. He’s the one we must go to. He’s the one we must -work on. He’s got to be stopped, Routt.” Something of the old fire was -reviving in Kite. “He’s got to be stopped. Scared off. Called off. -Something. I won’t stand for such a state of affairs. Such a thing.... -In Hardiston.”</p> - -<p>Routt grinned. “Well, what are you going to do about it?”</p> - -<p>“Get after him. There must be a way. Don’t you know a way to get hold of -him and bring him to time? Must be some way, Routt. Think, man; think. -What can we do? Scare him off?”</p> - -<p>Routt looked at Kite in a curious, intent way, as though he thought -there might be a hidden meaning in what the other man had said. “What’s -your idea exactly?” he asked. “What’s up your sleeve?”</p> - -<p>“Idea?” Kite echoed. “Idea is to get something on that young skate and -make him call Radabaugh off. That’s the idea. Get after him, heavy. -There must be a way. Some way.”</p> - -<p>Routt smiled faintly, tilting back in his chair, looking at the ceiling; -and he blew a long stream of smoke straight upward. Kite snapped:</p> - -<p>“Well?”</p> - -<p>“Well,” said Routt, “there’s something in that. There might be a -way....”</p> - -<p>Kite leaned toward him intently. “What is it?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_217" id="page_217">{217}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>Routt waved his hand. “Nothing definite. Might develop. Hold off a -while.”</p> - -<p>“I can’t hold off,” said Kite. “I won’t hold off. Something’s got to be -done.”</p> - -<p>“Then you do it,” Routt told him carelessly; and Kite pleaded with him.</p> - -<p>“No, no. You do your own way. I’ll try mine. We’ll both work at this, -Routt. Something ... I.... See what you can do. That’s all. I’ll see -what I can do.”</p> - -<p>Routt got up. “Don’t forget,” he said, “that Amos is back of this.”</p> - -<p>Kite shook his head. “I don’t think so. We’ll hit Wint first. I don’t -want to buck Amos.”</p> - -<p>“You’ll find,” said Routt, “that you’ll have to buck Amos.”</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>After Routt left him, Kite sat for a while, fingers tapping nervously on -his desk, wondering what to do next. And he wondered if it could be that -Routt was right, that Amos was back of this move on Wint’s part. Routt -had said Amos would do this; so, Kite remembered, had the elder Chase. -Chase had come to him, shortly after the election, to warn Kite that -this was sure to happen. Were Routt and Chase right; was it possible -that Amos had betrayed him?</p> - -<p>Kite would not believe it. Not because he had any doubt of Amos’s -willingness to betray him, but because he did not dare believe that this -was Amos’s doing. If Wint had made the move on his own account, there -was some hope of swaying him, or frightening him. But if Amos had -prompted it and were backing Wint now, the situation was almost -hopeless.</p> - -<p>Therefore Kite refused to believe that Amos was responsible; he clung to -the idea that the whole thing was Wint’s own idea. Wint, then, he must -fight.</p> - -<p>He thought of Wint; and he thought of Wint’s father again. There might -be a chance to move Wint through his father. “If the boy has any sense -of duty,” Kite thought, “he’ll do what his father says.” He forgot that -the elder Chase had always been a “dry” man. Politics takes little -account of convictions; and Kite clutched at the hope that the elder -Chase could change<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_218" id="page_218">{218}</a></span> Wint’s mind. Chase had offered him alliance, once; -had offered him an alliance against Amos. He should be willing to show -his friendliness now. Kite’s eyes lighted with a faintly optimistic -glint at the thought; and he took his hat and started forthwith down the -street toward the furnace where Chase was to be found during the day.</p> - -<p>He met a number of men; and he thought they all grinned at him with -derision in their eyes. They must know what had happened; must be amused -at this plight in which he found himself. The thought roused the anger -in Kite, and strengthened him. He went on his way more boldly. By and -by, at the end of the street, the smoky black bulk of the furnace loomed -before him.</p> - -<p>Kite did not like the looks of the furnace; there was such an atmosphere -of harnessed power about it, and Kite was always a little afraid the -power would break its harness. To reach the office, he had to go through -the very heart of the monstrous thing. At the beginning of the way, a -ten-foot flame hissed out of the very earth itself, at his right hand, -so that he shrank past it timidly. Then he must pick his way through a -corridor between structures like squat, brick ovens, below which living -flame roared in a stream like a racing torrent. He could see this stream -of flame. There was nothing to hold it, between the ovens. He trembled -with fear that this stream would leap out at him.</p> - -<p>When he passed under the stacks, pulsing with the rhythmic beat of life -which stirred them, he could hear the roar of the fires inside, and the -hiss of the air from the tuyères, and the sounds were like the ravenings -of beasts to him. Kite felt immensely small, immensely insignificant. -Toward the end of his way he was almost running, and he came out with -vast relief upon the other side, and approached the iron-sheeted -building which housed the furnace office and the chemist’s laboratory. -He might have come here by circling around the furnace, but even Kite -had pride enough to face dangers, rather than avoid them.</p> - -<p>He found the elder Chase at his desk; and Chase dismissed the -stenographer to whom he had been dictating, and offered<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_219" id="page_219">{219}</a></span> Kite a cigar. -Kite refused it. He was by personal habit an abstemious man. “I never -smoke,” he said.</p> - -<p>Chase nodded, a little ill at ease. He had tried to make an alliance -with Kite, but he did not like the little man, and never would. He did -not like Kite, and he was self-conscious about it, and felt that he -ought to make up for his dislike by treating Kite with extreme courtesy. -So now he asked: “Well, Mr. Kite,” and Kite responded with a sharp -question:</p> - -<p>“What’s this Wint’s doing?”</p> - -<p>There had been a time when such an inquiry frightened Chase; because, -when people asked him such a question, he knew they meant that Wint was -in trouble again. But he was coming to have a certain faith in Wint; so -he was puzzled by Kite’s question, and said so.</p> - -<p>“I don’t know what you mean,” he told the little man.</p> - -<p>Kite was surprised. “Good God! You must know. Didn’t he tell you?”</p> - -<p>“He’s told me nothing in particular. What do you mean?”</p> - -<p>“The young fool has given Radabaugh orders against any more liquor -selling.”</p> - -<p>Chase’s first reaction to this information was a leap of delighted -pride. It was what he would have wished Wint to do; it was what he -himself would have done in Wint’s place. It was a decent, strong thing -to do, and Chase was glad. Kite saw this in the other man’s eyes; and he -exclaimed challengingly:</p> - -<p>“You look as though you were tickled, man. Don’t you know this thing -will ruin Hardiston?”</p> - -<p>Chase knew it would not ruin Hardiston; nevertheless he was willing to -humor Kite. So he asked: “Do you know the details? Tell me about it.”</p> - -<p>Kite laughed harshly. “You hadn’t heard of it, then. He didn’t tell you. -It was Amos put him up to it, I guess, after all. But it looks as though -he’d have told you, anyway.” Kite was shrewd enough in his way; he -understood that Chase, as a father, must be jealous of Amos’s influence -with Wint. And Chase reacted as Kite expected. His eyes clouded with -hurt. Wint might have told him; should have told him. Instead,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_220" id="page_220">{220}</a></span> his son -had laid him open to this new humiliation, the humiliation of hearing -important news from a third person. And—Wint had had supper with Amos -last night.</p> - -<p>Chase struck back, in the instinct to defend himself. “You remember, I -warned you Congressman Caretall would do just this.”</p> - -<p>“Sure I remember,” Kite agreed. “That’s why I’ve come to you. Want to -get together with you. That was our understanding. I’m going to skin -Amos Caretall. Are you with me? That’s the question.” He was shrewd -enough to rouse Chase against Amos, not against Chase’s own son. And -Chase considered the matter, inwardly hurt and sorry because Wint had -not confided in him, and boiling with jealous hostility toward Amos.</p> - -<p>“All right,” he said at last. “You see I was right. What are we going to -do?”</p> - -<p>“Do?” Kite snapped. “We’re going to make Amos run to cover. That’s what -we’re going to do.”</p> - -<p>“After all,” Chase reminded him, “I’m a dry man. I can’t fight Amos on -that issue.”</p> - -<p>“Dry?” Kite demanded. “What of it? What’s that got to do with it? This -is politics. Amos is no more dry than I am; but he plays the dry game -because that’s politics, and there are votes in it. He’s trying to steal -your thunder, Chase. If Amos grabs the dry vote, where do you come in? I -tell you, we’ve got to lick him, man.”</p> - -<p>“How?” Chase asked at last. “What are we going to do?”</p> - -<p>“First thing,” Kite said, “is to get after Wint.” He had been ready with -the answer to this question. “Caretall is using Wint. Making a tool of -him. A scapegoat. Wint doesn’t know his own mind. Caretall’s using him. -We’ve got to get him out of Caretall’s hands. Get him to work with you. -You’re his father. He ought to want to work with you. Oughtn’t he?”</p> - -<p>“He and I—understand each other,” Chase said. He was not at all sure -this was true, but he could not confess to Kite that he and Wint were -less than confidants.</p> - -<p>“Sure,” Kite agreed. “Naturally. So the first thing to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_221" id="page_221">{221}</a></span> do is for you to -go to Wint and tell him what he’s up against. How he’s being -manipulated. Get him to rescind the order. Then we’ll go after Amos, -with Wint helping us, and clean him up.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t know,” said Chase reluctantly.</p> - -<p>“Good God, man,” Kite snapped, “can’t you handle your own son?”</p> - -<p>Chase got up and walked to the window, his back to Kite. His lips set -firmly. Kite was right; he ought to be able to handle his own son, -unless the world were all awry. After all, the dry question was only a -pretext. Wint ought to train with him rather than with Amos. He would -tell the boy so.</p> - -<p>When at last he turned toward Kite again, the other man saw that he had -won. “I’ll see,” said Chase. “I’ll talk to Wint and see.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_222" id="page_222">{222}</a></span>”</p> - -<h3><a name="CHAPTER_IV-d" id="CHAPTER_IV-d"></a>CHAPTER IV<br /><br /> -<small>CHASE CHANGES SIDES</small></h3> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">W</span>INTHROP CHASE, SENIOR, was thoughtful all that day; he went home in the -evening still undecided as to what he should do. He was unhappy, hurt at -Wint’s reticence, disturbed as to his own course of action, and fiercely -resentful of Amos’s influence over his son.</p> - -<p>His conscience was troubling him; and he was trying to quiet it with -Kite’s more or less specious argument that this was politics, not -morality. If Chase had been asked to come out, point-blank, and champion -the nonenforcement of the liquor law, he would have refused; and he -would have refused with indignation at the suggestion. But the issue was -not so clear as that. It was clouded by his dislike for Amos. It was not -merely a question of enforcing the law; it was a question of balking -Amos Caretall. And Chase was prepared to go a long way to put a spoke in -Amos’s wheel.</p> - -<p>Wint had not yet come, when he reached his home; and he was glad of -that. It gave him some leeway, gave him some further time to think. But -his thoughts ran in an endless circle; his convictions countered his -enmity toward Amos. It was only by small degrees that his attitude -toward Amos crowded other considerations out of his mind. He was -gradually coming to the point of decision when he heard Wint at the -door. Mrs. Chase met Wint in the front hall, and told him hurriedly:</p> - -<p>“Now, Wint, you’re late again. You run right upstairs and wash your face -and hands. Supper’s all ready, and Hetty wants to go out, and I don’t -want to keep her waiting any—”</p> - -<p>Wint laughed, and kissed her, and told her he would hurry, and he was -gone up the stairs, two steps at a time, while his mother still talked -to him. When he came down, his father and mother had already gone into -the dining room. He followed them, answered his father’s “Good evening, -Wint,” in an abstracted way, and sat down hurriedly. He did not look<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_223" id="page_223">{223}</a></span> -toward his father; he was conscious he had not done the fair thing in -failing to tell the older man of his orders to Radabaugh. He felt -guilty.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Chase never allowed any gaps in the conversation to go unplugged; -and since Wint and his father were both normal men, with normal -appetites, she did most of the talking during the early part of the -meal, while they ate. It was only when Hetty brought on a thick rhubarb -pie and Mrs. Chase began to cut it that Chase said casually to his son:</p> - -<p>“Well, Wint, I hear you’ve set out to clean up Hardiston.”</p> - -<p>Wint gulped what was in his mouth, and uneasily admitted that this was -true. Mrs. Chase was talking to Hetty about the pie and did not hear -what they said. Chase asked:</p> - -<p>“What does Amos think of that?”</p> - -<p>Wint looked for an instant at his father. “Thinks it’s all right,” he -said.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Chase came back into the conversation then. She had the aggravating -habit of catching the tail end of a story or a remark and demanding that -the whole be repeated for her benefit. “What’s all right?” she asked. -“What’s all right, Wint? Who thinks it’s all right? It keeps me so busy -looking after things here that it seems like I never hear what’s going -on. What is it that—”</p> - -<p>Chase told her quietly: “Wint has given Marshal Radabaugh orders not to -allow any more selling of liquor in Hardiston.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Chase was astonished. She said so. “Well, I never,” she exclaimed. -“You know, Wint, I never thought you’d do that. I think it’s time, -though, something was done. I told Mrs. Hullis ... I was saying to Mrs. -Hullis here only yesterday that it was a shame, the way men were getting -drunk. That Ote Runns, that beats my carpets, came here yesterday to do -some work for me, and I paid him; and Mrs. Hullis saw him coming home -from town that afternoon, and he couldn’t even stay on the sidewalk, he -was staggering so. I declare, it makes you feel like not paying a man -like that for working for you, when he can go right off and spend his -money on whisky, and his wife and children at home—”</p> - -<p>Wint said, with a glance at his father: “Ote’s not married,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_224" id="page_224">{224}</a></span> mother. He -hasn’t any wife; and as far as I know, he hasn’t any children.”</p> - -<p>“Well, suppose he had,” she demanded, “wouldn’t it be just the same? I -declare, Wint, you’re always contradicting me. But I said to Mrs. Hullis -I thought it was a shame, and she said she thought so too, and it is. -You’ve done just right, Wint. I didn’t think anybody could ever do that, -or I’d have told you to do it before. I didn’t know the Mayor had the -say of that, Wint. I thought the Mayor was the man you went to when your -dogs got into the pound. I remember Mrs. Hullis’s dog got taken to the -pound, three years ago, and she went to Mayor Johnson, he was then, and -he got him out for her. And I told her—”</p> - -<p>Wint had been watching his father. He had expected the older man to be -proud of him, and had rather dreaded this pride. He had prepared himself -to disclaim any praise that might come. But—Chase was not offering to -praise him. There was no pride in his father’s face; there was rather an -uneasy regret, and it fired the antagonism in Wint, and made him feel -like defending himself. He asked, interrupting Mrs. Chase, whether the -elder Chase thought the orders should be enforced.</p> - -<p>“I suppose so,” Chase said, and Mrs. Chase lapsed into a momentary -silence, pouring fresh tea into her cup.</p> - -<p>“Don’t you think it’s a good thing?” Wint demanded challengingly. “Don’t -you—aren’t you glad?”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Chase said: “Of course it’s a good thing. It ought to have been -done long ago. It’s a shame, the way things have been going on in -this—”</p> - -<p>Chase said to her: “Ordinarily, mother, I would think it a good thing. -But in this case, it’s a part of Amos Caretall’s political game. A part -of his—”</p> - -<p>Wint looked at his father sharply, a word leaping to his lips. Mrs. -Chase asked: “Congressman Caretall? Is he back here again, after the way -he treated you? Wint, I should think you’d be ashamed to do anything to -help him, after what he did to your father. I should think—”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_225" id="page_225">{225}</a></span></p><p>Wint said quickly: “He has nothing to do with this. I decided to do it, -and I gave the order, and I’m going through with it. Congressman -Caretall isn’t in this at all.”</p> - -<p>The elder Chase smiled and said: “You don’t understand, Wint. I’ve known -him longer. He’s absolutely without principle or scruple. You know, for -instance, that he’s a wet man; but he’s doing this for his own ends, -using you—”</p> - -<p>Wint protested: “He’s not doing this. I’m doing it.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Chase cried: “I should think you’d be ashamed, Wint, to do anything -against your own father. He’s been a good father to you, Wint. You know -he—”</p> - -<p>Wint cut in, almost pleading: “But, mother, you said yourself this was a -good thing. To clean up Hardiston. And father’s always been in favor of -it.”</p> - -<p>“That was before I understood that Congressman Caretall was doing it to -hurt your father. I don’t think anything is good that hurts your father, -Wint. You ought not to say that. You know I—”</p> - -<p>“But he’s not doing it to hurt dad, mother. I told you that. I’m doing -it myself; he’s not doing it at all.”</p> - -<p>“Your father understands these things better than you, Wint. Didn’t he -tell you Congressman Caretall was just using you? I shouldn’t think -you’d be willing to—”</p> - -<p>The elder Chase said uneasily: “I know him better than you, Wint.”</p> - -<p>Wint pushed back his chair and looked steadily at the older man. “You -talk like V. R. Kite, dad,” he said.</p> - -<p>Chase confessed his guilt by the vehemence of his protestations. “That’s -not so, Wint. And in any case, Kite is an honest man compared to -Caretall. He plays square with his friends, at least. That’s more than -Amos can say.”</p> - -<p>Wint asked: “What makes you think Amos is playing crooked now? Not that -he has anything to do with this....”</p> - -<p>“I know him. He’s always crooked. A crooked, double-crossing -politician.”</p> - -<p>“I’m not defending Amos,” Wint said stubbornly. “He’s treated you badly. -But he’s been decent to me. I’ll not turn against him. And anyway, this -is my doing, my business. He’s not in it at all.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_226" id="page_226">{226}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“You said he was backing you.”</p> - -<p>“I said he thought I was doing a good thing. I expected you to think -that, too.”</p> - -<p>Chase flushed uncomfortably. “Ordinarily, I would say so. If you’d done -this without prompting from him, I would say so. But it’s significant -that you didn’t; that you waited till he came home, and talked to you, -and then gave your orders.”</p> - -<p>“I’d been thinking about it for a long time.”</p> - -<p>“But you didn’t act without word from him, Wint. That’s why I—regret -it.”</p> - -<p>Wint asked harshly: “Listen! Do I get this straight? You’d have me let -them go on selling whisky in Hardiston just for fear I am helping Amos -by stopping them?”</p> - -<p>“I don’t like to see you letting Amos use you.”</p> - -<p>“Aside from that, isn’t it a good thing to clean up the town, no matter -what the motive?”</p> - -<p>“You’ll find in your law books somewhere the statement that the motive -determines the deed,” Chase told him.</p> - -<p>“Don’t you think it important to clean up Hardiston?”</p> - -<p>“I think it important not to cement Amos Caretall’s hold on this county, -and this town.”</p> - -<p>Wint said angrily: “Forget Amos. Forget he exists. I’m asking a flat -question. Why don’t you answer it?”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Chase interposed: “Don’t you talk to your father so, Wint. Don’t -you do it. He knows best what’s good for you, and for Hardiston, and for -everybody. You know he—”</p> - -<p>“Is whisky good for Ote Runns?” Wint demanded.</p> - -<p>“Well, I guess it doesn’t do him any hurt. It’s not as if he had a wife -and children, Wint, you know. You ought to do what your father says. -He—”</p> - -<p>Wint faced the older man. “Well,” he asked, “what is it you say I should -do, dad? In plain language. Just what do you claim I ought to do?”</p> - -<p>“Refuse to let Amos Caretall make you his tool,” Chase said steadily.</p> - -<p>“Let Hardiston wallow in booze?”</p> - -<p>“That’s beside the point. Amos is the point.”</p> - -<p>Wint got up swiftly. “Amos is not the point,” he said.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_227" id="page_227">{227}</a></span> “Hardiston’s the -point. Hardiston’s the point, and I’m the point, too. If whisky is good -for Hardiston, the town ought to have it. If lawbreaking is good for -Hardiston, the lawbreaking ought to be permitted to go on. But if it’s -right and decent to keep the law, then I’m right. And if it’s right to -leave booze alone, then I’m right. And if I think what I’m doing is -right, I ought to go on with it; and if I think it’s wrong, I ought to -drop it. Amos has nothing to do with it. Anyway, a bad man doing good -things is a good man. If Amos were doing this, the fact that he’s a -crook wouldn’t make it crooked. The whole thing works the other way. If -Amos is doing this, and it’s a good thing to do, then so far as this is -concerned, Amos is a good man.”</p> - -<p>He flung up his hand. “I don’t mean to hurt you, dad. I think you’re -wrong on this. I can’t believe you want me to back down.”</p> - -<p>Chase had his share of stubbornness, of the pride which had been a -pitfall before Wint’s feet. He was too stubborn to admit himself in the -wrong. He said swiftly:</p> - -<p>“I do want you to back down. Call off Radabaugh. Tell Amos he can’t make -a monkey out of you. Can’t get you to pull his chestnuts out of the -fire.... Stand on your own feet. That’s what I advise you to do, Wint.”</p> - -<p>Wint looked his father in the eye for a moment; then he shook his head -as though to brush away a veil. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I mean to fight -it out on this line. Stick to it.”</p> - -<p>Chase said nothing. Mrs. Chase, silenced by the tension in the -atmosphere, looked from father to son with wide eyes, and she was -trembling. After a little, Wint asked gently:</p> - -<p>“Does this mean—a break, father? Does it mean for me to get out of -here?”</p> - -<p>Chase got to his feet in swift protest. “No, no, Wint, not that.” For a -moment, he had an overpowering impulse to open his heart, promise Wint -his support, offer the boy his hand. But he could not bring himself to -do it. The stubborn, prideful streak was strong in him. He fought down -the impulse, said simply: “We can disagree without fighting, I guess. -That’s all.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_228" id="page_228">{228}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“You mean we’re on opposite sides of the fence in this, dad? You really -mean that?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>Wint’s voice was wistful. “I—counted on you.”</p> - -<p>Chase flung toward the door. “I can’t help it, Wint,” he said harshly. -“I can’t link up with Amos Caretall. Not for any man.”</p> - -<p>When the door shut behind him, Wint stood still for a little, thinking -hard. Then his mother touched his arm, and he looked down and saw that -she was crying with fright.</p> - -<p>“Wint,” she pleaded, “don’t you go quarreling with your father again. -Don’t you, Wint. Please.... He couldn’t stand it. Not again, Wint. I -told Mrs. Hullis when you were gone before—”</p> - -<p>He put his arm around her affectionately; and he smiled. “There, mother, -it’s all right,” he said. “Dad and I are all right. Don’t you worry. We -understand each other.”</p> - -<p>“I told Mrs. Hullis he couldn’t stand it to have you go away again—”</p> - -<p>“I’m not going away,” Wint promised.</p> - -<p>“Don’t you....” she begged. “Don’t you go, any more.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_229" id="page_229">{229}</a></span>”</p> - -<h3><a name="CHAPTER_V-d" id="CHAPTER_V-d"></a>CHAPTER V<br /><br /> -<small>THE TRIUMVIRATE</small></h3> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">A</span> CONSCIOUSNESS of having acted unworthily does not make for a man’s -peace of mind. The plain truth of the matter is that after his talk with -Wint at supper that night, Winthrop Chase, Senior, was ashamed of -himself. Not that he admitted it, even in his thoughts; but it was -obvious enough in his uneasiness, his inability to sit still, his -restless movements here and there about the sitting room. Wint was not -blind. He guessed something of what was passing in his father’s mind, -and wished there were some way for them to come together. But there -seemed no move he could make to that end.</p> - -<p>The older man at last announced that he was going to walk downtown for -the mail. Wint said: “Good idea. I’ll go along.” But Chase said:</p> - -<p>“I’ve got to see a man,” and Wint understood that his father did not -want his company, so he stayed at home when the older man departed.</p> - -<p>Chase wanted to see Kite. He had no definite idea why he wanted to see -Kite, but he felt the need of reassurance from some one, and he knew -Kite would reassure him as to what he had done. So he went downtown to -find Kite and talk to him. The Bazaar was closed. He telephoned Kite’s -home, and the old woman who kept house for him said Mr. Kite had gone -uptown to see Mr. Routt. So Chase went to the building on the second -floor of which Routt had his office, and saw a light behind the drawn -blind in Routt’s window and went up. He heard their voices inside, -Kite’s and Routt’s, before he tried the door. The door was locked; and -when he touched the knob, silence fell inside. Routt called: “Hello, -who’s there?”</p> - -<p>Chase told him, and Routt said: “In a minute,” and unlocked<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_230" id="page_230">{230}</a></span> the door -and let him in. Chase saw Kite sitting by the desk, his side whiskers -bristling angrily.</p> - -<p>There are no modern office buildings in Hardiston. Routt’s office was on -the second floor of the three-story building at the corner of Main and -Broad streets. There was a hardware store on the first floor, and a -lodge room on the floor above Routt’s office. Routt and three or four -others had quarters on the second floor. Routt’s office faced the -street; a single room with a hot-air register in the wall near the door. -There were shelves around the wall, with a meager library of brand-new -and little-used law books. Routt’s desk was shiny, yellow oak. A -diploma, or perhaps a certificate of admission to the bar, framed in -mission oak, hung on the wall above the desk. There was an electric -light in the middle of the ceiling, and it shed a bald and naked light -over the three men who faced each other in the room.</p> - -<p>Kite said: “Hello, Chase,” and Chase responded to the greeting. Routt -asked:</p> - -<p>“How’d you happen to drop in? Glad to see you.”</p> - -<p>“I was looking for Kite,” Chase said. “Heard he was with you.”</p> - -<p>Kite asked eagerly: “Looking for me, Chase? Good news? What’s happened?”</p> - -<p>Chase looked at Routt, with a curious, dull inquiry. The man was moving -in something like a daze; he had not yet found himself in this new -alliance. He was hating himself for opposing Wint, and he was flogging -his courage to the venture. He wondered what Kite and Jack Routt were -doing together. Routt was a Caretall man in politics; also he was a -friend of Wint. Chase tried to puzzle this out, and Kite asked again:</p> - -<p>“What’s happened?”</p> - -<p>“I—spoke to Wint,” Chase said slowly.</p> - -<p>Routt asked: “About withdrawing his orders to Radabaugh? He’ll never do -it.”</p> - -<p>“No,” said Chase. “He’ll never do it.”</p> - -<p>Kite cried fiercely: “He’s got to. He doesn’t understand. Didn’t you -tell him, Chase? Didn’t you make him see?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_231" id="page_231">{231}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“I couldn’t make him see anything. He would not change.”</p> - -<p>“He’ll never change unless he’s forced to,” Routt said; and Chase looked -at the young man and asked slowly:</p> - -<p>“I thought you and Wint were friends, Routt?”</p> - -<p>“We are,” Routt declared. “He’s the best friend I’ve got. That’s why I -don’t want to see him made a fool of. That’s why I don’t want to see -Amos make a fool of him. You’re his father, but you feel the same as I -do, that he’s wrong, that he’s got to be made change his mind.”</p> - -<p>“I thought you were with Amos,” Chase insisted mildly.</p> - -<p>“Amos and I have broken,” said Routt hotly. “He tried to trick me as he -tricks every one, and I wouldn’t stand for it. That’s all. I’m out to -even things with him.”</p> - -<p>Chase looked around for a chair and sat down. Routt sat on the desk. -Kite had not risen when Chase came in. The little man asked Chase now: -“What did you say to Wint anyway? I should think he’d take your advice -before he’d take Caretall’s.”</p> - -<p>“I told him Caretall was using him, that he was being used to play -politics.”</p> - -<p>“Well, what did he say?”</p> - -<p>“Said this wasn’t Amos’s doing at all. Said it was his own idea, that he -had given the orders, that he meant to carry them through. Said, even if -it were Caretall’s move, it was a good thing, and he was for it.”</p> - -<p>Kite snarled: “He’s damnably moral, all of a sudden.” And Chase felt a -surge of resentment at the other’s tone, and countered:</p> - -<p>“He’s right, you know. Booze is dirty business.”</p> - -<p>“It’s my business,” Kite snapped, stamping to his feet; and if Routt had -not intervened, the old feud between Kite and Chase might have been -revived, then and there. But Routt had no notion of permitting a break -between these strange allies. He said cheerfully:</p> - -<p>“Sit down, Kite. We’re not talking about booze. We’re talking about Amos -Caretall. We’re not trying to settle the moral issue. We’re trying to -settle Amos Caretall’s hash. Question is, how are we going to do it?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_232" id="page_232">{232}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“That’s right,” Chase agreed. Caretall’s name was like an anchor, to -which he could make fast his disturbed thoughts. So long as he was -opposing Amos, he could not go wrong.</p> - -<p>Kite sat down, thinking; and he asked: “You say Wint told you Amos had -nothing to do with this, Chase?”</p> - -<p>“Yes. He probably thinks that’s true. Caretall got around him, somehow.”</p> - -<p>Routt said: “Caretall’s a shrewd man, he can get around other men. He -knows the trick of it.” Kite said nothing. He was thinking over what -Chase had said. Routt continued: “What we want to do is to go out and -get him.”</p> - -<p>Chase suddenly found the atmosphere of this room unbearable; he wanted -to get out in the air. So he got up, and said harshly: “I’m with you on -that. I’ll do anything I can against Amos. Let me know what you decide.”</p> - -<p>Routt said: “Don’t run away. Let’s talk things over.” But Chase told him -he had business elsewhere; and Kite made no objection to his going. When -he was gone, Routt told Kite:</p> - -<p>“He’ll have to be handled carefully. He’s naturally a dry man, you -know.”</p> - -<p>Kite said thoughtfully, as though he were considering another matter: -“Yes, that’s so.”</p> - -<p>“I’ve been figuring on what you suggested—getting a handle to control -Wint,” Routt told him. “You know, I think there’s a way.”</p> - -<p>“To get something on Wint?”</p> - -<p>“Yes. He’s not such a terribly upright young man. Any one’s foot is apt -to slip.”</p> - -<p>“You mean his has slipped?” Kite asked eagerly. Routt only grinned.</p> - -<p>“I’ll let you know what I mean, in good time,” he said.</p> - -<p>Kite grunted. It was evident that his mind was busy with another angle -of the situation. A little later, still abstracted, he took himself -away.</p> - -<p>While he walked home, he turned over and over in his thoughts his new -idea.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_233" id="page_233">{233}</a></span></p> - -<h3><a name="CHAPTER_VI-d" id="CHAPTER_VI-d"></a>CHAPTER VI<br /><br /> -<small>EVERY MAN HAS HIS PRICE</small></h3> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">K</span>ITE’S new idea was one that appealed to the mean heart of the man. -There had been a time when Kite was bold as a lion in evil-doing; but as -he grew old, he was becoming timorous. He had, now, no stomach for a -fight, talk as ferociously as he pleased. He wanted life to move easily -and smoothly; and fighting jarred on him. He thought, with a -self-pitying regret, that things had been going so comfortably. It was a -shame that Wint had come along and started all this trouble. He was an -old man, not made for trouble.</p> - -<p>There was very little pride in Kite, and a good deal of the -shamelessness of the miser. If he was a miser, his illicit business was -his hoarded gold. He was ready to go to any lengths of self-humiliation -to protect this treasure. He would fight if he had to; but he had no -stomach for it. There must be some other way.</p> - -<p>The suggestion of that other way had come from Chase. When Chase first -warned him that Amos would turn Hardiston dry, Kite had refused to -believe; when Routt repeated the warning, he was still doubtful. When -Wint actually gave the orders he had dreaded, Kite was half forced to -agree that Amos had tricked him, but even in the face of the fact, he -had still clung in his heart to the hope that this was none of -Caretall’s doing, and that the two who had warned him were wrong.</p> - -<p>He had hoped desperately that they were wrong, because if they were -mistaken there was a chance to save himself without a fight. What Chase -had told him this night strengthened his hope. Wint, Chase said, -declared Amos had nothing to do with the case, that Amos had neither -advised nor prompted his orders to Radabaugh, and that the whole crusade -was his own idea and his own battle.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_234" id="page_234">{234}</a></span></p> - -<p>If this were true, if Wint were actually standing on his own feet, then -there was a chance of coming at him through Amos. That was the thought -from which Kite took hope. He and Amos were, on the surface, allies -still. Amos would not willingly antagonize him. And if this move of -Wint’s were not Amos’s doing, then Amos might be willing to take a hand -on Kite’s behalf, call Wint off, return things to their original -condition, smooth Kite’s existence into tranquillity again.</p> - -<p>When he first conceived the idea, Kite cast it aside as grotesque and -impossible. But it returned to his thoughts, and his hopes fought for -it, until he convinced himself there was something in it; better than an -even chance in his favor; worth trying, certainly. When he made up his -mind to this—it was after he had undressed and got into bed that -night—he dropped off into a restless sleep; and when he woke, as his -habit was, at daylight, he began at once to consider what he should say -to Amos.</p> - -<p>He telephoned Caretall before breakfast and asked him when he could see -him to talk things over. Amos told him good-naturedly that he could come -right after breakfast. “I’m taking my ease, these few days,” he said. -“Staying at home in my carpet slippers, and smoking my pipe. Drop in any -time.”</p> - -<p>“I’ll be there in an hour,” Kite told him. And Amos said that was all -right, and hung up the receiver. Immediately, he telephoned Peter Gergue -to come right over, and Peter joined him at breakfast in ten minutes. It -was not even necessary for old Maria to set an extra plate for Peter. -Agnes had overslept—she nearly always did oversleep—and Amos was -breakfasting alone, with Agnes’s empty place across the table from him.</p> - -<p>Peter sat down there, and Amos helped him to fried eggs and bacon, and -Maria gave him a cup of coffee. Amos said at once: “Kite just called up, -Peter. He’s coming over.”</p> - -<p>Gergue swallowed a gulp of coffee. “Guessed he would,” he assented. -“Guessed he’d have things to say to you.”</p> - -<p>“What do you guess he’s got to say to me, Peter?” Amos asked.</p> - -<p>“He’ll want you to call Wint off, I’d say.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_235" id="page_235">{235}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>Amos looked politely regretful, as though he were talking to Kite. “Why, -now, you know, Wint’s his own boss. He does what he wants to do. I never -saw any one that could run Wint, did you?”</p> - -<p>“Not if Wint knew it, I never did.”</p> - -<p>“What have you heard, Peter?” Amos asked. “What did Kite do yest’day, -when he heard the sad news?”</p> - -<p>“Lutcher told him,” said Peter. “Lutcher says he was wild. But when Jim -Radabaugh saw him, he kept his head, and said it didn’t concern him. I -hear he had some talk with Jack Routt; and then he posted off down to -the furnace to see Chase.”</p> - -<p>“To see Chase, eh?”</p> - -<p>“What I hear.”</p> - -<p>“What about, Peter?”</p> - -<p>“I sh’d guess he wanted Chase to call Wint off. Kite don’t like a fight, -you know.”</p> - -<p>Amos nodded. “V. R. Kite,” he said pleasantly, “is a lick-spittle, -Peter. That’s what V. R. Kite is. I don’t like to see Chase mixing with -him.”</p> - -<p>“You know,” said Peter, “Chase has changed some, since you put the laugh -on him.”</p> - -<p>“Chase is all right,” said Amos surprisingly. “He’s had the foolishness -knocked out of him. Peter, he’ll make a good man, before he’s done.”</p> - -<p>Peter looked at Amos sidewise and said he wouldn’t be a bit surprised.</p> - -<p>“But he makes a mistake to tie up to Kite,” said Amos.</p> - -<p>“Him and Kite had a talk with Routt, in Jack’s office, last night,” said -Peter.</p> - -<p>Amos chuckled. “Pete, it beats me how you find out things.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t find ’em out,” said Peter. “People tell me.” He rummaged -through the tangle at the back of his neck. “Looks like people aim to -make mischief, so they tell me things to tell you that’ll start a fight, -and the likes of that. That’s the way of it.”</p> - -<p>“This won’t start a fight,” said Amos. “I’m home for a rest.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_236" id="page_236">{236}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>Peter looked at him intently. “You backing Wint?”</p> - -<p>“No.”</p> - -<p>“What?”</p> - -<p>“Pete,” said Amos thoughtfully, “this was Wint’s idea. He figured it -out, the right thing to do. He’s started it. It won’t hurt him a bit to -fight it out. I’m going to stand by and yell: ‘Go it, wife; go it, -b’ar.’ That’s me in this, Peter.”</p> - -<p>“What are you going to tell Kite?”</p> - -<p>“Going to tell him just that,” said Amos.</p> - -<p>They had finished breakfast and moved into the sitting room and filled -their pipes. Agnes came downstairs in her kimono, hair flying, and -kissed Amos and pretended to be embarrassed at appearing before Peter in -her attractive disarray. Then she went out to her breakfast. The two men -smoked without speaking. Amos had looked after his daughter with a -certain trouble in his eyes; and Peter saw it. Peter did not like Agnes.</p> - -<p>Peter had gone before Kite arrived. Old Maria let Kite in, and Amos -called from the sitting room:</p> - -<p>“Right in here, Kite. I’m too darned lazy to come and meet you. Leave -your hat in the hall.”</p> - -<p>Kite obeyed the summons, and Amos said lazily: “Take a chair, Kite. Any -chair.” And when the little man had sat down: “Fine day, Kite. I tell -you, there isn’t any place that can beat Hardiston in May that I know -of.”</p> - -<p>Kite said: “That’s right, Amos.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir,” Amos repeated. “They can’t beat old Hardiston.” He lapsed -into one of those characteristic silences, head on one side, squinting -idly straight before him, his pipe hissing in his mouth. You might have -thought there were no words in the man. Kite said impatiently:</p> - -<p>“Amos, I want to talk to you.”</p> - -<p>Amos looked at him, and said amiably: “Well, Kite, you’ll never have a -likelier chance. I don’t aim to move out of this chair.”</p> - -<p>“Well,” said Kite uneasily, “I want to talk to you about young Chase.”</p> - -<p>“Mayor Chase?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_237" id="page_237">{237}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“Yes. Wint.”</p> - -<p>“Oh!” said Amos, without any curiosity.</p> - -<p>“I mean to say,” Kite explained, “I want to talk about this move of his. -You’ve heard about it.”</p> - -<p>“I hadn’t heard he’d moved,” said Amos. “Thought he was living with his -paw. Where’s he gone to now?”</p> - -<p>“Damn it, Amos!” Kite protested, “don’t fool with me. You know what I -mean.”</p> - -<p>“Kite,” said Amos, “nobody ever knows what you mean, even when you say -it. You’re such an excitable man.”</p> - -<p>“Well, who wouldn’t get excited? I tell you, this is a—”</p> - -<p>“What is?” Amos asked, interrupting without seeming to do so.</p> - -<p>“This damned idea of enforcing a fool liquor law.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, that,” said Amos.</p> - -<p>Kite leaned forward. “Is it your doing, Amos? Did you get him to do -this? Because if you did—”</p> - -<p>“Why, man,” said Amos, “I’m not Wint’s boss.”</p> - -<p>“You elected him.”</p> - -<p>“You elected him as much as me, Kite. And I heard how he called you a -buzzard. If he calls you a buzzard, what do you think he’d call me?”</p> - -<p>“I hold no grudge for that,” Kite explained. “He was drunk. Fact -remains, he’s friendly with you. I ask you, I’m asking you flatly: Did -you prompt him to do this, or tell him to, or advise him to in any way?”</p> - -<p>“Well,” said Amos, “if you ask me, I’ll say: No.”</p> - -<p>Kite slapped his knee. “I knew it,” he exclaimed.</p> - -<p>“Who says I did?” Amos asked. “Wint say I did?”</p> - -<p>“No. He says you didn’t. Chase and Routt claim you did it.”</p> - -<p>“Chase? And Jack Routt? Why, now, I take that unkind,” Amos protested, -in a hurt voice, and Kite realized that he had blundered, and hurried -past the danger point.</p> - -<p>“Well, if you didn’t advise Wint to do this, what are you going to do -now? Back him in his fight?”</p> - -<p>“You know,” said Amos, “Pete Gergue asked me just that. Ever hear the -story about the lady and the bear, Kite? Bear<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_238" id="page_238">{238}</a></span> chased the lady around -the tree, and the lady’s husband was up the tree. Lady yells to him to -come down and kill the bear; but husband just sets on his branch, out of -reach, and yells: ‘Go it, wife; go it, b’ar.’ Ever hear that story, -Kite?”</p> - -<p>Kite chuckled without any mirth in his dry old eyes. “No,” he said.</p> - -<p>“That man didn’t figure to play any favorites,” Amos explained. “And -neither do I. Ain’t often I get a chance to set back and watch a fight. -This time, I’m going to. On the sidelines. That’s me, Kite.”</p> - -<p>Kite protested instantly. “That’s not the fair thing, Amos. You and I -worked together to put him in there, with the understanding he’d let the -liquor business alone.”</p> - -<p>Amos lifted his hand. “Understanding was that Wint weren’t likely to -monkey with it. You thought so. That’s why you was willing to help me. I -didn’t make any promises, nor any predictions, Kite.”</p> - -<p>“But, damn it,” Kite insisted, “you ought to be willing to help me out. -I helped you out.”</p> - -<p>“It would hurt me, Kite, to know I sanctioned nonenforcement.”</p> - -<p>“Nobody would know.”</p> - -<p>“They’d find out. Things like that do get out, you know, Kite.”</p> - -<p>The little man tugged at his side whiskers feverishly. “Amos,” he -pleaded, “isn’t there anything you can do for me? This is bad business. -I can’t stand it. I won’t stand it. Isn’t there anything you can do?”</p> - -<p>Amos considered, then he sighed, and said good-naturedly: “Kite, you’re -an awful pest, stirring me up when I’m comfortable.”</p> - -<p>“You’ve got to do something.”</p> - -<p>“We-ell, I’ll tell you. I’ll take you to see Wint. You can put it up to -him. That’s the best.”</p> - -<p>“You’ll back me up?”</p> - -<p>Amos shook his head. “You and him can have it out. I’ll not yell for -either of you.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_239" id="page_239">{239}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>Kite protested: “A lot of good that will do.”</p> - -<p>Amos shrugged his big shoulders. “Well....” Kite got up hurriedly.</p> - -<p>“All right,” he agreed, before Amos could withdraw his offer. “All -right, come on.”</p> - -<p>Amos looked ruefully at his feet, and wiggled his toes in his -comfortable slippers. “I declare, Kite, I hate to put on shoes.”</p> - -<p>“Damn it, man, it’s your own offer,” Kite protested; and Amos admitted -it, and groaned:</p> - -<p>“All right, I’ll come.”</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>Wint was in a cheerful humor, that morning. He had been depressed by his -father’s attitude, disappointed that the elder Chase chose to oppose -him. But at the same time, the opposition exhilarated him. After his -father left the house, he went to see Joan for an hour; and without -over-applauding the step he had taken, she spoke of the trouble and the -opposition he would face, and the prospect pleased Wint. He took a -cheerful delight in opposing people. He was never so good-natured as -when he was fighting.</p> - -<p>So Amos and Kite found Wint amiably glad to see them both. Amos sat on -the broad window ledge, his back to the light, his face somewhat -shadowed. Wint made Kite sit down near his desk; he himself tilted his -chair back against one of the leaves of the desk, and put his feet on an -open drawer, and asked what their errand was.</p> - -<p>“Kite wanted to see you,” said Amos. “Asked me to come along.”</p> - -<p>“No need of that, Kite.” Wint said good-naturedly. “I don’t keep an -office boy. Anybody can see me any time.”</p> - -<p>Kite shifted uneasily in his seat, not quite sure what he meant to say. -Amos prompted him from the window. “Kite don’t think you ought to shut -down on him,” he said.</p> - -<p>Wint looked surprised. “Shut down on him? What’s the idea, Kite?”</p> - -<p>Kite said, in a flustered way: “It’s not so personal as that.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_240" id="page_240">{240}</a></span> You know, -I’m by conviction a believer in the sale of liquor. I believe the people -of Hardiston agree with me. I’m sorry to hear you’ve taken steps to stop -the sale.”</p> - -<p>“Why, no,” said Wint cheerfully, “the town voted against it. I had -nothing to do with that. I’m just enforcing the law.”</p> - -<p>Kite smiled weakly. “There are laws, and laws,” he said. “Some laws are -not meant to be enforced. The people of Hardiston objected to the open -saloon; they did not object to the unobtrusive and inoffensive sale.”</p> - -<p>“Oh!” said Wint.</p> - -<p>“You didn’t object to it yourself,” Kite reminded him. “Isn’t that so?”</p> - -<p>He expected Wint to be confused; but Wint only laughed. “I should say I -didn’t,” he admitted. “I liked it as well as any one. Same time, this -isn’t a question of liking; it’s a question of the law.” He leaned -forward with a certain jeering earnestness in his voice. “Why, Mr. Kite, -if I didn’t enforce the law, Hardiston people could remove me for -misfeasance in office, or something like that.”</p> - -<p>Kite said: “Bosh!” impatiently. And Wint asked him suddenly:</p> - -<p>“What’s your interest in this?”</p> - -<p>“That of a citizen.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I know you don’t sell it yourself,” said Wint, meaning just the -contrary. “But, Mr. Kite, if you have any friends in the business, tell -them to get out of it. It’s dead, in Hardiston. Dead and gone.”</p> - -<p>Kite said weakly: “Amos and I came here to try and make you change your -mind about that.”</p> - -<p>Wint looked at Amos. “That so?” he asked. “You think I ought to back -down?”</p> - -<p>“<span class="lftspc">‘</span>Go it, wife; go it, b’ar,’<span class="lftspc">”</span> said Amos cheerfully. “That’s me.”</p> - -<p>“Not taking sides?”</p> - -<p>“No.”</p> - -<p>Kite explained: “Amos and I worked together to elect you, you know.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_241" id="page_241">{241}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>Wint eyed him blandly. “Well, I’m much obliged. But I don’t see what -that has to do—”</p> - -<p>“You owe us some gratitude.”</p> - -<p>“I’m grateful.”</p> - -<p>“There’s a moral obligation.”</p> - -<p>Wint grinned. “Kite, I’m afraid you’re an Indian giver. I’m afraid you -elected me, thinking you could use me. But I didn’t ask to be elected, -so I don’t see—”</p> - -<p>Hopelessness was settling down on V. R. Kite; hopelessness, and the -desperate energy of a cornered rat. There was no shame in him, and no -scruple. Also, there was very little wisdom in the buzzard-like man. He -was to prove this before their eyes.</p> - -<p>“Wint,” he said, “Amos and I are practical men. You’re practical, too, -aren’t you? There’s no place for dreams in this world, Wint. It’s a hard -world. You understand that.”</p> - -<p>“You find it a hard world? Why, Kite, I think the world is a pretty good -sort of a place. That’s the way it strikes me.”</p> - -<p>“I—”</p> - -<p>“Maybe it’s your own fault you find it hard.”</p> - -<p>Kite brushed the suggestion away. He was obsessed with a new idea, a -last hope. He said: “Wint, if you drop this, Amos and I can do a lot for -you.”</p> - -<p>“You and Amos?” Wint looked at Amos again. “How about it, Congressman?”</p> - -<p>“<span class="lftspc">‘</span>Go it, wife; go it, b’ar,’<span class="lftspc">”</span> Amos repeated imperturbably.</p> - -<p>“What I mean,” said Kite, “is that we can send you to the legislature, -or anything.”</p> - -<p>“Why, I’m not looking for anything,” said Wint mildly.</p> - -<p>Kite snapped: “Every man has his price.” And when he met Wint’s level -eyes, and knew he was committed, he went on hurriedly: “I know that. If -politics isn’t yours, something else is. Speak out, man. What do you—”</p> - -<p>Wint asked curiously, and without anger: “What’s the idea, Kite?”</p> - -<p>“I could give you a start in business. Help you.... I’m a business man, -you understand. Anything....<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_242" id="page_242">{242}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>Wint laughed. “You’re too vague.”</p> - -<p>Kite looked at Amos. He looked at him so steadily that Amos got down -from the window seat, and whistled softly under his breath, and walked -out of the office into the council chamber above the fire-engine house. -He shut the door behind him. Kite leaned toward Wint. “Five hundred?” he -asked huskily.</p> - -<p>Wint chuckled. “I say,” he exclaimed, “I had no idea there was any money -in this job.”</p> - -<p>“A thousand....”</p> - -<p>“I’ve always wanted to know what it felt like to be bribed.”</p> - -<p>“A thousand, Wint? For God’s sake....”</p> - -<p>Wint shook his head, still perfectly good-humored. “There’s no question -about it, Kite,” he said. “You surely are an old buzzard. Get out of my -nest, you evil bird!”</p> - -<p>Kite protested: “Wint, listen to—”</p> - -<p>“Damn you!” said Wint, still without heat, “do you want me to throw you -out the window?”</p> - -<p>Kite got up. Wint had not even taken his feet down from their perch. -Kite said: “You’ll change your—”</p> - -<p>Wint’s feet banged the floor; and Kite stopped, and he went swiftly to -the door. In the doorway, he turned and looked back, his dry old face -working. He seemed to want to speak. But without a word, he turned and -went away.</p> - -<p>Amos strolled back in. Wint looked up at him and chuckled. But Amos -looked serious.</p> - -<p>“Went away all rumpled up, didn’t he?” Wint commented. “But he didn’t -have a word to say.”</p> - -<p>Amos nodded. “Not a word to say,” he agreed. “But, Wint,” he added, -“knowing Kite like I do, I wish he had.”</p> - -<p>“Wish he had had a word?”</p> - -<p>“I never was much afraid of a barking dog,” said the Congressman.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_243" id="page_243">{243}</a></span></p> - -<h3><a name="CHAPTER_VII-d" id="CHAPTER_VII-d"></a>CHAPTER VII<br /><br /> -<small>ANOTHER WORD AS TO HETTY</small></h3> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">I</span>F Wint had expected immediate conflict, he was to be disappointed. For -after Kite left his office that day, nothing happened; neither that day, -nor the next, nor the next. Amos told Wint that Kite would strike, in -his own time, and strike below the belt. Wint laughed and said he was -ready to fight, foul or fair. But—neither foul blow nor fair was -struck. Radabaugh reported that his orders had been obeyed. Lutcher had -left town, temporarily, it was said. His rooms off the alley were -locked, and he had gone so far as to give Radabaugh a key, so that the -marshal might make sure, now and then, that Lutcher’s store of -drinkables was not disturbed. One shipment did come in for Mrs. Moody. -It was labeled “Canned Goods”; but Jim Radabaugh made it his business to -inspect all sorts of goods consigned to Mrs. Moody, and he found this -particular box contained goods in bottles instead of cans. He emptied -the bottles into the creek, across the railroad tracks from the station, -and told Mrs. Moody about it. She threw a stick of firewood at him, then -wept with rage because he dodged it successfully.</p> - -<p>For the rest, Hardiston was quiet. The lunch-cart man whom Radabaugh had -suspected took his cart and left town. Kite met Wint on the street and -greeted him as pleasantly as usual. Jack Routt cultivated him, and joked -him about his ideas of morality. One night, at Routt’s home, he offered -Wint a drink. Wint looked thoughtfully through the smoke of his pipe as -though he had not heard. When Routt repeated the offer, Wint declined -politely.</p> - -<p>The business of being Mayor occupied very little of Wint’s time. Early -in June, Foster, the city solicitor, brought a stranger to see Wint -about a street carnival which wanted to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_244" id="page_244">{244}</a></span> come to Hardiston the last week -in June. Wint agreed to grant the permits necessary.</p> - -<p>“You understand,” he told the man, “that this is a dry town.”</p> - -<p>The stranger winked, and said he understood. Wint shook his head -gravely. “I’m afraid you don’t understand,” he said. “This is a dry -town. There’s no booze sold here. Last summer, I remember, there was -some selling in connection with your carnival, here. If you try that -this time, I’ll have to close you up.”</p> - -<p>The man looked surprised and disgusted. “What is this, a Sunday school?” -he demanded.</p> - -<p>“No,” said Wint. “Just a dry town.”</p> - -<p>“How about the games?”</p> - -<p>Wint smiled good-naturedly. “Oh, don’t make them too raw. I’ve no -objection to ‘The cane you ring, that cane you get.’<span class="lftspc">”</span></p> - -<p>“Hell!” said the man. “We won’t make chicken feed.”</p> - -<p>“You don’t have to come.”</p> - -<p>But the stranger said they would come, all right. After he had gone, -Wint told Foster the carnival would bear watching. Foster agreed, but -said the merchants wanted it. “Brings the farmers to town every day, -instead of just Saturday, you know.”</p> - -<p>“I know,” said Wint. “Well, let them come.”</p> - -<p>After a week of quiet, Wint decided that Kite and his allies had put the -lid on. “But they’re just waiting,” Amos warned him. “Waiting till they -get a toe hold on you, somehow. Watch your step, Wint.”</p> - -<p>Wint said he was watching. “I wish they’d start something,” he said. -“Hot weather’s dull, with no excitement.”</p> - -<p>“There’ll be enough excitement,” Amos assured him.</p> - -<p>Routt walked home with Wint one afternoon, talking over a proposition -that he had brought up a day or two before. Since Wint was going to be a -lawyer, he said, they ought to go in together. Wint was already so well -advanced in his reading that Routt thought in another year or eighteen -months he could take the examinations. “There’s a big practice waiting -for the right people down here,” he told Wint enthusias<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_245" id="page_245">{245}</a></span>tically. “Dick -Hoover and I are going to get together when his father dies. The old man -is pretty feeble. You come in with us. We’ll do things, Wint.”</p> - -<p>Wint was pleased and somewhat flattered by the suggestion, and thought -well of Routt for it. But he only said, good-naturedly, that it was -still a long way off, and that there would be times enough to talk about -the matter when he was admitted to the bar. Nevertheless, Routt dwelt on -it insistently, so insistently that instead of turning aside toward his -own home at the usual place, he came on toward Wint’s father’s house, -still talking. It did not occur to Wint that there was any purpose in -Routt’s thus accompanying him. He had heard that Routt and Kite had been -seen together, and asked Jack about it. Routt explained that he had to -keep in touch with all sorts. A mixture of business and politics, he -said, and Wint was satisfied.</p> - -<p>When they came in sight of the house, it was still an hour before supper -time; and Hetty Morfee was sweeping down the front steps and the walk to -the gate. They saw her while they were still half a block away, and -Routt said casually:</p> - -<p>“Hetty still working for your mother, I see.”</p> - -<p>Wint nodded. “Yes; I guess she’s pretty good.”</p> - -<p>Routt agreed. “If she’d only keep straight. But....”</p> - -<p>“I don’t think she’s that kind,” said Wint.</p> - -<p>“I hope not,” Routt assented. “Hope she doesn’t—get into trouble. If -she ever did, in this town....”</p> - -<p>Wint said nothing; and Routt added: “She’d need a friend, all right.” -And again: “She’d need some one to take her part. But he’d be in Dutch, -whoever he was.”</p> - -<p>He looked at Wint sidewise. They were near the gate now, and Wint said: -“Come in and have supper.”</p> - -<p>Routt shook his head. “Not to-night.”</p> - -<p>Hetty looked up, at their approach, and Wint called: “Hello, Hetty.”</p> - -<p>She said: “Hello, Wint.” Routt repeated Wint’s greeting, and the girl -looked at him with curiously steady eyes, and said:</p> - -<p>“Hello, Jack.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_246" id="page_246">{246}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>Wint thought, vaguely, that there was some repressed feeling in her -tone; but he forgot the matter in bidding Routt good-by, and went -inside, leaving Hetty at her task, while Routt went back by the way they -had come. Hetty watched him go. He did not look toward her, did not turn -his head. She watched him out of sight.</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>Jack Routt took Agnes Caretall to the moving pictures that night. Wint -saw them there. He was with Joan. Afterward, Routt and Agnes walked home -together.</p> - -<p>Routt did most of the talking, on that homeward walk. Now and then Agnes -seemed to protest, weakly, at something he was urging her to do. One -near enough might have heard him speak of Wint. But there was no one -near.</p> - -<p>When they reached her home, there was a light in the sitting-room -window. That meant Amos was there; and Routt said he would not go in. -“But you’ll remember, won’t you, Agnes,” he asked, “if you want to do -something for me?”</p> - -<p>She said softly: “I do want to do anything for you.”</p> - -<p>He laughed at her gently. “How about him?”</p> - -<p>“I hate him,” she said, with a sudden intensity that was not pretty to -see. “I hate him. Hate him, I say.”</p> - -<p>“What’s he ever done to you?” Routt teased; and she said:</p> - -<p>“Nothing,” as though that one word were an accusation.</p> - -<p>Routt put his arm around her; and she clung to him with a swift, -terrified sort of passion, as though afraid to let him go. It seemed to -embarrass him; he freed himself a little roughly.</p> - -<p>He left her standing there when he hurried away.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_247" id="page_247">{247}</a></span></p> - -<h3><a name="CHAPTER_VIII-d" id="CHAPTER_VIII-d"></a>CHAPTER VIII<br /><br /> -<small>AGNES TAKES A HAND</small></h3> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">I</span>F Jack Routt had meant to force Hetty into Wint’s thoughts, he had -succeeded. Wint was not conscious of this when he left Jack at his gate; -he was thinking of other things. But during supper, an hour later, when -Hetty came into the dining room, Wint remembered what Jack had said; and -he looked at the girl with a keen scrutiny. He studied her, without -seeming to do so.</p> - -<p>He was surprised to discover in how many ways Hetty had changed, since -she came to work for his mother. The changes were slight, they had been -gradual. But they were appallingly obvious, under Wint’s cool appraisal -now. He tallied them in his thoughts. Her laughter had been gayly and -merrily defiant; it was sullen, now, and mirthless. Her eyes had -twinkled with a pleasant impudence; they were overcast, these days, with -a troubling shadow. There was a shadow, too, upon the clear, milky skin -of her cheeks; it was a blemish that could neither be analyzed nor -defined. Yet it was there.</p> - -<p>Hetty had slackened, too. Her hair was no longer so smoothly brushed, so -crisply drawn back above her ears. It was, at times, untidy. Her waists -were no longer so immaculate; her aprons needed pressing, needed soap -and water, too, at times. She had been fresh and clean and good to look -upon; she was, in these days, indefinably soiled.</p> - -<p>After supper that night, Wint went out into the kitchen where Hetty was -washing dishes. He went on the pretext of getting a drink of water. -There had been a time, a few months ago, when Hetty would have turned to -greet him laughingly, and she would have drawn a glass of water and -given it to him. But she did neither of those things now. Instead, she -moved aside without looking at him, while he held the glass<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_248" id="page_248">{248}</a></span> under the -faucet; and when he stepped back to drink, she went on with her work, -shoulders bent, eyes down.</p> - -<p>Wint finished the glass of water, and put the glass back in its place. -Then he hesitated, started to go, came back. At last he asked -pleasantly: “Well, Hetty, how are things going?”</p> - -<p>She looked at him sideways, with a swift, furtive glance. And she -laughed in the mirthless way that was becoming habitual. “Oh, great,” -she said, and her tone was ironical.</p> - -<p>“What’s the matter?” Wint asked. “Anything wrong?”</p> - -<p>“Of course not. Don’t be a kid. Can’t I have a grouch if I want to?”</p> - -<p>“Sure,” he agreed amiably. “I have ’em, myself. Anything I can do to -bring you out of your grouch?”</p> - -<p>“No.”</p> - -<p>“If there is,” he said, so seriously she knew he meant his offer. “If -there is, let me know. Maybe I can help.”</p> - -<p>“I’m not asking help,” she told him sullenly.</p> - -<p>“Is there anything definite? Anything wrong?”</p> - -<p>She said, with a hot flash of her dark eyes in his direction: “I told -you no, didn’t I? What do you have to butt in for?”</p> - -<p>Wint considered that, and he filled his pipe and lighted it; and at last -he turned to the door. From the doorway he called to her: “If anything -turns up, Hetty, count on me.”</p> - -<p>She nodded, without speaking; and he left her. He was more troubled than -he would have cared to admit; and he was convinced, in spite of what -Hetty had said, that there was something wrong.</p> - -<p>The third or fourth day after, Hardiston meanwhile moving along the even -tenor of its way, Wint decided, after supper at home, that he wanted to -see Amos. He telephoned the Congressman’s home, and Agnes answered. He -asked if Amos was at home.</p> - -<p>“He went uptown for the mail,” Agnes told him. “But he said he’d be -right back. He’ll be here in a few minutes.”</p> - -<p>“Tell him I’m coming down, will you?” Wint suggested, and Agnes promised -to do so. Wint took his hat and started for Amos’s home. He thought of -going through town on the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_249" id="page_249">{249}</a></span> chance of picking Amos up at the Post Office; -but the mail had been in for an hour, and he decided Amos would have -reached his home before he got there, so he went on. Wint and Amos lived -on the same street, but at different ends of the town. The better part -of a mile lay between the two houses. The stores and business houses -were the third point of a triangle of which the Chase home and Amos’s -formed the other angles.</p> - -<p>The night was warm and moonlit; a night in June. The street along which -Wint’s route lay was shaded on either side by spreading trees, and lined -with the attractive, comfortable homes of Hardiston folks who knew what -homes should be. Wint met a few people: A young fellow with a flower in -his buttonhole, in a great deal of a hurry; a boy and a girl with linked -arms; a man, a woman here and there. At one corner, in the circle of -radiance from a sputtering electric light, a dozen boys were playing -“Throw the Stick.” Wint heard their cries while he was still a block or -two away; he saw their shadowy figures scurrying in the dust, or -crouching behind bushes and houses in the adjoining yards. As he passed -the light, a woman came to the door of one of the houses and called -shrilly:</p> - -<p>“Oh-h-h, Willie-e-e-e-e!”</p> - -<p>One of the boys answered, in reluctant and protesting tones; and the -woman called:</p> - -<p>“Bedti-i-ime.” Wint heard the boy’s querulous complaint; heard his -fellows jeer at him under their breath, so that his mother might not -hear. The youngsters trained laggingly homeward; and the woman at the -door, as Wint passed, said implacably to her son:</p> - -<p>“You go around to the pump and wash your feet before you come in the -house, Willie.”</p> - -<p>The boy went, still complaining. And Wint grinned as he passed by. His -own days of playing, barefoot, under the corner lights were still so -short a time behind him that he could sympathize with Willie. Is there -any sharper humiliation than to be forced to come home to bed while the -other boys are still abroad? Is there any keener discomfort than to take -your two dusty feet, with the bruises and the cuts and the scratches -all<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_250" id="page_250">{250}</a></span> crudely cauterized with grime, and stick them under a stream of -cold water, and scrub them till they are raw, and wipe the damp dirt off -on a towel?... Wint was half minded to turn back and join that game of -“Throw the Stick.” The bewildering moonlight, the warm air of the night -had somewhat turned his head. It required an effort of will to keep on -his way.</p> - -<p>Agnes opened the door for him when he came to Caretall’s home. “Dad’ll -be here in a minute or two,” she said. “Come right in.”</p> - -<p>Wint hesitated. “Oh, isn’t he home yet?”</p> - -<p>“No, but he will be.” She laughed at him, in a pretty, inviting way she -had. “I won’t bite, you know.”</p> - -<p>“I guess not,” he agreed good-naturedly. “But it’s a shame to go in the -house, a night like this.”</p> - -<p>She said: “Wait till I get a scarf. Sit down. The hammock, or the -chairs. I’ll be right out.”</p> - -<p>So Wint sat down, where the moonlight struck through the vines about the -porch and mottled the floor with silver. Agnes came out with something -indescribably flimsy about her fair head; and Wint laughed and said: “I -never could make out why girls think a thing like that keeps them warm.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, but it does,” she insisted. “You’ve no idea how much warmth there -is in it.”</p> - -<p>He shook his head, laughing at her. “That wouldn’t keep a butterfly warm -on the Sahara Desert.”</p> - -<p>She protested: “Now you just see....” And she moved lightly around -behind him and wrapped the film of silken stuff about his head. “There,” -she said, and looked at him, and laughed gayly. “You’re the -funniest-looking thing.”</p> - -<p>Wint unwound the scarf gingerly. “It feels like cobwebs,” he said. “I -don’t see how you can wear it. Sticky stuff.”</p> - -<p>“Men are always afraid of things like cobwebs. Always afraid of little -things.”</p> - -<p>Wint chuckled. “What’s this? New philosophy of life?”</p> - -<p>“Can’t I say anything serious?”</p> - -<p>“Why, sure. I don’t know but what you’re right, too.”</p> - -<p>He had taken one of the chairs. She sat down in the ham<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_251" id="page_251">{251}</a></span>mock. “Come sit -here with me,” she invited. “That chair’s not comfortable.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, it’s all right.”</p> - -<p>She stamped her foot. “I should think you’d do what I say when you come -to see me.”</p> - -<p>“Matter of fact, you know, I came to see your father.”</p> - -<p>“Well, you’re staying to see me. If you don’t sit in the hammock, I’m -going in the house and leave you.”</p> - -<p>Wint held up his hands in mock consternation. “Heaven forbid.” He sat -down beside her, as uncomfortable as a man must always be in a hammock; -and she leaned away from him, half reclining, enjoying his discomfort. -He could see her laughing at him in the moonlight. She pointed one -forefinger at him, stroked it with the other as one strops a razor.</p> - -<p>“<span class="lftspc">’</span>Fraid to sit in the hammock with a girl,” she taunted.</p> - -<p>She was very pretty and provoking in the silver light; and Wint -understood that he could kiss her if he chose. He had kissed Agnes -before this. “Wink” and “Post Office” and kindred games were popular -when he and Agnes were in high school together. But—he had no notion of -kissing Agnes, moonlight or no moonlight. He had come to see Amos. -Amos’s daughter was another matter.</p> - -<p>“When is Amos coming home?” he asked. “Has he called up? Maybe I’d -better walk uptown.”</p> - -<p>“He called and said he was starting,” she assured him. “You stay right -here. He’ll be here, unless he gets to talking some of your old -politics. I suppose that’s what you came to see him for.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I just happened down this way....”</p> - -<p>She sat up straight. “Good gracious. You act as though it were a secret. -Tell me, this minute.”</p> - -<p>“Why, as a matter of fact,” said Wint good-naturedly, “I want to talk to -him about a sewer the city’s going to put in through some land he owns. -I guess you’re not interested in sewers.”</p> - -<p>She grimaced, and said she should say not. “I thought maybe it was -something about the bootleggers,” she said.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_252" id="page_252">{252}</a></span> “Everybody’s talking about -them. What are you going to do to them?”</p> - -<p>Wint laughed. “That’s like the instructions for destroying potato bugs,” -he said. “First, catch your potato bug.”</p> - -<p>“You mean you haven’t caught any?”</p> - -<p>“Not yet.”</p> - -<p>“Are you trying to?”</p> - -<p>“Why, we’ve got our eyes open.”</p> - -<p>“I love to hear about criminals and everything,” she said. “What will -you do to them when you get them? Send them to jail?”</p> - -<p>“Well, I’ll do that, if I can’t do anything worse.”</p> - -<p>She asked: “You’re really going to—you really mean to get after them?” -He nodded, and she laughed. He asked:</p> - -<p>“What’s the joke?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, it seems funny for you to be so moral about whisky and things.”</p> - -<p>He grinned. “It is funny, isn’t it?”</p> - -<p>“I should think they’d just laugh at you.”</p> - -<p>“Well, maybe they do.”</p> - -<p>“I suppose you’re just going to give them a lesson, and then—sort of -let things go, aren’t you?”</p> - -<p>Wint shook his head. “No, I sha’n’t let things go. Not as long as -I’m—in charge.”</p> - -<p>“But lots of people will be awfully mad at you. Why, even your father -buys whisky and things, doesn’t he?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, I suppose so. But he doesn’t sell them.”</p> - -<p>“Well, some one’s got to sell them to him.”</p> - -<p>“They’ll not sell in Hardiston,” said Wint. He was a little tired of -this. “Looks to me as though Amos has stopped to talk politics, after -all. Did you tell him I was coming?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, yes,” she assured him. “He’ll be right home.” She got up abruptly. -“There’s some lemonade in the dining room,” she said. “Would you like -some?”</p> - -<p>“Every time,” he said. “It’s warm enough to make it taste pretty fine, -to-night.”</p> - -<p>She came out with a tall pitcher and two glasses, and filled<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_253" id="page_253">{253}</a></span> his glass -and her own. They lifted the glasses together, and Wint touched his to -his lips. Then he took it down, and looked at it, and said:</p> - -<p>“Hello!”</p> - -<p>“What’s the matter?” she asked.</p> - -<p>“There’s a stick in this, isn’t there?”</p> - -<p>“Yes. I always put a little in. Peach brandy. I love it.”</p> - -<p>“Peach brandy, eh?”</p> - -<p>“Yes. Don’t you like it?”</p> - -<p>“Well, I’ve been letting it alone lately I guess I’ll not.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, don’t be silly, Wint,” she protested, and stamped her foot at him. -“I guess a little brandy won’t hurt you!”</p> - -<p>“No, probably not,” Wint agreed. “But I’m on the wagon, you see.”</p> - -<p>“You make me feel as though I’d done something wrong to offer it to -you.”</p> - -<p>“Why, no. Only, I....”</p> - -<p>They were so interested that neither of them had heard Amos, and neither -of them had seen him stop by the gate for a moment, listening to what -they said. But when the gate opened, Agnes saw him, and the sight -silenced her. Amos came heavily toward the house, and Agnes called to -him:</p> - -<p>“Wint’s here, dad.”</p> - -<p>Amos said: “Oh! Hello, Wint!”</p> - -<p>Wint said “Good evening.” Amos was up on the porch by this time, and -seemed to discover the lemonade.</p> - -<p>“Hello, there,” he exclaimed. “That looks pretty good. I’m hot. Pour me -a glass, Agnes.”</p> - -<p>She hesitated; and Wint said: “Take mine.”</p> - -<p>“What’s the matter with it?” Amos asked good-naturedly. “Poisoned?” He -lifted the glass to his nose. “Oh, brandy, eh? Well, got anything -against that?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I’m on the wagon, myself, that’s all.”</p> - -<p>Amos nodded. “Well, I never touch it. Not lately. Take it away, Agnes.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_254" id="page_254">{254}</a></span></p><p>His voice was gentle enough; but Wint thought the girl seemed very -white and frightened as she faced her father. She took pitcher and -glasses and went swiftly into the house. Amos turned to Wint, and sat -down, and asked cheerfully:</p> - -<p>“Well, young fellow, what’s on your mind?”</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>When their business was done, and Wint had gone, Amos sat quietly upon -the porch for a while. Then, without moving from his chair, he turned -his head and called toward the open door:</p> - -<p>“Agnes!”</p> - -<p>She answered, from inside. He said: “Come here.” And she appeared in the -doorway. He bade her come out and sit down. She chose the hammock, lay -back indolently.</p> - -<p>Amos filled his pipe with slow care and lighted it. His head was on one -side, his eyes squinted thoughtfully. If there had been more light, -Agnes could have seen that he was sorely troubled. But she could not -see. So she thought him merely angry; and grew angry herself at the -thought.</p> - -<p>He asked at last: “You offered Wint booze?”</p> - -<p>“Just some lemonade,” she said stiffly.</p> - -<p>“Booze in it,” he reminded her. “Don’t you do that any more, Agnes.”</p> - -<p>“I guess a little brandy won’t hurt Wint Chase,” she told him.</p> - -<p>“Don’t you do it any more,” he repeated, finality in his tones. She said -nothing; and after a little he asked, looking toward her wistfully in -the shadows of the porch: “What did you do it for, Agnes? What did you -do it for, anyway?”</p> - -<p>She shrugged impatiently. “Oh, I don’t know.”</p> - -<p>“What did you do it for?” he insisted. There was an implacable strength -in Amos; she knew she could not escape answering. Nevertheless, she -evaded again.</p> - -<p>“Oh, no reason.”</p> - -<p>“What did you do it for?” he asked, mildly, for the third time; and -Agnes stamped to her feet. When she answered, her voice was harsh and -hard and indescribably bitter.</p> - -<p>“Because I wanted to get him drunk,” she said. “He’s so funny when he’s -that way. That’s why.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_255" id="page_255">{255}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>She stared down at him defiantly; and Amos saw hard lines form about her -mouth. Before he could speak, she was gone indoors.</p> - -<p>Amos sat there for a long while, after that, thinking.... His thoughts -ran back; he remembered Agnes as a baby, as a schoolgirl. She was a -young woman, now.</p> - -<p>He thought to himself, a curiously helpless feeling oppressing him: “I -wish her mother hadn’t’ve died.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_256" id="page_256">{256}</a></span>”</p> - -<h3><a name="CHAPTER_IX-d" id="CHAPTER_IX-d"></a>CHAPTER IX<br /><br /> -<small>A WORD FROM JOAN</small></h3> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">W</span>INT found himself unable to put Hetty out of his mind, next day. He had -overslept, was late for breakfast, and ate it alone with Hetty serving -him. When she came into the dining room, he said:</p> - -<p>“Good morning.”</p> - -<p>Hetty nodded, without answering. And he asked cheerfully: “Well, how’s -the world this morning?”</p> - -<p>She said the world was all right; and she went out into the kitchen -again before he could ask her anything more. Wint, over his toast and -coffee, wondered. He was beginning to have some suspicion as to what was -wrong with Hetty. But—he could not believe it. It wasn’t possible. It -couldn’t be.</p> - -<p>A certain burden of work shut down on him that day and the next, so that -he forgot her in his affairs. He saw her every day, of course; but they -were never alone together. His mother was always about. And there were -other matters on Wint’s mind. He was glad to be able to forget her. -Wint, like most men, was willing to forget a perplexity if forgetting -were possible. And Hetty kept out of his way, and seemed to resent his -interest.</p> - -<p>He met Agnes on the street one morning, and she stopped him and talked -with him. She was very gay and vivacious about it, touching his arm in a -friendly way now and then to emphasize some meaningless word. Her hand -was on his arm thus when he saw Joan coming, a little way off. He did -not know that Agnes had seen her some time before, without seeming to do -so. Agnes discovered Joan now with a start of surprise, and she took her -hand off Wint’s arm in a quick, furtive way, as though she did not want -Joan to see. Yet Joan must have seen. Wint was uncomfortably conscious -that he had been put in an awkward light; but he supposed the whole -thing was chance. Nothing more.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_257" id="page_257">{257}</a></span></p> - -<p>Agnes exclaimed: “Why, Joan, we didn’t see you coming.” Her words -conveyed, subtly enough, the impression that if they had seen Joan -coming, matters would have been different; and Wint scowled, and looked -at Joan, and wondered if she was going to be so foolish as to mind. Then -Agnes turned to him and said:</p> - -<p>“Run along, Wint, I’ve something to say to Joan.” And he looked at Joan, -and thought there was pique in her eyes; and he went away in such a mood -of sullen resentment as had not possessed him for months. It stayed with -him all that day: he reverted into the prototype of the old, sulky, -stubborn Wint who had made all the trouble.</p> - -<p>Agnes and Joan walked uptown together, and Agnes chattered gayly enough. -Agnes had always a ready tongue, while Joan was of a more silent habit. -Agnes said Wint had come down to see her, a few days before.</p> - -<p>“That is, of course,” she explained, “he pretended he came to see dad. -But he telephoned, and I told him dad wasn’t at home, but he came -anyway. We sat on the porch and drank lemonade. That night the moon was -full. Wasn’t it the most beautiful night, Joan? I think Wint’s a peach. -I always did. I never could see why you and he quarreled. Seems to me -you were awfully foolish. I’ll never have a fuss with him, I can tell -you.”</p> - -<p>There was too much sincerity in Joan for this sort of thing; she was -almost helpless in Agnes’s hands. That is, she did not know how to -counter the other girl’s shafts. She did say: “Wint and I haven’t really -quarreled. We’re very good friends.”</p> - -<p>Agnes nodded wisely, and said: “Oh, I know.” She looked up at Joan. “Was -it about that Hetty Morfee, Joan? I know it’s none of my business, but I -can’t help wondering. I shouldn’t think you’d mind that. Men are that -way. I know it doesn’t make a bit of difference to me. Not if—Well, I -sha’n’t quarrel with Wint over Hetty, I can tell you.”</p> - -<p>Joan had turned white. She could not help it; and Agnes saw, and added -cheerfully:</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_258" id="page_258">{258}</a></span></p> -<p>“Of course, you can’t believe half you hear, anyway. But they do say -that she.... No, I’m not going to.... I never was one to tell nasty -stories about people, Joan.”</p> - -<p>Joan could not say anything to save her life. She had to get away from -Agnes, and she managed it as quickly as she could. She was profoundly -troubled, profoundly unhappy. She had not realized how much Wint meant -to her. The things which Agnes intimated made her physically sick with -unhappiness at their very possibility. She finished her errands as -quickly as she could, and hurried home. On the way, she passed Agnes and -Jack Routt together, and they spoke to her, and she responded, holding -her voice steady. She was miserably hurt and unhappy.</p> - -<p>At home, she shut herself in her room to think. There was a picture of -Wint on her bureau, a snapshot she had taken two or three years before. -Wint had changed since then. The pictured face was boyish and round and -good-natured; Wint’s face now had a strength which this boy in the -picture lacked. Wint was a man now, for good or ill.</p> - -<p>She had, suddenly, a surge of loyal certainly that it was for good, and -not for ill, that Wint was become a man. There was an infinite fund of -natural loyalty in Joan; she had been prodded by Agnes into a panic of -doubt, but when she was alone, this panic passed. A slow fire of anger -at Agnes began to burn in her; anger because Agnes had meant to injure -Wint, not because Agnes had hurt her. In Wint’s behalf she took up arms; -she considered Agnes; she questioned the girl’s motives, she went over -and over the incident, trying to read a meaning into it.</p> - -<p>There is an instinctive wisdom in woman which passes anything in man. In -that long day alone, thinking and wondering and questioning, Joan came -very near hitting upon the whole truth of the matter. Nearer than she -knew. She came so near that before Wint appeared that evening—he had -arranged, a day or two before, to come and see her—she had begun to -hate Jack Routt.</p> - -<p>She did not know why this was so. She had never particularly liked Jack -Routt; yet he had always been cheerful, an amiable companion, a good -fellow. Also, he was Win<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_259" id="page_259">{259}</a></span>t’s friend, and Joan was loyal to Wint’s -friends as she was to Wint. But—All that day, she had thought, again -and again, of Jack’s eyes when she saw him with Agnes. She told herself -there had been something hidden in them, something she could not define, -something meanly triumphant. She mistrusted him; and before Wint came to -her, she hated Routt. And feared him.</p> - -<p>Nevertheless, she and Wint talked of matters perfectly commonplace for -most of that evening together. They were apt to talk of commonplace -things in these days; because safety lay in the commonplace. There was a -strange balance of emotions between Wint and Joan. A little thing might -have tipped it either way. At times, Wint wished to bring matters to an -issue; he wished to cry out to Joan that he loved her. But he was -restrained by a desperate fear that she was not ready to hear him say -this. He was afraid she would cast him out once more. And—he could not -bear the thought of that. It was something to be able to see her, talk -with her, be near her. He dared not risk losing this much.</p> - -<p>Thus they talked of ordinary matters, till Wint got up to go at last. -Joan went out on the porch with him; he stopped, on one of the steps, a -little below her. He had said good-by before Joan found courage. She -asked, then:</p> - -<p>“Wint! Will you let me?... There’s something I want to ask you.”</p> - -<p>He was surprised; his heart began to pound in his throat. “To ask me?” -he repeated. “Why—all right, Joan. What is it?”</p> - -<p>“Are you and Routt pretty good friends, Wint?”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” he said, at once. “Jack’s the best friend I’ve got.”</p> - -<p>“Are you sure?”</p> - -<p>“Of course. What’s the idea, Joan?”</p> - -<p>She said reluctantly: “I don’t know. Only—I don’t seem to trust him. I -don’t like him. I’m afraid of him.”</p> - -<p>He laughed. “Good Lord! Jack’s harmless; he’s a prince.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t think he’s as loyal to you as you are to him,” she said.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_260" id="page_260">{260}</a></span></p> - -<p>Wint exclaimed impatiently: “The way you girls get down on a fellow! -Jack’s all right.”</p> - -<p>Wint’s impatience made Joan quieter and more sure of herself. “I’m not -sure,” she repeated, and smiled a little wistfully. “Just—don’t trust -him too far, Wint.”</p> - -<p>“I’d trust him with all I’ve got,” Wint said flatly. “I think -you’re—I’m surprised at you, Joan.” The stubborn anger roused in the -morning when Joan came upon him with Agnes reawoke in Wint. His jaw set, -and his eyes were hard.</p> - -<p>Joan was troubled; she wanted to say more, but she did not know how. -And—she could not forget Hetty. She had not meant to speak to Wint of -Hetty; but Joan was woman enough to be unable to hold her tongue. Also, -Wint’s loyalty to Routt had angered her; she was willing to hurt him—as -men and women are always willing to hurt the thing they love. She said -slowly:</p> - -<p>“Did you know people are beginning to talk about Hetty Morfee, Wint? You -and Hetty!”</p> - -<p>Wint’s anger flamed; he flung up his hand disgustedly. “You women. -You’re always ready to jump on each other. Why can’t this town let Hetty -alone?”</p> - -<p>“I only meant—” Joan began.</p> - -<p>“I don’t care what you meant,” Wint told her. “You ought not to pass -gossip on, Joan. I hate it.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t see why you have to defend her,” she protested; and he said -hotly:</p> - -<p>“I’m not defending her. She doesn’t need defending. If she did, I would, -though. Hetty’s all right.”</p> - -<p>Joan drew back a little into the shadow of the porch. After a moment, -she said:</p> - -<p>“Good night, Wint.”</p> - -<p>He said harshly: “Good night. And for Heaven’s sake, forget this -foolishness. Routt and Hetty.... They’re all right.”</p> - -<p>She did not answer. He said again: “Good night,” and he turned and went -down to the gate, and away.</p> - -<p>Joan watched him go. She thought she ought to be angry with him, and -hurt. She was surprised to discover that she was rather proud of Wint, -instead; proud of him for being<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_261" id="page_261">{261}</a></span> angry, even at her, for the sake of his -friend, and for the sake of Hetty.</p> - -<p>She was troubled, because she thought he was wrong; but she was -infinitely proud, too, because he had stuck by his guns.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_262" id="page_262">{262}</a></span></p> - -<h3><a name="CHAPTER_X-d" id="CHAPTER_X-d"></a>CHAPTER X<br /><br /> -<small>THE STREET CARNIVAL</small></h3> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">J</span>OAN’S warning as to Jack Routt, her word as to Hetty, and Wint’s -rejection of both warning and advice did not lead to a break between -them. They met next day, and Wint had the grace to say to her:</p> - -<p>“I’m sorry I talked as I did yesterday, last night. I was tired, -and—all that. I’m sorry.”</p> - -<p>“It’s all right,” Joan told him. “It’s natural for you to stick by your -friends.”</p> - -<p>“I needn’t have talked so to you, though.”</p> - -<p>She laughed, and said he had been all right. “I guess you’ve been -imagining you were worse than you really were,” she told him. “It’s -quite all right, really.”</p> - -<p>“But I’m sorry you—dislike Jack,” he said. “He’s an awfully decent -sort.”</p> - -<p>“Is he?” she asked. “Then I’m glad you and he are friends.”</p> - -<p>“That’s the stuff,” Wint told her. “That’s the way to talk.”</p> - -<p>Thereafter, for a week or so, life in Hardiston went quietly. V. R. Kite -still bided his time; there was no liquor being sold; Ote Runns went -home sober, day after day, with a look of desperate longing in his eyes. -That sodden man who had embraced Wint in the Weaver House so long, whom -Wint had jailed more than once for his drinking, suffered as much as -Ote, or more. He came to Wint and unbraided him for what he had done. -“It ain’t the way to treat a fellow,” he told Wint, pleading huskily. -“You know how it is. I just gotta have a drink, Mister Mayor. I just -gotta. I told Mrs. Moody she’s gotta give me a drink, and she told me -you wouldn’t let her. You ain’t got a thing against me, now, have you?” -The<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_263" id="page_263">{263}</a></span> miserable man’s fingers were twitching, his lips twisted and -writhed. “If I don’t get a drink, I’m a-going to kill some-buddy, I am.”</p> - -<p>Wint did not know what to do. He could see at a glance that the man was -suffering a very real torment. He had himself never become so soaked -with alcohol that his system cried out for it when he abstained; but he -knew what torture this might be. He had an idea that candy would -alleviate the man’s distress; but the idea seemed to him ridiculous, and -he put it aside. Yet there was an obligation upon him to do something.</p> - -<p>He did, in the end, a characteristic thing, an impulsive thing; and yet -it was sensible, too. There was no saving this man. Highest mercy to him -was to let him drink himself to death. Wint told him to come to the -house that night; and he gave the poor fellow a quart bottle from his -father’s store. The derelict wandered away, calling Wint blessed. They -found him under a tree in the yard next door, in the morning, blissfully -sleeping.</p> - -<p>The story got around, as it was sure to do. The man told it himself; he -boasted that Wint was a good fellow. V. R. Kite heard of it, and waved -his clenched fists and swore at Wint by every saint in the calendar. -Also, he sent for Jack Routt. “We’ve got him,” he cried. “He can’t put -over a thing like this on me, Routt. I’ll not stand for it. I’ll run him -out of town. Or get out myself. Damn it, Routt, he’s a hypocrite! He’s a -whited sepulcher. I’ll—”</p> - -<p>Routt laughed good-naturedly, and held up a quieting hand. “Hold on,” he -said. “We’ll have better than this on Wint before long. Good enough so -that I—I’ll tell you a secret, Kite.”</p> - -<p>Kite looked suspicious, and asked what the secret was; but Routt decided -not to tell. Not just yet. “Wait till the time comes,” he told Kite. “A -little later on.”</p> - -<p>So Kite waited.</p> - -<p>Toward the end of June, the street carnival came to town for a week’s -stay. These carnivals are indigenous to such towns as Hardiston. They -resemble nothing so much as an aggrega<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_264" id="page_264">{264}</a></span>tion of the added attractions -which usually go with a circus, broken loose from the circus and -wandering about the country alone. A merry-go-round reared its tent and -set up it clanking organ at Main and Pearl streets. Down the hill below -the tent, the snake-eating wild man had his lair; and below him, again, -there was an “Ocean Wave.” Along Pearl Street in the other direction the -Museum of Freaks and the Galaxy of Beauty were located. Main Street -itself was given over to venders of popcorn, candy, hot dogs, ice-cream -sandwiches, lemonade, ginger pop, and every other indigestible on the -calendar. There also, you might, for the matter of a nickel, have three -tries at ringing a cane worth six cents, or a knife worth three. Or you -might take a chance in the great lottery, where every entrant drew some -prize, even if it were only a packet of hairpins. The arts and crafts -were represented by a man who would twist a bit of gilded wire into -likeness of your signature for half a dollar.</p> - -<p>The first tents of the carnival began to rise one Saturday morning; and -all that day and the next, the boys of the town and the grown-ups, too, -watched the show take shape. It was almost as good as a circus. At noon -on Monday, the carnival opened for business, with the ballyhoo men in -full voice before every tent. The moderate afternoon crowd grew into a -throng in the evening, when the kerosene torches flared and smoked on -every pole, and the normal things of daylight took on a dusky glamour in -the jerky illumination of the flares.</p> - -<p>Every one went uptown to the carnival that first evening. Wint was -there, and Jack Routt, Agnes, Joan, V. R. Kite—every one. In -mid-evening, the quieter folk drifted home, but Wint stayed to watch -what passed. A little after eleven, he bumped into a drunken man.</p> - -<p>In spite of his warning to the advance agent of this carnival, Wint had -been expecting to see drunken men. It was the nature of the carnival -breed. He wandered back and forth till he came upon Jim Radabaugh, and -called the marshal aside.</p> - -<p>“Jim,” he said, “they’re selling booze.”</p> - -<p>Radabaugh shifted that lump in his cheek, and spat. “So?” he asked -mildly.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_265" id="page_265">{265}</a></span></p> - -<p>“I want it stopped,” said Wint. “If you pin it on the carnival bunch, -I’ll shut them up.”</p> - -<p>“I’ll see,” Radabaugh promised.</p> - -<p>“Come along, first, and let’s talk to the boss,” Wint suggested; and -they sought out that man. He was running the merry-go-round; a hard -little fellow with a cold blue eye. Wint introduced himself; and the man -shook hands effusively.</p> - -<p>“My name’s Rand,” he said. “Mike Rand. Glad t’ meet you, Mister Mayor.”</p> - -<p>Wint said: “That’s all right,” and he asked: “Did your advance man give -you my orders?”</p> - -<p>“What orders?”</p> - -<p>“I told him I didn’t want any booze peddling.”</p> - -<p>“Sure, he told me.”</p> - -<p>Wint jerked his head backward toward Main Street. “I ran into a drunk up -there,” he said.</p> - -<p>Rand grinned. “Can’t help that. We’re not selling any.”</p> - -<p>“I’m holding you responsible,” said Wint. “If there’s any sold, I’ll -cancel your permits.”</p> - -<p>The little man stared at him bleakly. “You’ve got a nerve. You can’t pin -anything on us.”</p> - -<p>“I can’t help that,” Wint told him. “In fact, I don’t care. If there’s -booze sold, you get out. If I pin in on any man, he goes to jail. Is -that clear?”</p> - -<p>“What is this town, anyway—a damned Sunday school?”</p> - -<p>“If you like,” said Wint sweetly; and he and Radabaugh turned away. -Rand’s engine man left his throttle to approach his chief and ask:</p> - -<p>“What’s up? Who was that?”</p> - -<p>“Mayor of this burg and the marshal. Say we’ve got to shut down on the -booze.”</p> - -<p>“Like hell!”</p> - -<p>Rand grinned. “Sure. He can’t run a whoozer on me.”</p> - -<p>When he left Radabaugh, Wint ran into Jack Routt, and they strolled -about together through the crowd. Once they saw Hetty, and Wint thought -she was unnaturally cheerful and gay. He wondered if it were possible -she had been drinking again; and he stared after her so long that Routt -asked:<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_266" id="page_266">{266}</a></span></p> - -<p>“Takes your eye, does she?’</p> - -<p>“I was wondering,” said Wint.</p> - -<p>Routt touched his arm. “You take it from me, Wint, you want to keep -clear of her. I’d get her out of the house, if I were you. They’re -beginning to talk.”</p> - -<p>Wint asked angrily: “Who’s beginning to talk? What about?”</p> - -<p>“Everybody. About Hetty—and you, naturally.”</p> - -<p>“I wish they—I wish people in this town would mind their own business.”</p> - -<p>Routt grinned and said: “You act as though there was something in it.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t be a darned fool.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I’m telling you what people say. If I were you—you’re a public -official, you know, in the public eye—I’d be careful. Tell your mother -to get rid of her. Safest thing to do.”</p> - -<p>“I’m not looking for safe things to do.” Wint liked the defiant sound of -that.</p> - -<p>Routt nodded. “I’d be worried, if it was me. That’s all.”</p> - -<p>“I’m not worried,” said Wint. “Hetty’s all right. And if she weren’t—I -don’t propose to be scared.”</p> - -<p>“We-ell, it’s your funeral,” Routt told him.</p> - -<p>Wint laughed. “I guess it’s not as bad as that. It’s almost twelve. I’m -going home.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_267" id="page_267">{267}</a></span>”</p> - -<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XI-d" id="CHAPTER_XI-d"></a>CHAPTER XI<br /><br /> -<small>FIRST BLOOD</small></h3> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">I</span>T was upon the carnival that Wint was to score first blood in his fight -to clean up Hardiston. Mike Rand, carnival boss, was a hard man, willing -to take a chance, afraid only of being bluffed. So he took Wint’s -warning as a challenge. Nevertheless, for the sake of making things as -sure as might be, he went to see V. R. Kite. He and Kite had known and -understood each other for a good many years.</p> - -<p>He dropped in to see Kite Tuesday morning; and the little man remembered -his church connections and his outward respectability, and worried for -fear some one had seen Rand come in. His worry took the form of -resentment at Rand’s imprudence. “Ought to be more careful,” he -protested. “Have more sense, man. I have to watch myself in this town. -Don’t you know that? I have a position to keep up. You’re all right, of -course.” This as Rand’s eyes hardened in a stare that made Kite wince. -“But I can’t afford to be hitched up with you openly. It wouldn’t do -either of us any good.”</p> - -<p>Rand said dryly: “You don’t need to worry about me. I can stand it.”</p> - -<p>“I can be useful to you now, whereas my usefulness would be gone if I -were less respected.”</p> - -<p>“Respected, hell!” said Rand without emotion. “Don’t they call you ‘The -Buzzard’ around here? I’ve heard so. That don’t sound respectful.”</p> - -<p>“That’s a jest,” said Kite. “Nothing more.”</p> - -<p>“Pinned on you by this shrimp Mayor, wasn’t it?”</p> - -<p>“Yes. Good-naturedly. He was drunk.”</p> - -<p>“Drunk? Him?” Rand lifted his hands in pious horror. “I thought he was -one of these ‘lips-that-touch-liquor-shall-never-touch-mine’ guys, to -hear him talk.”</p> - -<p>“He’s not drinking now; not openly. He was a sot, a few<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_268" id="page_268">{268}</a></span> months ago. -Dead drunk in the Weaver House, the night he was elected Mayor. I saw -him there.”</p> - -<p>Rand drawled: “I’ll say this is some town.” He leaned forward. “What I -want to know is: how about this booze? He serves notice on me that I’m -responsible if any’s sold. How about it? Will he go through? Or is it a -bluff?”</p> - -<p>Kite considered. “I don’t know,” he said.</p> - -<p>“Has he shut you down?”</p> - -<p>“He gave us orders not to sell; and we’re not selling. But we’re not -idle. We’re preparing to spring a mine under that man.”</p> - -<p>“He’s got you bluffed.”</p> - -<p>Kite’s face twisted with a sudden rush of fury. “I tell you, we’re going -to destroy him—blast him!—in our own good time.”</p> - -<p>Rand studied the little man; then he nodded. “Well, that’s all right. -Just the same, he’s got you shut down.”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“Has he pulled any one yet for selling?”</p> - -<p>“No.”</p> - -<p>“How about the marshal? Is he reasonable?”</p> - -<p>“I believe he will obey the Mayor’s orders.”</p> - -<p>“Only question is the Mayor’s nerve, then?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“And you haven’t tried it out?”</p> - -<p>“No; we’re waiting to strike when we’re sure of winning.”</p> - -<p>“Hell!” said Rand disgustedly. “He’s got you bluffed. I don’t believe -he’s got the nerve to go through with it; but one thing’s sure. He’s got -your number, you old skate.”</p> - -<p>Kite answered hotly: “If you’re so brave, why don’t you go ahead and -fight him?”</p> - -<p>“Are you with me?”</p> - -<p>“I’m not ready to fight.”</p> - -<p>Rand got up. “Well, I am. I never dodged a fight yet. You watch, old -man; you’ll see the fur fly yet.”</p> - -<p>He stalked out, head back and shoulders squared aggressively. Kite -watched him go, and nodded to himself with a measure of satisfaction. He -was perfectly willing to see Wint forced to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_269" id="page_269">{269}</a></span> fight—provided some one -besides himself did the forcing. Rand looked like a fighter.</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>Wint and Jack Routt met, on the way uptown after supper that day. Routt -asked if Wint were going to the carnival again, and Wint nodded. -“Keeping an eye on it,” he said.</p> - -<p>They went to the Post Office first; and Routt stopped at his office. -“Come up,” he said. “I’ll only be a minute.”</p> - -<p>Wint went up with him. Routt dropped a letter or two on his desk; then -from a lower drawer produced a bottle. “Don’t mind if I mix myself a -highball, do you, Wint?” he asked cheerfully. “I don’t suppose you’ll -feel called on to arrest me.”</p> - -<p>“Go ahead,” Wint said. Routt poured some whisky into a glass, filled it -from a siphon.</p> - -<p>“You’re wise to leave the stuff alone,” he said, between the first and -second sips from the glass. “It’s bad stuff unless a fellow can handle -it.”</p> - -<p>Wint nodded uneasily. There was no physical craving in him; nevertheless -there was an acute desire to drink for the sake of drinking, for the -sake of being like other men, for the sake of defying the danger. -“That’s right,” he said. “I’m off it.”</p> - -<p>“At that,” Routt remarked, the highball half gone, “I guess you’ve shown -you can take it or let it alone. I lay off of it myself, once in a -while, just to be sure I can.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I don’t miss it,” Wint said brazenly.</p> - -<p>“Sure you don’t,” Routt agreed. “You’re no toper. Never were. Any one -likes to drink for the sake of being a good fellow. That’s all I drink -for.” He finished the glass, poured in a little more whisky. “Long as -I’m sure I can stop when I want to, the way you have done, I go ahead -and drink whenever I feel like it.”</p> - -<p>Wint nodded. Routt looked at him with a curious intentness. “Another -glass here, if you’d like,” he said.</p> - -<p>“I guess not.”</p> - -<p>Routt laughed. “All right. You know best. If you can’t let it alone when -you get started—”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I can take a drink and quit.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_270" id="page_270">{270}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“Want one?”</p> - -<p>“No, I don’t think so.”</p> - -<p>Routt chuckled. “Funny to see you afraid of anything,” he said. “I never -expected to see it.”</p> - -<p>Wint got up abruptly. The old Wint would have reached for the bottle; -this was the new Wint’s impulse. But he fought it down, steadied his -voice. “Jack,” he said, a little huskily, “you’re a friend of mine. I -don’t want to drink, never. Don’t offer it to me. Some day I might -accept. Don’t ever offer me a drink, Jack. Please.”</p> - -<p>Routt was ashamed of himself, and angry at Wint for making him ashamed. -“Hell, all right,” he said, and dropped the bottle into its place. “Come -on, let’s take the air.”</p> - -<p>At a little after eleven that night, Mike Rand sought out Wint. Wint was -standing before the cane booth, watching the ring-tossers. Rand pushed -up beside him and touched his arm, and Wint looked around. The carnival -boss said harshly:</p> - -<p>“Hey, you!”</p> - -<p>Wint looked around at him, and said quietly: “Evening. What’s the -matter?”</p> - -<p>“Your damned hick marshal has pulled one of my men. I want to bail him -out.”</p> - -<p>Wint took a minute to consider this, get his bearings. He had not seen -Radabaugh all evening. He asked Rand: “You mean he’s made an arrest? -What’s the charge?”</p> - -<p>“Claims the man was selling booze to a bum.”</p> - -<p>“Was he?” Wint inquired gently.</p> - -<p>“Was he” Rand growled. “No, of course not. You must think we’re bad men, -coming here to dirty your pretty little town. He was selling liver -pills, or pink tea. What the hell of it? I want to bail him out.”</p> - -<p>“No bail accepted,” said Wint quietly. “He’ll have to stay in the -calaboose over night.”</p> - -<p>Rand exploded, as though he had been half expecting this. He said some -harsh things about Hardiston, and some harsher things about Wint, none -of which will bear repeating. In the midst of them, Wint stirred a -little and struck the man heavily<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_271" id="page_271">{271}</a></span> in the mouth with his right fist; at -the same time, his left started and landed in the other’s throat, and -the right went home again on Rand’s hard little jaw. Rand fell in a -snoring heap.</p> - -<p>Wint was curiously elated. He looked around. A crowd had gathered, and -some of the carnival men were pushing through the crowd. There was a -belligerent look about them. Then he saw Marshal Jim Radabaugh elbowing -through the circle, and Wint was glad to see Jim. He called him:</p> - -<p>“Marshal, here’s a man I’ve arrested.”</p> - -<p>That halted Rand’s underlings. Rand himself was groaning back to -consciousness. Wint pointed down at him. “Take him to jail,” he said.</p> - -<p>One of the carnival men protested. Wint turned to him. “Close up your -shows, all of you,” he told the man. “Your permit’s cancelled. Get out -of town to-morrow.”</p> - -<p>Radabaugh had Rand on his feet; he gripped the man, his left hand -twisted in the other’s collar. Two or three of Rand’s men surged toward -them, and Radabaugh’s gun flickered into sight. It had a steadying -effect; no one pressed closer.</p> - -<p>All the fighting blood had flowed out of Rand’s smashed lips. He was -whining now: “Come, old man, what’s the idea?” Wint and Radabaugh -marched him between them through the crowd. Two or three score curious, -cheering or cursing spectators followed them to the cells behind the -fire-engine house. Rand submitted to being locked up there with no more -than querulous protests. He seemed thoroughly tamed. He asked for a -lawyer, but Wint said there was no need of a lawyer that night. Two of -the fire department, on duty, had come out to see the business of -locking up this second prisoner. Radabaugh bade them keep an eye on the -cells, and they agreed to do so. Then the marshal scattered the crowd. -Wint washed his bruised hands in the engine house. After a little, -Radabaugh came in; and Wint asked:</p> - -<p>“Is it true you got a man selling?”</p> - -<p>“Yes. The capper at the lottery.”</p> - -<p>“How’d you get him?”</p> - -<p>Radabaugh chuckled, and shifted the lump in his cheek.</p> - -<p>“Saw Ote Runns,” he said. “Figured Ote would nose out any<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_272" id="page_272">{272}</a></span> loose booze, -so I kind of kept an eye on Ote. He talked to two or three men, and -finally to this fellow. They went in behind the billboard by the hotel, -and I saw him slip Ote the bottle and take Ote’s money. So I nabbed -him.”</p> - -<p>“Ote? Get him too?”</p> - -<p>“Yes; him and his half pint. I let him keep it. He was pretty shaky. -Needed it, I guess.”</p> - -<p>Wint nodded. “Be around in the morning?” he asked. “I’ll be down early.”</p> - -<p>Radabaugh assented. Wint hesitated, then he said: “Good work, Jim.”</p> - -<p>The marshal grinned. “Well,” he told Wint, “from the looks of Rand’s -face, you did some good work, too.”</p> - -<p>They shook hands. There was a distinctly mutual liking and admiration in -their grip. Then Wint started for home, and Radabaugh went back to keep -an eye on his prisoners.</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>One of Rand’s men went to V. R. Kite with the news of the trouble; and -Kite, uncertain what to do, sent for Jack Routt and told him what had -happened. This was at midnight. “I’ve got to stand by Rand,” Kite said. -“The question is, are we ready to get after Wint?”</p> - -<p>Routt shook his head. “Time for that. Hold off,” he advised.</p> - -<p>Kite asked impatiently: “How long? What makes you think you can get -anything on him?”</p> - -<p>“It’s ripe,” said Routt. “Apt to break any time. I’ve been working on -it.”</p> - -<p>In the end, he persuaded Kite to wait. “Well, then,” Kite asked, “what -are we going to do about Rand?”</p> - -<p>“He’s got to take his medicine.”</p> - -<p>“He won’t. He’ll fight.”</p> - -<p>“I’ll tell you,” said Routt. “I’ll go see him. Fix it up with him.”</p> - -<p>“Can you do it without Wint’s finding out?”</p> - -<p>Routt laughed. “I’m a lawyer. I’ve a right to have clients, even in the -Mayor’s court. I’ll take their case.”</p> - -<p>Kite, in the end, agreed to that. When Routt left the little<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_273" id="page_273">{273}</a></span> man, he -intended to go direct to the jail; but on the way, he changed his mind. -As well to let the men cool their heels. It would make Rand more ready -to listen to reason.</p> - -<p>He went up Main Street toward the carnival, and found that the tents -were coming down, one of Radabaugh’s officers keeping a watchful eye on -the proceedings. Wint’s orders that the shows be closed could not be -evaded. This much, at least, he had scored. Routt went home and did some -thinking.</p> - -<p>He appeared at the jail half an hour before Wint came to hold court; and -Radabaugh let him talk with Rand and with the other man. When Wint -appeared, the two were brought into court, with Ote Runns as a witness, -for good measure. Wint was surprised to see Routt. Jack nodded to him, -and came up to Wint’s desk, and said: “Rand sent for me. Wanted me to -take his case. He knows he’s licked, I think. He’ll take his medicine, -if you don’t make it too stiff.”</p> - -<p>“I’m charging him with assault and with using profane language,” said -Wint.</p> - -<p>“Assault?” Routt laughed. “Thought it was you that did the assaulting.”</p> - -<p>“He made threats. Threats constitute an assault. You know that as well -as I do.”</p> - -<p>Routt nodded. “Oh, sure.” He added: “You know, the carnival’s shut up. -It’s costing Rand money. You might go as light as you can.”</p> - -<p>“I’m going to give the other man the limit,” said Wint.</p> - -<p>“That’s all right,” Routt agreed. “Rand’s sore at him for getting -caught. He’ll let the poor gink take his medicine.”</p> - -<p>Wint nodded abstractedly. Foster, the city solicitor, had just come in, -and Wint beckoned to him, and asked: “What’s the worst I can do on a -charge of illegal liquor selling?”</p> - -<p>“Two hundred dollars’ fine on the first offense,” Foster told him.</p> - -<p>Three minutes later, the offender was protesting that he could not pay -such a fine; he was appealing desperately to Rand. Wint bade the -carnival boss stand up. Rand got to his feet.</p> - -<p>“I’m sorry for this business,” he said humbly. “I thought you were just -trying to save your face. Running a bluff.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_274" id="page_274">{274}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“Are you paying his fine for your friend?” Wint asked coldly.</p> - -<p>Rand said: “No, blast him! If he wants to get caught by a hick -constable, let him take his medicine. Work it out.”</p> - -<p>“I wouldn’t call Radabaugh a hick to his face,” Wint suggested in a mild -voice, and Rand apologized.</p> - -<p>“I didn’t mean a thing,” he said.</p> - -<p>Wint, in a swift hurry to be done, told him: “You’re fined ten for -assault, and five for profanity. And costs.”</p> - -<p>“That’s all right,” Rand cheerfully agreed. “I’ll pay.”</p> - -<p>Wint nodded, disgusted at the man because he submitted so tamely. He sat -back in his chair, listening idly to what Routt was saying, paying no -apparent heed. Rand settled his fines and costs with the clerk, shook -hands with Routt, and departed. When he was gone, Wint sat up with new -energy.</p> - -<p>“I hope we’re rid of him for good,” he said.</p> - -<p>“You are, I’ll say,” Routt told him. “He’s had all he wants.”</p> - -<p>The carnival got out of town that day; but before he departed, Rand had -a word with Kite, and Kite comforted him. “Don’t worry,” Kite said. -“This won’t last. You’ll make a harvest here, next summer.”</p> - -<p>Rand said ruefully: “I’m not making any harvest now. And they tell me -you helped elect this guy.”</p> - -<p>“He was a common drunk, then. How could I know?”</p> - -<p>Rand fingered his swollen face gingerly. “I’ll say he’s got a punch.”</p> - -<p>“He won’t have any punch left when we’re done with him,” Kite promised. -“Wait and see.”</p> - -<p>“I’m waiting,” said Rand. And a little later, he and his cohorts went -their way.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_275" id="page_275">{275}</a></span></p> - -<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XII-d" id="CHAPTER_XII-d"></a>CHAPTER XII<br /><br /> -<small>POOR HETTY</small></h3> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">I</span>N mid-July, Wint at last found out the truth about Hetty. That is to -say, he found out a part of the truth; enough to make him heartsick and -sorry.</p> - -<p>His eventual enlightenment was inevitable as to-morrow morning’s -sunrise. A more sophisticated young man—Jack Routt, for example—would -not have remained in the dark so long. But Wint, aside from noticing -that Hetty looked badly, and aside from some casual consideration of -Routt’s repeated warnings, gave very little thought to his mother’s -handmaiden. There were too many other and more important things to -occupy him. His work as Mayor, his studies, his Joan. Joan was bulking -very large in his life in those days. He found understanding, and -sympathy, in her. They were better than sweethearts; they were friends. -The other—this thought must have been lying, unspoken, in the mind of -each—the other could wait and must wait till Wint had proved himself -for good and all. Then.... Once in a while, Wint allowed himself to look -forward, and to dream. But not often. The present was too engrossing to -give much time for dreaming of the future.</p> - -<p>So, though he saw Hetty daily, when she served the meals at home, or -when he went into the kitchen, or when he encountered her at her -cleaning in the front part of the house, Wint gave her very little -consideration. His mother protested, once in a while, that Hetty was -growing lazy. “She slacks things,” the voluble little woman said. “She -leaves dust about; and she’s not so neat as she used to be. I declare, -you just can’t get a girl that will keep up her work. They all get so -lazy after a while, but I did think that Hetty was going to be—”</p> - -<p>Wint’s father said, tolerantly, that Hetty was all right; that she was a -good cook, and did her work well enough, so far as<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_276" id="page_276">{276}</a></span> he could see. The -elder Chase had always been a good-natured man; but a new generosity in -his appraisal of others was developing in the man now. He had been in -some trouble of mind since that day in May when Amos Caretall came home. -Chase was oppressed by the conviction that he had acted unworthily in -that matter; yet he could not admit as much. His hostility toward Amos -would not let him. The result was that he felt at odds with his son; -that they avoided discussions of the town’s affairs; that they lived -together in a polite neutrality. It was working changes in Chase. He was -becoming, in some fashion, a sympathetic, rather likable figure. You -felt he was unhappy, needed comforting.</p> - -<p>So, on this day, he spoke well of Hetty; and because Mrs. Chase was -always the loyal mirror of her husband’s opinions, she also ceased to -criticize the girl. Wint had heard the conversation, but it made little -impression on him. He was thinking of other things; wondering, for -example, when Kite would make the first move in the conflict that was -sure to come. He had heard, that day—Gergue told him—that Routt was -thinking of running for Mayor against him in the fall. Wint was having -difficulty in understanding that. He knew Routt was his friend; and, of -course, political opponents might still be personal friends. -Nevertheless.... The thing puzzled him. It did not jibe with his opinion -of Routt.</p> - -<p>After supper that night, the elder Chase went downtown. Wint had some -writing to do, and went upstairs to his room to do it. Mrs. Chase had a -caller, Mrs. Hullis, from next door. They were sewing and talking -together in the sitting room. Wint could hear the murmur of his mother’s -voice, steady and persistent. Mrs. Hullis was a good listener.</p> - -<p>About an hour after supper, Wint realized that he wanted a drink of -water. There was water in the bathroom; but there was a filter on the -faucet in the kitchen, and Hardiston water needed filtering. It was pure -enough, clean enough, but there was a proportion of iron in it that -sometimes gave the water a slightly rusty color. So Wint went down by -the back stairs, in order not to disturb his mother, into the kitchen.</p> - -<p>He found Hetty sitting in a kitchen chair with her arms hang<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_277" id="page_277">{277}</a></span>ing limply -and her feet outstretched before her. The girl’s whole body was slumped -down, as though she had fainted; and at first Wint thought this was what -had happened, for Hetty’s eyes were closed. He cried out:</p> - -<p>“Why, Hetty? What’s the matter? Are you sick?”</p> - -<p>And he went quickly toward her across the kitchen.</p> - -<p>But when he spoke, Hetty opened her eyes and looked at him, and shook -her head. “No,” she said, in the sullen tone that had become habitual to -her. “No, I’m all right.”</p> - -<p>“You are not,” Wint protested. “You’re as white as a rag.” He saw the -dishes piled in the sink. “You’ve not cleaned up after supper. How long -have you been this way?”</p> - -<p>Hetty closed her eyes wearily, and opened them again, and managed a -smile. “Oh, I’m all right, Wint,” she said. “You’re a nice boy. Run -along. Don’t bother about me.”</p> - -<p>Wint laughed. “I’m not bothering. I want to help. What happened?”</p> - -<p>“I—just felt terribly tired—all of a sudden,” she said. There was a -suggestion of surrender in her voice; as though the barriers of reserve -were breaking down. “That’s all, Wint; I’m just tired.”</p> - -<p>“You need a rest,” Wint agreed. “You’ve been plugging away, taking care -of us, for a long time, now. Come in and lie down on the couch in the -dining room.”</p> - -<p>Hetty shook her head in a frightened little way; the bravado was going -out of her. She seemed very helpless and feminine. “No, no,” she -protested. “I’ll be all right as soon as I rest a little. Do run along, -Wint.”</p> - -<p>Wint put his hand on her forehead. “There’s more than just being tired -the matter with you. You’re sick, Hetty. Your head’s hot. I’ll tell you, -you go up and go to bed, and I’ll clean up down here. I’m a champion -dish washer.”</p> - -<p>Hetty laughed wearily. “You’re a champion decent boy, Wint,” she said. -“But you’ll just have to let me alone. There’s nothing you can do for -me.”</p> - -<p>“I can see that you go up to bed.”</p> - -<p>“No, no; I’m all right. Nearly.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_278" id="page_278">{278}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>Wint started for the door. “I’m going to telephone for a doctor,” he -declared. “You’re sick, Hetty. That’s the plain English of it. I’m going -to telephone.”</p> - -<p>She had moved so swiftly that she startled him; moved after him, caught -his arm, shook it fiercely. “You’ll not telephone for any one, do you -hear?” she told him hotly. “You let me alone, Wint. What do I want with -a doctor!”</p> - -<p>Wint was honestly uneasy about her. He said: “Then let me call mother. -She’s a good hand to make sick people well. She—”</p> - -<p>“No, no, not your mother,” Hetty protested. And half to herself she -added: “Not your mother. She would know.”</p> - -<p>The little phrase was profoundly revealing. “She would know.” It struck -Wint like a splash of cold water in the face. “She would know.” It told -so old a story. Wint understood, at last; and Hetty saw understanding in -his eyes, and braced herself to defy him. But Wint only said softly:</p> - -<p>“Hetty? That.... You poor kid! I’m so sorry.”</p> - -<p>Hetty laughed harshly; and her face began to twist and work and assume -strange contortions, and abruptly she began to cry. She turned and -groped her way to the chair again, and sat down with her head pillowed -on her arms on the table, and sobbed as though her heart was broken. -Wint stood very still, stunned and miserable, watching her. There was no -sound at all in the kitchen except the sound of Hetty’s racking, choking -sobs. In the stillness, Wint could hear the even murmur of his mother’s -voice, three rooms away, as she talked to Mrs. Hullis. He could almost -hear the words she said. And Hetty sobbed, with her head on her arms.</p> - -<p>Wint went across to her and touched her head with his hand; and she -brushed it away with an angry gesture, as a hurt dog snarls at the hand -that comes to heal its hurt. She was like a hurt animal, he thought; she -was quite alone in the world. Worse than alone, for she was here in -Hardiston, where every one would make her business their business. For -that is the way of small towns. Wint was terribly sorry for her, -terribly anxious to help her. He had no thought, in this moment, of Jack -Routt’s warnings; and if he had remembered them, they<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_279" id="page_279">{279}</a></span> would only have -hardened his determination to help her. Which may have been what Jack -intended.</p> - -<p>He said: “Cry it out, Hetty. Then I want to talk to you.”</p> - -<p>She said thickly: “Go away. Let me alone.” But Wint did not move, while -she cried and cried.</p> - -<p>He stood just beside her. Hetty at last shifted her position, so that -she could look down between her arms and see his feet where he waited. -She said again:</p> - -<p>“Go away.”</p> - -<p>Wint chuckled comfortingly. “I’m not going away,” he said. “This is the -time your friends will stick by you. I’m going to stick by you.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t want you to,” she said. “I don’t want any one to. Go away. Let -me alone. Let me do what I want to.”</p> - -<p>Wint said: “You mustn’t think this is too desperately hopeless, Hetty. -I’m going to do anything I can; and mother will take care of you.”</p> - -<p>She lifted her head at that and looked at him and laughed in a hard, -disillusioned way. “A lot you know about women, Wint,” she said.</p> - -<p>“I know that you think things are darker than they are,” he assured her. -“You’ll see. We’ll manage. Mother and I.”</p> - -<p>“Your mother’ll order me out of the house, minute she knows,” said Hetty -unemotionally.</p> - -<p>Wint protested. “No; you don’t know her. Mother couldn’t hurt any one. -You’ll see. She’ll do everything.”</p> - -<p>Hetty got up and went to work on the dishes like an automaton. She had -to busy herself with something, or she would have screamed. She was -trembling, hysterically astir. Wint watched her for a little; then he -said:</p> - -<p>“You’re going to let us help you.”</p> - -<p>“All the help I’ll get will be a kick,” she said. “Your mother won’t -want the like of me in her house.”</p> - -<p>“You don’t know her,” he insisted. “Mother’s fine, underneath. She’s -always doing things for people. You’ll see.”</p> - -<p>Hetty looked at him sideways, smiling a little. “You never would believe -anything was so till you’d tried it, Wint,” she told him. “But you’re -pretty decent, just the same.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_280" id="page_280">{280}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>He said, studying her: “You’re looking better already. Feeling better?”</p> - -<p>She nodded. “It helps some—just to tell some one,” she admitted. “And -the spell is over, anyway.”</p> - -<p>“Having friends always helps,” he told her. “You’ll find it so.” She -smiled wistfully; and he went on: “I’m going to speak to mother -to-night.”</p> - -<p>Hetty said: “Well, she’s got a right to know. I’ll pack up my things.”</p> - -<p>“After Mrs. Hullis goes.”</p> - -<p>“Why not tell her, too? Your mother will, first thing in the morning.”</p> - -<p>Wint laughed. “You like to look at the black side, don’t you? I tell -you, it’s going to be all right.”</p> - -<p>She whirled to face him, and said, under her breath, with a terrible -earnestness: “All right? All right? If you say that again, I’ll yell at -you. You poor, nice, straight fool of a kid. You talk like I was a baby -that had stubbed its toe. And all the time, I’d better be dead, dead. -This is no stubbed toe, Wint. Wake up. Don’t be a—”</p> - -<p>And abruptly she collapsed again, weeping, into the chair.</p> - -<p>Wint said insistently: “Just the same, Hetty, you’ll see I know what I’m -talking about. Things will come out better than you think.”</p> - -<p>She cried: “Oh, get out of here. Get out of here. You poor little fool.”</p> - -<p>Wint went up to his room. Mrs. Hullis was still with his mother. He -would wait till Mrs. Hullis was gone.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_281" id="page_281">{281}</a></span></p> - -<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XIII-d" id="CHAPTER_XIII-d"></a>CHAPTER XIII<br /><br /> -<small>THE MERCY OF THE COURT</small></h3> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">M</span>RS. HULLIS stayed late, and Wint had time to do some thinking before -she finally departed. But he did very little. He was in no mood for -thinking. It was characteristic of Wint that when his sympathies were -aroused, he was an unfaltering partisan; and there was no question that -his sympathies had been aroused in behalf of Hetty.</p> - -<p>It was equally characteristic of him that he wasted very little time -wondering who was to blame for what had happened; and that he wasted no -time at all in considering what Hardiston would say about it all. He was -going to help the girl; he had made up his mind to that. The rest did -not matter at all.</p> - -<p>He counted on his mother’s sympathy and understanding; and when, after a -time, he heard her showing Mrs. Hullis to the door, and heard their two -voices upraised in a last babel as they cleaned up the tag ends of -conversation and said good-by, he went out into the upper hall, to be -ready to descend. Hetty had gone upstairs a little earlier; he could -hear her now, moving about in her room.</p> - -<p>His mother went out on the front steps with Mrs. Hullis, to be sure no -word had been forgotten; and when she came in after her visitor had -gone, Wint was waiting for her. She said: “Why, Wint, I thought you’d -gone to bed long ago. I told Mrs. Hullis you were studying the law books -up in your room. Mr. Hullis is a lawyer, you know. She says he brings -his books home and sits up half the night, but I told her you were -always one to go early to bed, ever since you was a boy. And she said -she—”</p> - -<p>Wint took her arm good-naturedly. “There, mother,” he interrupted. “I -don’t care what Mrs. Hullis said. I want to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_282" id="page_282">{282}</a></span> talk to you about something -that has just come up. Come in and sit down.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Chase, like most talkative women, was habitually so absorbed in her -own conversation and her own thoughts that it was hard to surprise her. -She took Wint’s announcement as a matter of course; and they went into -the sitting room arm in arm, and she picked up her sewing basket and sat -down in the chair she had occupied all evening, and began to rock primly -back and forth while she stretched a sock on her fingers to discover any -holes it might have acquired. “...do get such a comfort out of talking -to Mrs. Hullis,” she was saying, as she sat down. “She’s such a nice -woman, Wint. I never could see why you didn’t like her more. She and -I—”</p> - -<p>Wint said: “I don’t want to talk to you about Mrs. Hullis, mother. I -want to talk to you about Hetty.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Chase did drop her work in her lap at that. “About Hetty?” she -echoed. “Why should you want to talk about Hetty? Wint! You’re never -going to marry her, are you? I—”</p> - -<p>Wint laughed. “No, no. Not that Hetty isn’t a nice girl; and she’ll make -some fellow a mighty fine wife. But I want to—”</p> - -<p>“There,” said Mrs. Chase, immensely reassured. “I knew it couldn’t be -that. I always knew you and Joan.... I said to Mrs. Hullis to-night that -you and Joan were friendly as ever. She’s a nice girl, Wint. I don’t see -why you don’t get married right away. Your father and I were married -before—”</p> - -<p>Wint said, persistently bringing her back to the point: “I don’t want to -talk about Joan, either, mother. It’s Hetty.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I should think you would want to talk about Joan,” Mrs. Chase -declared. “She’s worth talking about. I’m sure she wouldn’t like it very -much to know you didn’t want to talk about her, Wint. She—”</p> - -<p>“Mother,” Wint insisted. “Hetty needs our help. I want you to—”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Chase looked at him with a face that had suddenly turned white and -cold. She put one trembling hand to her<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_283" id="page_283">{283}</a></span> throat. “Wint?” she asked, in a -husky whisper. “What’s the matter with Hetty? What are you talking -about? What is the—”</p> - -<p>“Hetty’s going to have a little baby,” said Wint gently.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Chase exclaimed: “Wint! You’re not.... You haven’t.... It isn’t -you?”</p> - -<p>“No, no,” Wint said impatiently. “Of course not. I—”</p> - -<p>“The shameless girl!” his mother cried, all her alarm turning into -anger. “The shameless hussy. In my house. I declare—”</p> - -<p>“Please,” her son protested. His mother got up.</p> - -<p>“She sha’n’t sleep another night under my roof,” she declared. “I never -thought to live to—”</p> - -<p>“Mother,” said Wint, so sternly that his mother stopped in the doorway. -“Come back,” he told her. And she obeyed him, protesting weakly. “Sit -down,” he said. “Hetty needs our help. Don’t you understand?”</p> - -<p>When a wolf is injured, his own pack pulls him down; when a crow is -hurt, his fellows of the flock peck him to death relentlessly; but wolf -and crow are merciful compared to womankind. There is no deeper instinct -in woman than that which condemns the sister who has strayed. It is true -that, in many women, the compassion overpowers the cruelty of wrath. But -Mrs. Chase was a very simple person, elemental, a woman and nothing -more. She sat down at Wint’s command; but she said implacably:</p> - -<p>“I won’t have her in the house, Wint. A girl like that. I should think -you’d be ashamed to stand up for her. A shameless, worthless thing.... -You can talk all you’re a mind to, but I’m going to send her packing. -You and your father have your own way, most of the time, but this is -once that I’m going to have mine. I always knew she was too pretty for -any good. Pretty, and impudent, and all. I won’t have her—”</p> - -<p>Wint asked: “Hasn’t she worked hard enough for you? Done her work well? -Tried to do what you wanted?”</p> - -<p>“Course she’s done her work, or I wouldn’t have kept her. That hasn’t a -thing to do with it, Wint. I’m surprised at you,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_284" id="page_284">{284}</a></span> standing up for her. I -told Mrs. Hullis, only the other day, that she was too pretty for her -own good. I might have known she would get into trouble. The nasty -little—”</p> - -<p>“Mother,” Wint cried sharply, “I won’t let you talk like that. I told -Hetty we’d help her; and she said you’d be against her; and I wouldn’t -believe it. I can’t believe it. A poor girl without a friend anywhere, -in the worst kind of trouble, and you—”</p> - -<p>“Wint, I don’t see why you stand up for her if you aren’t—”</p> - -<p>“You know I’m not. Don’t be ridiculous, mother. But I’ve known her all -our lives. Grew up with her. And I’m going to—”</p> - -<p>His mother shook her head positively: “I’m not going to have her in the -house, Wint. You don’t need to talk any more. That’s all there is to it. -I won’t!”</p> - -<p>“I counted on you.”</p> - -<p>“Well, you needn’t to count on me any more. I know what’s best; and I’m -not going to have that shameless—”</p> - -<p>She was interrupted, this time, by the arrival of Wint’s father. They -heard the front door open, and heard him come in. Wint got up and went -to the door that led into the hall. The elder Chase was hanging up his -hat. Mrs. Chase, behind Wint, was talking steadily. Wint said to his -father:</p> - -<p>“Come in, will you? Mother and I are talking something over.”</p> - -<p>Chase nodded; but he had news of his own. “Heard uptown to-night that -Routt’s going to run against you in the fall,” he said. “Did you know -that, Wint?”</p> - -<p>Wint nodded. “I’d heard so.”</p> - -<p>“I thought you and he were good friends.”</p> - -<p>“We are,” Wint said good-naturedly. “But that doesn’t prevent our being -political enemies. He’s had some break with Amos. Come in, dad. I want -you to hear—”</p> - -<p>But the older man heard it first from Mrs. Chase. She came across the -room to meet them, pouring it out indignantly. “And Wint wants me to -keep her,” she concluded. “Wants me to keep that girl in the house after -this. I told him<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_285" id="page_285">{285}</a></span>—”</p> - -<p>Chase asked: “What’s that? Wint, what is this? Hetty—in trouble?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir,” said Wint. “I found it out to-night; and I promised her we’d -stand by her. Help her.”</p> - -<p>Chase demanded sharply: “What right had you to commit us? If she chooses -to destroy herself, how does that concern us? I’m surprised at you, -Wint. It’s impossible.”</p> - -<p>Wint said, in a steady voice: “She needs friends badly. She hasn’t any -one to turn to. And Hetty’s a good sort, underneath. I told her—”</p> - -<p>“Why doesn’t she turn to the man?” Chase interjected. “He’s the one that -ought to—”</p> - -<p>“As a matter of fact, I haven’t thought of him,” said Wint. “But if he -were likely to help her, it seems to me he would have taken a hand -before this. Don’t you think so?”</p> - -<p>“Don’t I think so?” Wint’s father was outraged and angry. “I don’t think -anything about it. It’s no concern of ours, so long as she packs herself -out of here. Let her get out of her own mess.”</p> - -<p>“I’m going to make it a concern of mine,” said Wint, his jaw stiffening. -“I’m not going to see her turned adrift. I’m going to help her.”</p> - -<p>Chase looked at him keenly. “By God, Wint, is this your doing? Are -you—”</p> - -<p>Wint said, a little wearily: “That was the first thing mother asked. You -people don’t think very highly of me, do you?”</p> - -<p>“Isn’t it the natural question to ask?” his father demanded. “Isn’t it -the only possible explanation of this attitude on your part? Is it true, -young man? That you—”</p> - -<p>“Have it any way you want,” Wint exclaimed, too angry to deny again. “I -don’t care. The point is this. Hetty is in trouble; she needs friends. -I’ve promised that we would help her. I’ve promised you and mother would -back me up. I counted on you.”</p> - -<p>Chase lifted his hand in a terrible, silent rage. “You want to shame us, -your mother and me, in the face of all Hardiston. I tell you, Wint, -whether it’s your doing or not, you’re crazy. If it’s you—then we’ll -give her some money<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_286" id="page_286">{286}</a></span> and get rid of her. If it’s not, then she gets out -of here to-night. Inside the hour.”</p> - -<p>Wint said, half to himself: “We’d have to send her away, in any case. -Somewhere. For a while.”</p> - -<p>Chase laughed bitterly. “All right. If this is a new scrape you’ve got -yourself into, I’ll buy you out of it. How much does the girl want?”</p> - -<p>Wint flamed at him: “It’s not my concern, I tell you. You ought not to -need to be told.”</p> - -<p>“Then get her out of the house,” Chase exclaimed; “as quick as you can. -Or I will. Where is she?” He turned toward the door.</p> - -<p>But Wint was before him; blocked the doorway. “Father,” he said. “You -and mother.... I’ve promised her help. Promised you would be good to -her.”</p> - -<p>“The more fool you. She goes out to-night.”</p> - -<p>“If she goes,” Wint cried, “I go with her. You can do as you please.”</p> - -<p>For a little after that, there was silence in the room. Wint stood in -the doorway, head high and eyes hot. His father faced him. His mother -stood by her chair, across the room, her lips moving soundlessly. It was -she who first found voice. She came toward Wint in a clumsy, stumbling -little run; and she caught his arms, and she pleaded with him.</p> - -<p>“Don’t you do that, Wint. Don’t you. Don’t go away and leave us again. -We’re getting old, sonny. Your father and I. Your old mother. Don’t you -go away. We’d.... We couldn’t ever stand it again. We—”</p> - -<p>Wint said gently: “I don’t want to go. I want to stay at home here with -you both, and be proud of you, and love you.”</p> - -<p>“You shall stay,” she told him. “You shall. Anything you want, Wint, -sonny. I don’t care whether you did it or not. I’ll be good to her. I -will, Wint. If you’ll stay—”</p> - -<p>The boy said, half abashed: “I don’t want to seem to drive you to it. -Only—I’ve promised her. I can’t break my word to her. Please, can’t you -see?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_287" id="page_287">{287}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“It’s all right,” his mother protested. “I’ll do anything.” She clutched -her husband’s arm. “Tell him to stay, Winthrop,” she begged. “Don’t let -him go away. We’ll take care of Hetty.”</p> - -<p>Chase said: “You’re making lots of trouble for us, Wint.” He smiled a -little unsteadily. “We’re too old for so much excitement. You’ll have to -remember that. Remember to take care of us—as well as Hetty.”</p> - -<p>Wint could not hold out. He said: “All right. I won’t go away. Do as you -think best about Hetty. I hope you’ll let her—”</p> - -<p>“I’ll keep her,” his mother cried. “I’ll be as good as I know to her.”</p> - -<p>And his father echoed: “We’ll take care of her, Wint.”</p> - -<p>“You’re doing it because you want to,” Wint pleaded. “You don’t have to. -I’ll stay anyway. But I—hope you’ll want to help her, anyway.”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” Chase said. “We’ll keep her—because we want to. Do what we can.”</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>But they were not to keep her very long, for Hetty’s time was near. It -was decided that she should go to Columbus for a little while, returning -to them in the fall. Wint wrote a check to cover her expenses. Hetty’s -old sullenness had returned to her. She took the check without thanks, -and tucked it away in her pocketbook. She was to go to the train alone, -to avoid talk.</p> - -<p>The night of her going, Jack Routt met V. R. Kite, and took Kite to his -office. And he told him certain things, an evil elation in his eyes. -Told him in detail that which he had planned.</p> - -<p>Kite listened with eyes shining; and at the end he said: “He’ll deny it. -What can you prove?”</p> - -<p>“This proves the whole thing,” said Routt triumphantly, and slid a slip -of paper across the desk to Kite. Kite looked at it. A check, drawn by -Winthrop Chase, Junior, to the order of Henrietta Morfee.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_288" id="page_288">{288}</a></span></p> - -<p>The buzzard of a man banged his hard old fist upon the table. “By God, -Routt!” he cried, “we win. We’ll skin that cub. We’ll hang his hide on -the barn!”</p> - -<p>Routt reached into the drawer of his desk. “And that means,” he said, -“that it’s time to have a drink. Say when?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_289" id="page_289">{289}</a></span></p> - -<p class="fint">END OF BOOK IV</p> - -<h2><a name="BOOK_V" id="BOOK_V"></a>BOOK V<br /><br /> -<small>DEFEAT</small></h2> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_290" id="page_290">{290}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_291" id="page_291">{291}</a></span> </p> - -<h3><a name="CHAPTER_I-e" id="CHAPTER_I-e"></a>CHAPTER I<br /><br /> -<small>SUNNY SKIES</small></h3> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">A</span>T this time, and for a long while afterward, it seemed to Wint that all -was well with the world. He had some reason to think so. He kept his -promise to Hetty; and that matter, which had threatened to cause a -difference between him and his father and mother, had resulted in the -end in a closer understanding between them. They had let him see their -dependence on him; they had let him see something of the depths of -affection in their hearts for him. The Chases were not a demonstrative -family; not given to much talk of these matters, and Wint found their -attitude in some sort a happy revelation. His father began, in an -uncertain way, to defer to Wint; the elder Chase began to ask his son’s -advice, now and then; he seemed to have recognized the fact of Wint’s -manhood; he seemed to have discovered that Wint was no longer a boy. -There was a new respect in his bearing toward his son.</p> - -<p>Wint’s mother had changed, too; she was, perhaps, a little less -loquacious. She and the elder Chase were beginning to be proud of Wint; -and this pride forced them to see him in a new light. Not as their boy, -their son, their child; but as a man whom other men respected.</p> - -<p>For Wint was respected. That was one of the things that made the world -look bright to him. He was surprised to find, as the days passed, and as -it was seen that his orders to clean up the town were being enforced, -that good citizens rallied to him. Hardiston was normally a law-abiding, -decent place; its people were normally decent and law-abiding people. -They would not have condemned Wint for failure to enforce the law. In -fact, with his antecedents, they had expected him to fail. They were the -more pleased when he did enforce it; and they took occasion to let him -see it. Also, they took occasion to tell<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_292" id="page_292">{292}</a></span> the elder Chase that his son -was doing well; and Winthrop Chase, Senior, took a diffident pride in -these assurances. Chase was never a hypocrite, even with himself; he -could not forget that he had urged Wint to rescind those orders to -Radabaugh.</p> - -<p>Wint found a surprising number and variety of people rallying to his -support, in those days after his clash with the carnival men and his -victory in that matter. Dick Hoover’s father, for example; a solid man, -a lawyer of the old school, and one who spoke little and to the point. -Hoover told Wint he had done well.</p> - -<p>Wint said he had tried to do well.</p> - -<p>“You understand, young man,” Hoover drawled in the slow, whimsical -fashion that was characteristic of him. “You understand, I’m no -teetotaller, myself. I’ve been accustomed to a drink, when I chose, for -a good many years. This—crusade—of yours has made it damned -inconvenient for me, too. But it’s a good cause. I’ve no complaint. More -power to your elbow!”</p> - -<p>Wint laughed, and said: “I guess there would be no kick at anything you -might do, sir.”</p> - -<p>Hoover nodded. “Oh, of course, I could bring the stuff in if I chose. -But a man can’t afford to be on the wrong side in these matters, you -know; not if he wants to keep his self-respect. And I can do without it. -I can do without it. Stick to your guns, young man.”</p> - -<p>“I’m going to,” Wint told him, flushed and proud at the older man’s -praise. “I’m going to, sir.”</p> - -<p>Peter Gergue came to Wint, scratching the back of his head and grinning -a sly and knowing grin, and told Wint he was making votes by what he had -done. “That’s a funny thing, too,” said Gergue. “Man’d think you’d make -a pile of enemies. But I could name two or three of the worst soaks in -town that say you’re all right; got good stuff in you; all that.” Gergue -scratched his head again. “Yes, sir, men are funny things, Wint.”</p> - -<p>Wint had never particularly liked Gergue, because he had never seen -under the surface of the man. He was coming to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_293" id="page_293">{293}</a></span> have a quite genuine -respect and affection for Amos’s lieutenant. “I’m not doing it to make -votes,” he said good-naturedly.</p> - -<p>“That’s the reason you’re making votes by it,” Gergue assured him. “And -that’s the way politics goes. Take James T. Hollow now; he’s always -trying to do what is right. He says so hisself. But it don’t get him -anywhere; and I reckon that’s because he does what’s right because he -thinks there’s votes in it. You go ahead and do it anyway. Maybe you do -it because you think it’ll start a fight. Make some folks mad. And -instead of that, they eat out o’ your hand.”</p> - -<p>Wint nodded. “Even Kite,” he said. “He made some fuss at first. But it -looks as though he had decided to take it lying down.”</p> - -<p>Gergue shook his head. “Don’t you make any mistake about V. R. Kite,” he -warned Wint. “He don’t like a fight, much. Getting too old. But he’ll -fight when he’s got a gun in both hands. He’ll play poker when he holds -four aces and the joker. V. R. will start something when he’s ready. I -wasn’t talking about him.”</p> - -<p>“I’m ready when he is,” Wint declared.</p> - -<p>“He won’t be ready till he thinks you ain’t,” Gergue insisted.</p> - -<p>But Wint was in no mood to be depressed by a possibility of future -trouble. In fact, he rather looked forward to this potential clash with -V. R. Kite. It added to the zest of life.</p> - -<p>Old Mrs. Mueller, who ran the bakery, whispered to Wint when he stopped -for a loaf of bread one night that he was a fine boy. “My Hans,” she -said gratefully. “He is working now; and that he would never do when he -could get his beer regular, every second day a case of it. And there is -more money in the drawer all the time, too.”</p> - -<p>And Davy Morgan, the foreman of his father’s furnace, told Wint that -save for one or two irreconcilables, the men at the furnace were with -him. “And the men that kick the most, they are the ones who are the -better off for it,” he explained, in the careful English of an old -Welshman to whom the language must always be an acquired and unfamiliar -instrument. “William Ryan has never been fit for work on Mondays until -now.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_294" id="page_294">{294}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>Murchie, Attorney General of the state, who lived up the creek, and who -had been a speaker at the elder Chase’s rallies in the last mayoral -campaign, happened into town one day and told Wint he had heard of the -matter at Columbus and that people were talking about him, Wint Chase, -up there. “They knew old Kite, you see,” he told Wint. “He comes up -there to lobby on every liquor bill; and they like to see him get a kick -in the slats, as you might say. But you’ll have to look out for him.”</p> - -<p>“I’m going to,” Wint assured Murchie.</p> - -<p>“If you can down Kite, there’ll be a place for you at Columbus, some -day,” Murchie predicted. “They don’t like Kite, up there.”</p> - -<p>Sam O’Brien, the fat restaurant man, stopped laughing long enough to -tell Wint he was all right, had good stuff in him, was a comer. “The -Greek next door,” he explained. “He thinks you’re a tin god. He runs the -candy store, you know. Says there never was so much candy sold. He’ll -vote for you, my boy. If he ever gets his papers. And learns to read. -And if you live that long.”</p> - -<p>Wint got most pleasure, perhaps, out of the attitude of B. B. Beecham. -He had an honest respect for the editor’s opinion on most matters. Every -one had. Beecham was habitually right. In his editorial capacity, he -took no notice of what had come to pass in Hardiston. When the carnival -men were arrested, he printed the fact without comment. “Michael Rand -was fined for assault and improper language,” the <i>Journal</i> said. The -other man for “illegal sales of liquor.” And the “permit of the carnival -for the use of the streets was canceled.” Thus the news was recorded, -and every man might draw his own deductions. B. B. was never one to -force his opinions on any man, which may have been the reason why people -went out of their way to discover them.</p> - -<p>Wint stopped in at the <i>Journal</i> office one hot day in July. B. B. was -in his shirt sleeves, and collarless. He wore, habitually, stiff-bosomed -shirts of the kind usually associated with evening dress. On this -particular day, he had been working over the press—his foreman was -ill—and there were inky<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_295" id="page_295">{295}</a></span> smears on the white bosom. Nevertheless, B. -B.’s pink countenance above the shirt was as clean as a baby’s. There -was always this refreshing atmosphere of cleanliness about the editor. -Wint came into the office and sat down in one of the chairs and took off -his hat and fanned himself. The afternoon sun was beginning to strike in -through the open door and the big window; but there was a pleasantly -cool breath from the dark regions behind the office where the press and -the apparatus that goes to make a small-town printing shop were housed. -Wint said:</p> - -<p>“This is one hot day.”</p> - -<p>“Hottest day of the summer,” B. B. agreed.</p> - -<p>“How hot is it? Happen to know?”</p> - -<p>“Ninety-four in the shade at one o’clock,” said B. B. “Mr. Waters -telephoned to me, half an hour ago.”</p> - -<p>“J. B. Waters? He keeps a weather record, doesn’t he?”</p> - -<p>“Yes. Has, for a good many years. We print his record every week. -Perhaps you haven’t noticed it.”</p> - -<p>Wint nodded. “Yes. I suppose every one likes to read about the weather. -Even on a hot day.”</p> - -<p>B. B. smiled. “That’s because every one likes to read about things they -have experienced. You won’t find a big daily in the country without its -paragraph or its temperature tables devoted to the weather, every day in -the year. And a day like this is worth a front-page story any time.”</p> - -<p>“You know what a day like this always makes me think of?” Wint asked; -and B. B. looked interested. “A glass of beer,” said Wint. “Cool and -brown, with beads on the outside of the glass.”</p> - -<p>The editor smiled. “The beads on the outside of the glass won’t cool you -off half as much as the beads on the outside of your head,” he said. -“Did you ever stop to think of that?”</p> - -<p>“Sweat, you mean?”</p> - -<p>“Exactly. You know, when troops go into a hot country, they get -flannel-covered canteens; and when they want to cool off the water in -the canteens, they wet the flannel and let it dry. The evaporation of -your own perspiration is the finest cooling agency in the world.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_296" id="page_296">{296}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“May be,” Wint agreed. “But it doesn’t stop your thirst.”</p> - -<p>B. B. said good-naturedly: “A thirst is one of the handicaps of the -smoker. I quit smoking a good many years ago. A non-smoker can satisfy -his own thirst by swallowing his own spittle. I don’t suppose you ever -thought of that?”</p> - -<p>“Is that straight?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, indeed.”</p> - -<p>Wint asked amiably: “Mean to say you wouldn’t have to take a barrel of -water to cross the Sahara.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, when the bodily juices are exhausted, of course....”</p> - -<p>Wint grinned. “I’ll stick to my beer.”</p> - -<p>B. B. laughed and said: “I expect a good many Hardiston men are cussing -you to-day because they can’t get beer.”</p> - -<p>“I suppose so. I’ve a notion to cuss myself.” He added, a moment later: -“You know, B. B., it’s surprising to me how little fuss has been made -over that.”</p> - -<p>“You mean—the—enforcing the law?”</p> - -<p>“Yes. I looked for a row.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, you’ll find most people are on your side. You know, most people are -for the decent thing, in the long run. That’s what makes the world go -around.”</p> - -<p>“Think so?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, indeed. If that weren’t so, where would be the virtue in -democracy?”</p> - -<p>“Well,” Wint said good-naturedly, “I’ve always had an idea that a -democracy was a poor way to run things, anyway. About all you can say -for it is that a man has a right to make a fool of himself.”</p> - -<p>“Well, that’s about all you can say against slavery, isn’t it?”</p> - -<p>Wint considered. “I don’t get you.”</p> - -<p>“There were good men in the South before the war, owning slaves,” said -B. B. “And the slaves were better off than their descendants are now. -Materially; perhaps morally, too. But that doesn’t prove slavery was -right.” He added: “The darkies had a right to make fools of themselves -if they chose, you see. Their masters—even the good masters—prevented -them.”</p> - -<p>“I suppose that’s what a benevolent despot does?”</p> - -<p>“Exactly.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_297" id="page_297">{297}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“If it wasn’t so hot, I’d give three cheers for democracy.” He -considered thoughtfully, fanning himself with his hat. “But that’s what -I’m doing, B. B. I’m refusing to let some that would like to, make fools -of themselves with booze.”</p> - -<p>B. B. shook his head. “Not at all. It’s not your doing. The people are -doing it themselves. They voted dry; they elected you to enforce their -vote. See the distinction?”</p> - -<p>“Think I’ve done right, then?” Wint asked.</p> - -<p>And B. B. said: “Yes, indeed.” Wint got a surprising amount of -satisfaction out of that. Because, as has been said, he valued B. B.’s -opinion.</p> - -<p>So, on the whole, that month of July was a cheerful one for Wint. Things -were going his way; the world was bright; the skies were sunny.</p> - -<p>The first cloud upon them came on the second of August. It was a very -little cloud; but it was a forerunner of bigger ones to come. Wint did -not, in the beginning, appreciate its full significance. In fact, he was -not sure it had any significance at all. It merely puzzled him.</p> - -<p>His month’s statement from the bank came in. When it first came, he -tossed the long envelope aside without opening it; and it was not till -that night that he compared the bank statement with the balance in his -check book.</p> - -<p>He discovered, then, that there was a mistake somewhere. The bank -credited him with more money than he should have had. He said to -himself, good-naturedly, that he ought not to kick about that. -Nevertheless, he ran through his canceled checks, comparing them with -his stubs, to see where the difference lay.</p> - -<p>He located the discrepancy almost at once; and when he discovered it, he -sat back and considered its significance with a puzzled look in his -eyes.</p> - -<p>The trouble was that his check to Hetty, for her expenses in Columbus, -had never been cashed; and Wint could not understand that at all.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_298" id="page_298">{298}</a></span></p> - -<h3><a name="CHAPTER_II-e" id="CHAPTER_II-e"></a>CHAPTER II<br /><br /> -<small>A FRIENDLY RIVALRY</small></h3> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">T</span>HIS matter of the check that he had given Hetty stuck in Wint’s mind, -disquieting him. This in spite of the fact that he tried to forget it, -told himself it had no significance, that it meant nothing at all.</p> - -<p>He gathered up the other canceled checks and put them back in the bank’s -long, yellow envelope, and stuck the envelope in a drawer of his desk. -Hetty had not yet cashed the check; that was all. She would cash it when -she needed the money. He tried to believe this was the key to the -puzzle.</p> - -<p>But it was not a satisfactory key; and this was proved by the fact that -his thoughts kept harking back to the matter during the next day or two. -When he gave Hetty the check, he had expected her to cash it before she -left town. In fact, his first thought had been to draw the money -himself, and give it to her; but this had been slightly less convenient -than to write the check. So he had written the check, and given it to -her, and now Hetty had not cashed it.</p> - -<p>It was characteristic of Wint that he saw no threat against himself in -this circumstance. Wint was never of a suspicious turn of mind. He was -loyal to his friends and to those who seemed to be his friends; he took -them, and he took the world at large, at face value. So in this case, he -was not uneasy on his own account, but on Hetty’s. For Hetty had needed -this money; yet she had not cashed the check.</p> - -<p>He knew she needed the money. Her wage from his mother left no great -margin for saving, if a girl liked to spend money as well at Hetty did. -She could not have saved more than a few dollars; twenty, or perhaps -thirty.... Besides, she had told him she needed money. When he told her -she had better go away, she had said: “A fat chance of that. Where -would<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_299" id="page_299">{299}</a></span> I get the money, anyway?” It was this that had led him to write a -check for her.</p> - -<p>She had needed the money; she had accepted it. That is to say, she had -accepted the check, but had not cashed it. Not yet, at least. Why not? -What was the explanation?</p> - -<p>His uneasiness, all on Hetty’s account, began to take shape. He -remembered the girl’s sullen hopelessness, her friendlessness. She had -been ready to give up, to submit to whatever misfortunes might come upon -her. There had always been a defiant, reckless, fatalistic streak in -Hetty. And Wint, remembering, was afraid it had taken the ascendant in -the girl. He was afraid.</p> - -<p>He did not put into words, even in his thoughts, the truth of this fear. -But he did write to a college classmate, who was working at the time on -one of the Columbus papers, and asked him to try to locate Hetty at one -of the hospitals. He told the circumstances. And two or three days -later, the man wrote to say that there was no such person as Hetty in -any hospital in Columbus under her own name; and that as far as he could -learn, there was no one approximating her description.</p> - -<p>When this letter came, it tended to clinch Wint’s fears. He was not yet -convinced that Hetty had chosen to—do that which writes “Finis” as the -bottom of life’s last page. But he was almost convinced, almost ready to -believe.</p> - -<p>It made Wint distinctly unhappy. He had an honest liking and respect for -Hetty, an old friendship for the girl.</p> - -<p>He did not tell either his father or mother of the matter of the check; -nor did he tell them what he feared had come to pass. There was no need, -he thought, of worrying them. There was nothing that could be done.</p> - -<p>The long, lazy summer dragged slowly past, and nothing happened. Which -is the way of Hardiston. That is to say, nothing happened that was in -any way extraordinary. The Baptist Sunday school held its annual picnic -in the G. A. R. grove, south of town; and every one went, Baptist or -not, Sunday school scholar or not. Everybody went, and took his dinner. -Fried chicken, and sandwiches, and deviled eggs, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_300" id="page_300">{300}</a></span> bananas; and there -were vast freezers of ice cream. And some played baseball, and some -idled in the swings, and there were the sports that go with such an -occasion. Cracker-eating, shoe-lacing, egg-and-spoon race, greased pole, -and so on and so on, to the tune of a great deal of laughter and general -good nature. And the Hardiston baseball team played a game every week, -sometimes away from home, sometimes on the baseball field down by the -creek, where the muddy waters over-flowed every spring. And Lint Blood, -the hard-throwing left fielder who was fully as good as any big leaguer -in the country, if he could only get his chance, had his regular season -as hero of the town. And there were a few dances, where the men appeared -in white trousers and soft shirts and took off their coats to dance; and -there were hay rides, on moonlight nights; and Ed Skinner’s -nine-year-old boy almost got drowned in the swimming hole at Smith’s -Bridge; and Jim Radabaugh and two or three others went fishing down on -Big Raccoon, thirty miles away; and the tennis court in Walter Roberts’s -back yard was busy every fine afternoon; and Ringling Brothers and -Buffalo Bill paid Hardiston their regular summer visits. It rained so -hard, for three days before Ringling Brothers came, that the big show -had to be canceled, which made it hard for every father in town. And Sam -O’Brien’s brother caught a thirty-five-pound catfish in the river, and -sent it up to Sam, who kept it alive in a tub in his restaurant for two -days, and killed and fried it for his customers only when it began to -pine away in captivity. And Ed Howe’s boy fell off a home-made acting -bar and broke his arm; and the Welsh held their County Eisteddfod in a -tent on the old fair grounds, and John Morgan won the first prize in the -male solo competition. Hardiston boys thought that was rather a joke, -because John was the only entry in this particular event; and they -reminded him of this fact for a good many years to come, in their -tormenting moments. And the hot days and the warm days and the wet days -came and went, and the summer dragged away.</p> - -<p>In September, Joan suggested a picnic at Gallop Caves, a dozen miles -from Hardiston; and Wint liked the idea, so they discussed who should -go, and how, and in due time the affair<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_301" id="page_301">{301}</a></span> took place. Joan and Agnes and -two or three other girls made the domestic arrangements, with Wint and -Dick Hoover and Jack Routt and one or two besides to look after the -financial end, and the transportation. In the old days, they would have -hired one of the big barges from the livery stable, with a long seat -running the length of each side; and they would have crowded into that -and ridden the dozen jolting miles, with a good deal of singing and -laughing and talking as they went; but there were automobiles in -Hardiston now, and no one thought of the barge.</p> - -<p>They started early; that is to say, at eight o’clock in the morning, or -thereabouts. There were three automobiles full of them, with hampers and -boxes and freezers full of things to eat in every car. And they made the -trip at a breakneck and break-axle speed over the rough road, and came -to the Caves by nine, and unloaded the edibles and got buckets of water -from the well behind the house at the entrance to the Caves. The farmer -who lived in this house had an eye to business; and a year or two before -he had put up a pavilion in the grove by the Caves, and had begun to -charge admission. Besides the pavilion, there were swings, and there was -a seesaw; and there were always the Caves themselves, and the winding, -clear-watered little stream that came down over the rocks in a feathery -cascade and wound away among the trees.</p> - -<p>This day, they danced a little, in the pavilion—Joan had brought a -graphophone—and when it grew too warm to dance, some of them went to -climb about on the cool, wet rocks of the Caves; and some took off shoes -and stockings, or shoes and socks as the case might be, and waded in the -brook; and some sprawled on the sand at the base of the rocky wall and -called doodle bugs. A pleasant, idle sport. The doodle bug is more -scientifically known as an ant lion. He digs himself a hole in the sand -like an inverted cone, and hides himself in the loose sand at the bottom -of the hole. The theory of the thing is that an ant tumbles in, slides -down the sloping sides, and falls a prey to the ingenious monster at the -bottom. To call a doodle bug, you simply chant over and over:<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_302" id="page_302">{302}</a></span></p> - -<p>“Doodle up, doodle up, doodle up....”</p> - -<p>And at the same time, you stir the sand on the sides of the trap with a -twig. Either the song or the sliding sand causes the bug to emerge from -his ambush at the bottom of the pit, when you may see him for an -instant; a misshapen, powerful little thing. If you happen to be an ant, -he looks to you as formidable as a behemoth, bursting out of the sand -and tumbling it from his shoulders as a mammoth bursts out of the -primeval forest. If you happen to be a human, you laugh at his awkward -movements, and find another pit, and call another doodle bug.</p> - -<p>Routt and Agnes, Wint and Joan, all four together, investigated doodle -bugs this day. They had a good-natured time of it till Jack Routt caught -an ant and dropped it into one of the pits to see the monster at the -bottom in action. The sight of the ant’s swift end was not pleasant to -Joan; and she looked at Routt in a critical way. He and Agnes seemed to -think it rather a joke on the ant. Wint and Joan moved away and left -them there and went clambering up among the rocks, and picked -wintergreen and chewed it, and came out at last on the upper level, on -top of the Caves. They looked down from there and shouted to the others -below. And when they tired of that, they sat down and talked to each -other for a while. That was one pursuit they never tired of.</p> - -<p>Wint had been meaning to ask Joan something. It concerned that letter -which he had received the day after his election as Mayor. The letter -had been anonymous; a friendly, loyal, sympathetic little note. He had -torn it up angrily, as soon as he read it, because he was in no mood for -good advice that day, and the letter had given good advice. He could -remember, even now, snatches of it. He had wondered who wrote it; and -this wonder had revived, during the last few days, and he had considered -the matter, and asked a question or two.</p> - -<p>Now he asked Joan whether she had written it; and Joan hesitated, and -flushed a little, and then said, looking at him bravely: “Yes, I wrote -it, Wint.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_303" id="page_303">{303}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>He said in an embarrassed way: “But that was when you had told me you -would have no more to do with me.”</p> - -<p>She nodded.</p> - -<p>“I tore it up,” he said.</p> - -<p>“I thought you would.” She smiled a little. “But I hoped you—would -remember it, too.”</p> - -<p>“I do,” Wint told her. “You said I had ‘the finest chance a man ever had -to retrieve his mistakes,’ and you told me to buckle down.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, I remember,” she agreed.</p> - -<p>Wint looked at her, and his heart was pounding softly. “You said there -were some who would watch me—lovingly,” he reminded her.</p> - -<p>For a minute she did not speak; then she nodded her head slowly; and she -said: “Yes.” Her eyes met his honestly.</p> - -<p>Wint had been very sure, before he asked her, that she had written the -letter; he had meant to remind her of this word, and if she confessed -it, to go on. But now that he had come thus far, he found that he could -go no farther. It was not that she forbade him; not that there was any -prohibition in her eyes. It was something within himself that restrained -him. Something that held his tongue, bade him not risk his -fortune—lest, perchance, he lose it.</p> - -<p>Any one but a blind man would have seen there was no danger of his -losing it; but Wint, in this matter, was blind—for the immemorial -reason. So all the courage that had brought him thus far deserted him, -and he only said:</p> - -<p>“Oh!”</p> - -<p>That did not seem to Joan to call for any answer, so she said nothing; -and after a moment Wint got hurriedly to his feet and exclaimed:</p> - -<p>“Well, I’m getting hungry. Better be getting back, hadn’t we?”</p> - -<p>Joan looked, perhaps, a little disappointed. But she said she guessed -so; and they made their way down to join the others.</p> - -<p>After every one had eaten till there was no more eat in<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_304" id="page_304">{304}</a></span> them, there was -a general tendency to take things easy. The dishes had to be washed in -the brook; and the girls undertook to do that. Dick Hoover found some -horseshoes, and started a game of quoits. Wint would have taken a hand; -but Jack Routt drew him aside and said:</p> - -<p>“I’d like a little talk with you, Wint. Mind?”</p> - -<p>Wint was surprised; but he didn’t say so. “All right,” he agreed. -“Shoot.”</p> - -<p>Routt offered him a cigar, and Wint took it, and they walked slowly away -from the others, back toward the Caves. Routt came to the point without -preliminaries. “It’s like this, Wint,” he said frankly. “A good many -people have been telling me I ought to get into politics.”</p> - -<p>Wint had ears to hear; and he had heard something of this. But he -pretended ignorance, and only said: “I thought you were in politics. -Thought you were linked up with Amos.”</p> - -<p>“I have been, in the past,” Routt agreed. “But the trouble with that is, -if you tie up with a big man, you get only what he chooses to give you. -I’ve been advised to strike out for myself.”</p> - -<p>Wint said: “I think that’s good advice. It ought to help your law -practice, too.”</p> - -<p>“Matter of fact,” said Routt. “They’re telling me I ought to run against -you.”</p> - -<p>“Against me?” Wint seemed only mildly interested. “For Mayor?”</p> - -<p>“Yes. On the wet issue. You know my ideas on that. I’m not on your side -of the fence there at all.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I don’t find fault with any man’s ideas, Jack.”</p> - -<p>“The trouble is this,” Routt explained. “You and I are pretty good -friends. Always have been. I don’t want to start anything that will -spoil that friendship.”</p> - -<p>Wint laughed and said: “Good Lord, Jack; I guess there’s no fear of -that.”</p> - -<p>“By God, I knew you’d say so!” Routt exclaimed. “Just the same. I was -leary. You know what kind of a fellow I am. When I go into a thing, I go -in with both feet. If I run against you, Wint, I’ll give you a fight.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_305" id="page_305">{305}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“Go to it. We’ll show Hardiston some action.”</p> - -<p>“I’ll lam it into you, Wint.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I can give as good as you send,” Wint promised cheerfully.</p> - -<p>“The only thing is,” Routt explained, “I just want an understanding with -you first; that is, I want you to know there’s nothing personal in -anything I may say. It’s politics, Wint; and if I go in, it will be hot -politics. If you’ll promise to take it as that and nothing else.”</p> - -<p>Wint said easily: “I don’t suppose you can tell Hardiston anything about -me that it doesn’t already know.”</p> - -<p>Routt grasped his hand. “Attaboy, Wint,” he exclaimed. “You’re a good -sport. By God, I believe I’ll go into it!”</p> - -<p>“Come ahead. It’s no private fight,” Wint assured him.</p> - -<p>“The only thing is, I wanted to know first. I want you to know I’m on -the level with you personally.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I should say I know that, Jack.”</p> - -<p>Routt thrust out his hand. “Shake on it, Wint.”</p> - -<p>Wint laughed. “You’re dramatic enough.” But he shook hands.</p> - -<p>They rejoined the others after a while, and Wint was glad of it. He had -hidden his feelings from Routt; but as a matter of fact he was a good -deal surprised and chagrined at Jack’s news. He had heard rumors; but he -had not believed Routt would come out against him. It was a thing he, -Wint, would not have done.... It smacked, he felt, of disloyalty to a -friend. He had even, for a moment, a thought of withdrawing and leaving -the field free to Routt. But he put it away. After all, he was first in -the fight; it was Routt who had brought about this situation, not he. He -could not well avoid the issue.</p> - -<p>Nevertheless, he was troubled. The world that had seemed so bright and -fair a month ago had a less cheerful aspect now. His fears for Hetty, -his anxiety over her, were always with him, faintly oppressive. Now -Routt’s desertion, his projected opposition. Try as he would to shake it -off, Wint could not rid himself of the feeling that there were rough -places on the road that lay ahead.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_306" id="page_306">{306}</a></span></p> - -<p>His anxiety over Hetty was relieved—though only to take a new turn—in -the last week of September. For Hetty came back to Hardiston.</p> - -<p>Wint met her on the street one day. He was immensely surprised; and he -was immensely pleased to see her, safe and sound. He cried: “Why, Hetty, -where did you come from?”</p> - -<p>She looked around furtively, as though she would have avoided him if it -had been possible to do so. “Didn’t you expect me to come back?” she -asked sullenly.</p> - -<p>“Of course. But.... How are you? All right? Where have you been?”</p> - -<p>“Summering in New England,” she said ironically. “Where’d you think?”</p> - -<p>“Mother’s been wondering when you’d come back. She needs you.”</p> - -<p>“She’ll have to go on needing me.”</p> - -<p>“Aren’t you—”</p> - -<p>“I’ve got a job in the shoe factory.”</p> - -<p>Wint said: “Oh!” He was disturbed and uncertain, puzzled by Hetty’s -attitude. He asked: “Is the.... Did you....”</p> - -<p>“The baby?” said Hetty listlessly. “Oh, he died.” There was dead agony -in her tone, so that Wint ached for her.</p> - -<p>“I’m sorry,” he told her.</p> - -<p>“That’s all right. I can stand it.”</p> - -<p>He asked: “Did you need any money? The check I gave you never came -through the bank.”</p> - -<p>“I lost it,” she said.</p> - -<p>“Why, you must have had trouble. You didn’t have enough.”</p> - -<p>“I went in as a charity-ward patient.”</p> - -<p>“Columbus?”</p> - -<p>“No. Cincinnati. I didn’t want any one knowing.”</p> - -<p>Wint smiled in a friendly way and said: “I was worried about you.”</p> - -<p>Hetty laughed. “You’d better worry about yourself. Do you know people -are looking at you, while you’re talking to me? It won’t help you any to -be seen with me.”</p> - -<p>Wint said “Pshaw! You’re morbid, Hetty.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_307" id="page_307">{307}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“Besides,” she told him. “I’ve got to look out. Mind my p’s and q’s. If -I want to hold my job.”</p> - -<p>Wint flushed uncomfortably. “Why.... All right,” he said. “But if -there’s ever anything....”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I’ll let you know,” Hetty said impatiently, and turned away.</p> - -<p>He had been afraid that she had killed herself; that her body was dead. -He was afraid now, as he watched her move down the street, that -something more important was dead in the girl.</p> - -<p>It was at this moment that he realized for the first time that a man had -been responsible for what had come to Hetty. He wondered who the man -was; and he thought it would be satisfying to say a word or two to the -fellow.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_308" id="page_308">{308}</a></span></p> - -<h3><a name="CHAPTER_III-e" id="CHAPTER_III-e"></a>CHAPTER III<br /><br /> -<small>POLITICS</small></h3> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">J</span>ACK ROUTT was as good as his word to Wint. Early in October, he -announced his candidacy for Mayor; and he proceeded to push it.</p> - -<p>In their talk at the Caves, he had warned Wint what to expect. But in -spite of that warning, Wint had looked for no more than a polite and -friendly rivalry, a congenial conflict, a good-natured tussle between -friends.</p> - -<p>He was to find that Routt had meant exactly what he said; that Routt as -a political opponent and Routt as a friend were two very different -personalities. On the heels of his open announcement that he was a -candidate, Jack began a canvass of the town, and a direct and virulent -assault upon Wint.</p> - -<p>Wint heard what Routt was doing first through his father. The elder -Chase came home to supper one evening in a fuming rage; and he said -while they were eating:</p> - -<p>“Wint, this Routt is a fine friend of yours!”</p> - -<p>Wint looked at his father in some surprise. “Why, Jack’s all right,” he -declared.</p> - -<p>“All right?” Chase demanded. “Do you know what he’s doing?”</p> - -<p>“I know he’s out for Mayor. That’s all right. I’ve no string on the job. -I want to be re-elected, just as a sort of a—testimonial that I’ve made -good. And I intend to be re-elected. But at the same time, any one has a -right to run against me.”</p> - -<p>“Nobody denies that,” his father exclaimed. “But no one has a right to -hark back a year for mud to throw at you.”</p> - -<p>Wint said: “Pshaw, there’s always mud-throwing in politics.”</p> - -<p>Chase challenged: “Do you mean to say you think Routt has a right to do -as he is doing?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_309" id="page_309">{309}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“Well, just what is he doing?” Wint asked good-naturedly.</p> - -<p>“What is he doing? He’s saying you’re a common drunkard; that you always -have been; that you are still, in secret.”</p> - -<p>Wint flushed with slow anger. “Well,” he said, “if any one believes -that, they’re welcome to.”</p> - -<p>“But damn it, son, you’re not!” Chase exclaimed; and there was such a -fierce rush of pride in his father’s voice that Wint was startled, and -he was suddenly very happy about nothing; and he said:</p> - -<p>“I’m glad you know it, anyway, dad.”</p> - -<p>“Damn it!” Chase repeated. “Don’t you suppose I can see? Don’t you -suppose I have a right to be proud of my own son, when he does something -to be proud of? Your mother and I have.... Well, Wint, we’re—we’re a -good deal happier than we were a year ago.”</p> - -<p>Wint said gently: “I’m only sorry I didn’t make you happy a year ago.”</p> - -<p>“That’s all right,” his father declared. “You were a headstrong -youngster; and I didn’t know how to control you. An unruly colt takes -careful handling. I’m not a—tactful man. But I’ll be damned if I can -see how you can take this from the man you call your friend.”</p> - -<p>Wint smiled slowly, and he said: “That’s three times in two minutes -you’ve said ‘damn,’ dad. Cut it out. Don’t get profane in your -excitement. Routt’s all right, really. Don’t swear at him.”</p> - -<p>“Do you realize that he’s saying you’re drinking as regularly as ever, -while you pretend to keep this a dry town?”</p> - -<p>“Well, no one will believe him.”</p> - -<p>“You can find men to believe anything; and there are plenty in Hardiston -that want to believe anything against you.”</p> - -<p>“Let them,” said Wint confidently. “There are plenty who will stand back -of me.”</p> - -<p>“But what are you going to do about it?”</p> - -<p>“I’m not going to call names,” Wint told him cheerfully. “I’ll fight it -out quietly and decently; and I’ll win. That’s what I mean to do.”</p> - -<p>“You act as though you had expected this.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_310" id="page_310">{310}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“Well, as a matter of fact, Jack came to me and told me, before he told -any one else, that he was going to run. And he warned me he was going to -make it a real fight.”</p> - -<p>“A real fight? This is assassination!”</p> - -<p>Wint laughed. “You’re taking it too hard. I know it’s just because -you’re—proud of me. Are you going to back me in this?”</p> - -<p>Chase frowned. “As a matter of fact, Wint, I’m in a hard position. I -want to back you—of course. But I can’t stomach Caretall. If you -weren’t tied up with him.”</p> - -<p>“He’s been a pretty good friend to me. Can’t you take him on that -ground?”</p> - -<p>“If I tied up with him, I’d be called a bootlicker, and justly. After -what he did to me, I can’t cater to him and keep my self-respect.”</p> - -<p>“Pshaw, dad! The world has a short memory. That’s all forgotten.”</p> - -<p>“I’ve not forgotten.”</p> - -<p>“Every one else has.”</p> - -<p>“I’m not talking about every one else. I’m talking about my own -self-respect.”</p> - -<p>They had finished supper; and they got up and went into the other room. -Mrs. Chase—she was doing her own work since Hetty had left her—began -to clear away the dishes. In the sitting room, Wint said: “I’ve been -counting on you, dad.”</p> - -<p>Chase said: “I’ll do what I can—quietly. But I can not come out in the -open and side with Amos. If he’d turn against you....”</p> - -<p>Wint laughed. “I might kick up a row with him.”</p> - -<p>“You’ll never regret breaking with Caretall. He’s a crooked politician -of the worst type, without honor. A traitor to his own friends. He’ll be -a traitor to you when it pleases him.”</p> - -<p>His son said quickly: “Don’t. Please don’t talk against him to me. Let’s -just not talk about him. After all, he’s been square to me.”</p> - -<p>Chase flung up his hand. “All right. But how about Routt? Are you going -to sit still and take the mud he’s throwing?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_311" id="page_311">{311}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“Jack will be too busy to throw mud, pretty soon,” Wint promised -cheerfully. “Mud is trimmings. I’ll bring him down to brass tacks.”</p> - -<p>“You ought to shut his lying—”</p> - -<p>“Come, dad, don’t take it so seriously.”</p> - -<p>“Well, then, you take it more seriously.”</p> - -<p>Wint laughed. “All right. You wait and see.”</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>Nevertheless, he could not deny to himself that Routt’s move troubled -him. Not for its effect on his candidacy, but for the light in which it -showed Routt himself. For all his loyalty, Wint thought it was unworthy. -Thought Routt was hurting himself and sullying himself. He met Jack -uptown that night, and told him so in a friendly way. “Do as you like,” -he said. “But I think it hurts you more than it does me,” he suggested.</p> - -<p>Routt laughed, and asked: “It’s not getting under your skin, is it? I -told you I’d give you a run.”</p> - -<p>“Pshaw, no. Say anything you like about me. But it doesn’t get you any -votes.”</p> - -<p>“You’ll know better than that on the eighth of November,” Jack told him; -and Wint smiled and let it go at that. After all, it was Routt’s own -concern.</p> - -<p>But if Wint took Routt’s tactics equably, Hardiston did not. Hardiston -folk love politics. The great American game is the breath in their -nostrils. They have an expert’s appreciation of the tactical value of -this move and that; and they are keen spectators at such a battle as -Routt and Wint were staging.</p> - -<p>Wint would have liked to consult with Amos at this time; but it happened -that Amos was out of town. He had gone to Columbus for a day or two. In -lieu of Amos, Wint went to Peter Gergue, and asked Gergue how things -looked to him. Gergue fumbled in his back hair in the thoughtful way he -had and said he guessed Routt was making a lively fight of it, anyway.</p> - -<p>“Do you think he’s making votes?” Wint asked.</p> - -<p>“We-ell,” said Peter, “you can’t always tell what folks will do. I’d say -he’s persuading every enemy you’ve got to vote against you.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_312" id="page_312">{312}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>Wint said: “They would, anyway.”</p> - -<p>“Sure.”</p> - -<p>“The question is, is he persuading any of my friends?”</p> - -<p>“I’d say not.”</p> - -<p>“Then I don’t need to worry.”</p> - -<p>Gergue spat at the curb. “Can’t say. You see, Wint, there’s about sixty -per cent. of this town—or any town—that’s neither enemy nor friend. -Just neutral. Them’s the votes you got to get.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t believe Routt will get many of those votes by lies.”</p> - -<p>“Not if they’re knowed to be lies.”</p> - -<p>“Every one knows they are lies.”</p> - -<p>“It’s a funny thing,” Gergue ruminated. “But lots of folks take a kind -of pleasure out of believing lies about other folks.”</p> - -<p>Wint shook his head. “I don’t believe Routt is accomplishing a thing.”</p> - -<p>“We-ell,” said Gergue, “matter of fact, I’m thinking you may be right. -Thing is, he’s laying a foundation, like.”</p> - -<p>“What do you mean?”</p> - -<p>“I mean he’s laying the tracks. He’s doing a lot of talk that won’t be -believed much now; but he might bring on something later along that -would make folks say: ‘Well, maybe that other was true, too.’<span class="lftspc">”</span></p> - -<p>“What can he bring?” Wint challenged.</p> - -<p>“Has he got anything on you?”</p> - -<p>“Every one knows all there is to know about me, I suppose.”</p> - -<p>Gergue scratched his head. “We-ell, I dunno,” he said. “Anyway, that’s -what I was kind of thinking.”</p> - -<p>Wint met V. R. Kite one day, and the little man spoke to him so affably -that Wint asked: “Well, how are things, Mr. Kite?”</p> - -<p>“Excellent. First class, young man.”</p> - -<p>“I suppose you’ll vote for me for Mayor?” Wint asked, grinning -good-naturedly; and Kite chuckled and said he guessed not.</p> - -<p>“Routt’s more my style,” he said.</p> - -<p>“Don’t waste your vote on a loser,” Wint told him; but Kite<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_313" id="page_313">{313}</a></span> said Routt -might be a loser and might not. He left Wint with an unpleasant feeling -that there had been a secretly triumphant note in the little old -buzzard’s voice.</p> - -<p>Jim Radabaugh met James T. Hollow at the Post Office one morning, and -said cheerfully: “Well, James T., how’s it happen you’re not out for -Mayor again?”</p> - -<p>“I try to do what is right,” Hollow said earnestly. “But I really don’t -know what to do, Mr. Marshal. I have thought of coming out, but -Congressman Caretall gives me very little encouragement.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t encourage you, eh?”</p> - -<p>“No. In fact, I might say he discouraged—”</p> - -<p>“Well, now,” said Radabaugh, “maybe you’d best just lie low.”</p> - -<p>Hollow looked doubtful and said he didn’t know.</p> - -<p>Thus all Hardiston talked, each man after his fashion. Ed Skinner of the -<i>Sun</i> maintained a strict neutrality. He was closely allied with Wint’s -father; and the elder Chase held his hand. B. B. Beecham seldom let the -<i>Journal</i> take an active part in local politics, except on broad party -lines. And Wint—since he had the patronage of Amos Caretall—was of the -same party as Routt, who had been Amos’s ally. He carried the -announcement cards of both men and let it go at that. But he went so far -as to say to Wint, and to those who dropped in at the <i>Journal</i> office, -that Routt’s methods were not likely to be profitable. “It never pays to -open up old sores,” he said. “And it’s never a good plan to say anything -that will unjustly hurt another man’s feelings. He may be in a position -to resent it, some day.”</p> - -<p>Sam O’Brien, the restaurant man, told Wint that Routt would never get -his vote. “I like nerve,” he said, “and you’ve got it. You’ve made me -laugh sometimes, Wint. Lord, I’ve thought you’d be the death of me. But -you’ve took your nerve in your hands. You’ve got me, boy. More power to -your elbow.”</p> - -<p>The first two weeks of October slid swiftly by. Wint heard Routt was -planning for a rally or two; and he began to make his own arrangements -to a similar end. But in mid-October, word came to him which put the -mayoralty race out of his mind.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_314" id="page_314">{314}</a></span></p> - -<p>The word came through Ote Runns, that hopeless drunkard whose cheerful -services were in such demand by Hardiston housewives at rug-beating -time. Wint met Ote one evening, on his way home, and Ote was bibulously -cheerful. He greeted Wint hilariously; and told him in triumphant tones -that Hardiston was itself again.</p> - -<p>Wint, with a suspicion of what was coming, asked Ote what he meant; and -Ote chortled:</p> - -<p>“<span class="lftspc">’</span>S a good ol’ town. Good ol’ wet town! Plenny o’ booze now.”</p> - -<p>Wint asked Ote where he got it, but the man put his finger to his nose -and shook his head. Wint left him and went on his way.</p> - -<p>When he got home, he telephoned Radabaugh. “They’re selling again, Jim,” -he said.</p> - -<p>The marshal asked: “Who?”</p> - -<p>“Don’t know,” said Wint. “I met Ote Runns with a load aboard. I want you -to get after them right away.”</p> - -<p>“I’m started, now,” said Jim Radabaugh. “I’m on my way.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_315" id="page_315">{315}</a></span>”</p> - -<h3><a name="CHAPTER_IV-e" id="CHAPTER_IV-e"></a>CHAPTER IV<br /><br /> -<small>A CLOUD ON THE MOON</small></h3> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">W</span>INT was rather pleased than otherwise to learn that Kite and others of -his ilk had resumed their illicit traffic in Hardiston. It gave him -something to do. He had none of the instincts of a political campaigner; -he could not for the life of him have made a really rousing speech. And -it was next to impossible for him to ask a man for his vote. The old -pride, the stubborn pride that had done him so much harm, was still -alive in Wint; and this pride made him uncomfortable when he found -himself asking favors.</p> - -<p>He hated campaigning. If there had been no opposition for him to fight, -if the way had been made easy before him, it is not unlikely that he -would have quit the race. But there was opposition, and strenuous -opposition. Jack Routt had kept his word; he was making a real fight out -of it. When he encountered Wint, he was friendly—profusely so—and -affable enough; but when he was canvassing, he made no bones of -attacking Wint unmercifully, striking below the belt or above it as the -moment might inspire him. He had dragged up Wint’s old drunken record -and aired it until people were beginning to ask themselves if there -wasn’t something in what he said, after all.</p> - -<p>Against this, up till the middle of October, Wint had made a very poor -fight indeed. He would not denounce Routt as Routt denounced him. As a -matter of fact, there was no particular charge he could bring against -Routt. Jack was no hypocrite, at least; he took an honest and -straightforward stand. The liquor issue, for example. He was a drinker, -he believed in it. And he said so. At the same time, he added that Wint -was a drinker, but pretended not to be. He said Wint was a hypocrite.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_316" id="page_316">{316}</a></span></p> - -<p>The viciousness of Routt’s campaign stunned Wint at first; he was half -incredulous. The thing didn’t seem possible. When he was forced to -understand that it was not only possible but true, he was left at a -loss. It was in the midst of his floundering attempts to find some means -to advocate his cause that he got through Ote Runns the first word that -the lawbreakers were at work again.</p> - -<p>He grasped at that as though it were an opportunity. He telephoned Jim -Radabaugh that night; and he sent for Jim the first thing in the morning -and asked the marshal what he had discovered. Radabaugh shifted the knob -in his cheek, and spat, and said he had discovered nothing.</p> - -<p>“Did you find Ote?” Wint asked.</p> - -<p>“Sure. I just listened, and then went where he was. He was singing, -some.”</p> - -<p>“Question him?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, yes.”</p> - -<p>“What did he say? Where did he get it?”</p> - -<p>“He wouldn’t say,” Radabaugh explained.</p> - -<p>Wint nodded. “I suppose not. What then?”</p> - -<p>“We-ell, I scouted around.”</p> - -<p>“Find out anything?”</p> - -<p>“Skinny Marsh had a skinful, too. And there was a drunk in the Weaver -House when I drifted over there.”</p> - -<p>“Is it Mrs. Moody that’s selling?”</p> - -<p>Radabaugh shook his head. “I guess not.”</p> - -<p>Wint banged his desk. “Damn it, Jim! Who is it, then?”</p> - -<p>“I couldn’t say.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I want you to find out.”</p> - -<p>Radabaugh spat and considered. “They’s one thing,” he suggested mildly. -“You might not have thought of it.”</p> - -<p>Wint grinned. “You talk like B. B. Beecham. What is it, Jim?”</p> - -<p>“I mean to say,” said Radabaugh, “this didn’t just happen. What I mean -is, it didn’t just happen to happen. It was meant.”</p> - -<p>Wint studied him. “What’s in your mind?”</p> - -<p>“They’d have held off till after election, maybe,” Jim sug<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_317" id="page_317">{317}</a></span>gested. -“Looks to me like they’re starting this to hit the election somehow. I -can’t say just how. Don’t know. But it looks to me it was meant.”</p> - -<p>“You mean they’re trying to discredit me, say I don’t enforce the laws.”</p> - -<p>“Maybe that. Maybe something else. Just struck me it was something.”</p> - -<p>Wint got up abruptly. “I don’t give a hoot. This campaign business bores -me, anyhow. But I’m not going to stand for this. You get busy, Jim. If -you need help, say so. I’ll bring a man in from outside, if necessary. -But I want to grab the man that’s selling. You understand?”</p> - -<p>“It’s your funeral,” said Radabaugh cheerfully, shifting the bulge in -his cheek. “I’ll do my do.”</p> - -<p>“Go to it,” Wint told him. “I’m leaving it to you.”</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>But nothing happened. A week dragged past; a week in which it was -reasonably clear that Wint was losing ground to Routt. Wint himself saw -this as quickly as any man, and it troubled him. He asked Peter Gergue -for advice—Amos was still out of town—and Peter told him to get up on -his hind legs and rear and tear, but Wint shook his head. “I can’t do -that. It isn’t in me. The whole thing makes me sick.”</p> - -<p>“You’ve naturally got to do it,” Gergue assured him. “Routt’s telling -’em to vote for him; and he’s telling them the same thing, over and -over, till they know their lesson like a parrot. That’s advertising, -Wint. Keep a-telling them the same thing till they know what they’re to -do. You got to. Might as well come to it first as last.”</p> - -<p>“I can’t ask a man to vote for me.”</p> - -<p>“Why not?”</p> - -<p>Wint grinned, and flushed, and gave it up. And Gergue told him again -that he would have to make a noise if he wanted to be heard in -Hardiston; and he left Wint to think it over.</p> - -<p>B. B. Beecham, a day or two later, gave Wint the same advice, but to -more purpose. Wint had dropped in at the <i>Journal</i> office casually -enough, and talked with two or three others<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_318" id="page_318">{318}</a></span> who were there before him, -till they drifted away and left him with B. B. Wint asked:</p> - -<p>“Well, how do things look to you, B. B.?”</p> - -<p>B. B. looked doubtful. “You’re not making a very strong campaign,” he -said.</p> - -<p>Wint nodded. “I know it. It goes against the grain.”</p> - -<p>The editor was surprised. “Is that so? Just how do you mean?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I hate to ask a man to vote for me. I hate to ask favors.”</p> - -<p>B. B. smiled. “Who are you going to vote for, on the eighth?”</p> - -<p>“Why, Routt, of course. I can’t vote for myself.”</p> - -<p>The editor looked blandly interested, and commented: “Well, if that’s -the case, of course you can’t ask any one else to vote for you?”</p> - -<p>“Why not?” Wint was puzzled.</p> - -<p>“You know yourself better than they do. If you can’t vote for -yourself—”</p> - -<p>“Oh, it isn’t.... Why, you naturally vote for the other fellow?”</p> - -<p>“This isn’t a class election at college, you know,” B. B. reminded him. -“It’s more serious. Not play. You want to remember that. But if you -don’t think enough of yourself to vote for yourself....”</p> - -<p>Wint laughed. “All right,” he said. “I’ll vote for myself. You’ve -persuaded me.”</p> - -<p>B. B. nodded. “Who do you think will make the best mayor; you, or -Routt?” he asked.</p> - -<p>“I don’t....” Wint flushed. “Why, I....”</p> - -<p>“Routt?”</p> - -<p>“No, by God!” Wint exclaimed angrily. “I’ve done a good job; and I’ll do -another. He’d open the town up. Let things go.”</p> - -<p>“Do you want to be Mayor? For your own sake?”</p> - -<p>“Why, yes.”</p> - -<p>“Like the job so well?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_319" id="page_319">{319}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“No, not particularly. But I want—well, it would show that people think -I’ve made good.”</p> - -<p>“If you’re going to make a better Mayor than Routt, your election is -best for the town, isn’t it?”</p> - -<p>“I suppose so.”</p> - -<p>“Then it’s best for every man in Hardiston, isn’t it?”</p> - -<p>“In a way.”</p> - -<p>B. B. tilted back in his chair and lifted his hand in a gesture of -confirmation. “That’s what I was getting at. The fact of the matter is, -when you ask a man to vote for you, you’re not asking him to do you a -favor. You’re asking him to do himself a favor. I don’t suppose you ever -thought of that.”</p> - -<p>Wint grinned. “Well, no.”</p> - -<p>“It’s true?”</p> - -<p>“I guess it is.”</p> - -<p>B. B. leaned forward. “Then go out and say so. Start something. Keep -telling them to elect you; tell them louder and longer and oftener than -Routt does, and they will.”</p> - -<p>This was so like what Gergue had said that Wint told B. B. so; and the -editor nodded and said Gergue was a wise man. “But I can’t do it,” Wint -protested. “I don’t know how. I’ll never make a speaker.”</p> - -<p>B. B. considered that for a while: and then he said: “You know, printed -advertising was invented by the first tongue-tied man.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t get it,” Wint confessed.</p> - -<p>“He had something to sell, but he couldn’t tell people about it, so he -put an ad in the papers; and after that, every one got the habit.”</p> - -<p>“You mean I ought to advertise?”</p> - -<p>B. B. said that was exactly what he meant. And Wint was interested; he -asked some questions. He had heard of advertising rates as things of -astounding proportions; and so he was surprised to find that a full-page -advertisement in the <i>Journal</i> would only cost him ten dollars. He -laughed and said he could stand half a dozen of those. B. B. told him to -put an advertisement in each Hardiston paper, and let them appear<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_320" id="page_320">{320}</a></span> in -every issue till the election. “Say the same thing, over and over, in -different ways,” he advised. “Try it. You’ll be surprised.”</p> - -<p>In the end, Wint decided to do just this. B. B. helped him write the -advertisements. In them, Wint recited what he had done and what he meant -to do, but briefly. In each full, black-lettered page, the burden of his -song was just three words, repeated over and over:</p> - -<p>“Vote for Chase; vote for Chase; vote for Chase.”</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>Amos came home toward the end of October; and when Wint heard he was in -town, he telephoned and made arrangements to see him at his home that -night. When he got there, Amos was upstairs. He called to Wint to go -into the sitting room and wait, and Wint went in there and sat down. -After a moment, Agnes came in to restore a book to its place on the -shelves, and Wint got up and stood, talking with her. He thought she -seemed uneasy, on edge. Her eyes went now and then through the open door -toward the stairs down which Amos would come. She fumbled with her hair, -and a lock became disarranged and fell down beside her face.</p> - -<p>She said, abruptly, that there was something in her shoe; and she held -to his arm with one hand, and stood on one foot, and pulled off her -slipper and shook it, upside down. Then she seemed to lose her balance -and toppled toward Wint; and he caught her in his arms. She straightened -up and pushed him away with what seemed to him unnecessary force; and -then turned and went swiftly out into the hall without a word. He looked -after her, and saw Amos, halfway down the stairs, watching them with a -curiously grave countenance; and Wint, for no reason in the world, was -confused, and felt his face burning. He looked down and saw Agnes’s -slipper on the floor, where she had dropped it; and he slid it out of -sight under the bookcase before Amos came into the room. He was sorry as -soon as he had done this; but Agnes had somehow contrived to make him -feel guilty. He could hardly face Amos when the Congressman came into -the room. He<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_321" id="page_321">{321}</a></span> had a miserable feeling that everything was going wrong; -all the trifles in the world seemed conspiring to harass him.</p> - -<p>But Amos seemed to have seen nothing. He was perfectly amiable, bade -Wint sit down, filled his black pipe, squinted at Wint with his head on -one side and asked how things were going.</p> - -<p>Wint said they were going badly; and Amos smiled.</p> - -<p>“Why, now, that’s too bad,” he declared.</p> - -<p>“I wasn’t made for a campaigner,” Wint said. “I’ll never be able to make -a speech.”</p> - -<p>“You write a good ad,” Amos told him; and Wint asked:</p> - -<p>“You’ve read them?”</p> - -<p>“I guess everybody’s read them.”</p> - -<p>“Are they all right?”</p> - -<p>“First rate. They’ll do.”</p> - -<p>Wint said impatiently: “I’m sick of the whole thing.”</p> - -<p>Amos studied him. “Routt getting under your skin?”</p> - -<p>“No. He’s playing it pretty strong, though.”</p> - -<p>“I’ll say he is.”</p> - -<p>“Of course, it’s just politics. He and I are as friendly as ever.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, sure,” Amos agreed indolently. “He told you so, didn’t he?”</p> - -<p>“Yes. He came to me, in the beginning.”</p> - -<p>“I heard so.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t know how to answer him—the line he’s taking,” Wint explained. -“That’s all.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t have to answer him, do you? Don’t have to answer a lie.”</p> - -<p>Wint laughed uneasily. “Just the same, he’s stirring people up.”</p> - -<p>“I never heard of anybody being permanently hurt by a lie but the liar,” -said Amos.</p> - -<p>Wint leaned forward. “I tell you, Amos, I want to be elected. I’ve gone -into this; and I want to win. Routt and I are friendly enough; but he -started this fight, and I want to beat him. I want to beat him to a -whisper. I’d like to see<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_322" id="page_322">{322}</a></span> him skunked. I don’t care if he doesn’t get -two votes in Hardiston. That’s the way I feel.” His fierce enthusiasm -dropped away from him; he said hopelessly: “But I’m darned if I know how -to manage it.”</p> - -<p>Amos nodded slowly. “Sick of it, eh?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>The Congressman puffed for a while in silence, thinking; and Wint waited -for the other man to speak. At last Amos looked at him and asked -curiously: “Wint, you dead set on being Mayor?”</p> - -<p>Something in his tone put Wint on guard. “Dead set? Why?” he asked.</p> - -<p>Amos lifted a hand. “Why, just this,” he explained. “I’ve been talking -around, here and there. Far as I hear, they’ve heard about you in -Columbus. The way it strikes me, right now, if you was to run for the -House, say, you could get it; and you’d have a good start up there. -That’s all.”</p> - -<p>Wint laughed uneasily. “That can come later. Maybe.”</p> - -<p>“Thing is,” said Amos, “if you was to get licked for Mayor, it’d hurt -you.”</p> - -<p>“I’m not going to get licked,” Wint exclaimed. “I’m going to win.”</p> - -<p>“Well—maybe,” Amos agreed. “Only I just want you to know that if you’d -rather try for something else, I’d back you to the limit.”</p> - -<p>“You mean after election? Next year?”</p> - -<p>“I couldn’t do much if you was licked.”</p> - -<p>Wint leaned toward him. “Just what do you mean?”</p> - -<p>“Just what I say.”</p> - -<p>“Are you asking me to withdraw?” Wint asked. His heart was in his mouth. -“I know you and Routt have always worked together. Do you want me to get -out and let him have it?”</p> - -<p>“I’m not asking you to do a thing. I’m offering you a good excuse -to—maybe—dodge a licking.”</p> - -<p>“I’m not going to get licked,” Wint insisted. “And if there’s a licking -waiting for me—by God, I won’t dodge!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_323" id="page_323">{323}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>Amos looked at him curiously. “Well, that’s all right. I just put the -thing up to you.”</p> - -<p>“But I owe you enough,” said Wint, “so that if you asked me to quit—I’d -do it.”</p> - -<p>“I’m not asking you.”</p> - -<p>“Then,” Wint declared, “I stick; and I win.”</p> - -<p>Amos moved a little in his chair; and he sighed. “Well,” he drawled, -“I’m watching you.”</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>Wint left Amos, a little later; and he walked home with a weight on his -shoulders. He had counted on the Congressman; but—this was half-hearted -support at best that Amos was offering. Wint was puzzled, he could not -understand; and he was depressed, and worried, and unhappy. He had an -impulse to get out, throw the whole matter to one side, forget it all; -but on the heels of the thought, his jaw hardened and he shook his head.</p> - -<p>“No,” he said. “No; I’ll stick it out to the end.”</p> - -<p>He would have been more concerned, and he would have been thoroughly -angry, if he could have heard Agnes Caretall talk to Amos when he had -left. She came in to retrieve her lost slipper; and she was fuming -indignantly. Old Maria Hale, setting the table for breakfast as she -always did, the last thing at night, overheard a word or two of their -talk. She heard Agnes exclaim:</p> - -<p>“I don’t see how you can be so calm, just because you elected him. But -that doesn’t give him any right to think he can do a thing like that -with me.”</p> - -<p>And she heard Amos’s slow, even voice reply:</p> - -<p>“No; it doesn’t give him any right.”</p> - -<p>“I should think you could say something,” Agnes cried. “Your own -daughter!”</p> - -<p>Maria heard Amos say something about “fooling.” And Agnes retorted:</p> - -<p>“It wasn’t fooling! It was—plain insulting!”</p> - -<p>“Well, we can’t let him do that,” Amos agreed drawlingly. Then Maria -departed to the kitchen and heard no more. She<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_324" id="page_324">{324}</a></span> had paid no particular -attention. The old darky lived in a world of her own. A quiet world. A -world that was not far from coming to its end. She was very old.</p> - -<p>After Agnes left him and went upstairs Amos sat for a long time, very -still, before the fire. His eyes were weary, and his calm face was -troubled.</p> - -<p>Once he lifted his glance from the fire and saw a picture of Agnes on -the mantel; and he got up and took it in his big hands. It had been -taken two or three years ago; and it was very beautiful. A gay, happy -face; the face of a child without cares. A good face, Amos thought. An -honest one.</p> - -<p>He compared it in his thoughts with Agnes as she was now; and the -trouble in his countenance deepened. After a little, he said to himself -as he had said once before: “I wish her mother hadn’t ’ve died.”</p> - -<p>He put the picture slowly back on the mantel, and sat down and once more -became motionless, staring into the fire. To one watching him it would -have seemed in that moment that Amos, too, was very old.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_325" id="page_325">{325}</a></span></p> - -<h3><a name="CHAPTER_V-e" id="CHAPTER_V-e"></a>CHAPTER V<br /><br /> -<small>A LOST ALLY</small></h3> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">C</span>ONGRESSMAN Amos Caretall staged, next morning in the Post Office, one -of those dramatic incidents which had checkered his career and done a -good deal to make him what he was. These scenes were meat and drink to -Amos. He liked to hark back to them and chuckle at the memory. In -Washington, last winter, for example, he had told over and over the -story of his speech at the rally of Winthrop Chase, Senior; his pledge -to vote for a Chase, and the sequel to that pledge. The thing appealed -to his sense of humor.</p> - -<p>This morning he met Wint in the Post Office and snubbed him. And within -half an hour all Hardiston knew about it, and was talking about it. The -way of the thing was this.</p> - -<p>Wint had met Jack Routt on the way uptown; and they came up Broad Street -together, and down Main to the Post Office. Wint was thoughtful and a -little silent; Routt expansively amiable in the fashion that had become -habitual with him since the campaign opened. He asked Wint, jocularly, -whether he was downhearted, and Wint said he was not. Routt told him he -would be. “You’ll be ready to quit before I’m through with you, old -man,” he warned Wint. “You’ll be ready to crawl into your hole. Oh, I’m -laying for you.”</p> - -<p>“Go ahead,” Wint told him quietly.</p> - -<p>“All your ads in the papers won’t do you a bit of good, either. That’s -good money wasted. You have to get out and talk to the voters, Wint. -Take a tip from me. It’s the word of mouth that does the trick.”</p> - -<p>Wint said if this were so Routt would surely come out on top. “You’ve -used word of mouth pretty freely,” he remarked.</p> - -<p>“Getting into the quick, am I?” Routt chuckled.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_326" id="page_326">{326}</a></span></p> - -<p>“Why, no. I just commented on the fact that....”</p> - -<p>Routt asked solicitously: “Look here. You’re not sore, are you? You -know, the understanding was that this was to be a real fight.”</p> - -<p>“Of course,” Wint agreed. “And I’m not sore. Go as far as you like.”</p> - -<p>A moment later, Routt said: “I heard Amos was going to throw you down. -Anything in that? If he does, you haven’t got a chance.”</p> - -<p>“Nothing in it,” Wint told him. “I had a talk with Amos last night.”</p> - -<p>Routt laughed and said Amos’s promises didn’t amount to anything. “Is he -backing you; or is he holding off?” he asked. “I haven’t heard that he’s -doing much.”</p> - -<p>“You’ll hear in due time,” Wint told him.</p> - -<p>He thought, afterward, that it was a curious coincidence that Routt -should have said this about Amos on this particular morning. It was -almost as though Routt had really had some foreknowledge. But at the -time, the question made no great impression on him.</p> - -<p>When they turned into the Post Office, the mail had not yet been -distributed, and the windows were closed. There were perhaps a dozen men -there, waiting before their boxes, talking, smoking, spitting on the -floor. Routt and Wint took their places among these men; and Routt stuck -near Wint. There was some good-natured chaffing. And after a little, -Amos and Peter Gergue came in together. Every one had a word for Amos. -It was a minute or two after he came in the door before he worked back -through the groups to where Routt and Wint stood. He looked at the two, -head on one side, and Wint said:</p> - -<p>“Good morning, Amos.”</p> - -<p>Amos squinted a little; then, without replying to Wint, he turned to -Jack Routt, at Wint’s side, and thrust out his hand. “Morning, Routt.”</p> - -<p>He and Routt shook hands, and Wint went a little white with surprise, -still not fully understanding. Routt said cheerfully:<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_327" id="page_327">{327}</a></span></p> - -<p>“Back in time to see the election, Amos.”</p> - -<p>Amos nodded cordially. “And back in time to shake hands with the next -Mayor, Routt,” he said. “You’re making a first-rate campaign. If you -need any help—”</p> - -<p>Routt took it all as a matter of course. Wint had stepped back a little; -he was leaning his shoulders against the wall, and it seemed to him the -world was swimming. “I’ll surely call on you,” Routt said.</p> - -<p>Amos turned toward his mail box and unlocked it. Gergue shook Routt by -the hand. “Morning, Mister Mayor,” he said; and then, casually, to the -other: “H’lo, Wint.”</p> - -<p>Every one had seen; no one had a word to say. The windows opened as sign -that the mail was all distributed. Every one bustled forward to open -their boxes; and they went out, ripping open letters and papers, talking -in low voices, glancing sidewise at Wint. Routt had gone out with Amos -and Peter. Wint pulled himself together, got his mail, and went out into -the street by himself. Hardiston seemed like a new town; it was changed, -terribly changed, by a word or two from Amos.</p> - -<p>Every one seemed to know what had happened, almost as soon as it had -happened. The people who spoke to him on his way to Hoover’s office—he -was planning a day with the law books—seemed to Wint to be grinning -maliciously. He was still dazed, unable to think clearly. When he was -settled in the back room with the leather-bound books, Wint tried to put -his mind on them; but he could not. He was groping for understanding. He -felt as a child feels, when it has received a blow it cannot understand. -He was incredulous. The thing could not have happened; but it had -happened. The ground was cut from under his feet. Cut from under his -feet. He was lost, helpless. He had been supported for so long by Amos; -he had felt the Congressman’s substantial strength upholding him for so -many months that it had come to seem to him as an inevitable feature of -his very life. He did not see how he could go on without it.</p> - -<p>Yet in the end he had to believe, had to accept the new condition. He -remembered Amos’s attitude, the night before. Amos had suggested his -withdrawing from the fight; the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_328" id="page_328">{328}</a></span> Congressman had almost asked him to -withdraw. He had refused; now Amos would force him. Would beat him to -his knees. At least, Amos would try to do that. A slow anger began to -grow in Wint; a slow determination not to be beaten. Or if he was to be -beaten, he would not be beaten without a fight. In simple words, Wint -got mad; and he always fought best when he was mad. His resolution -hardened; a certain fire of inspiration came to light within him. He -began to make plans to meet this new contingency. He would go to the -people of Hardiston with the facts. Appeal to them. Prove to them that -he deserved their good will; and that he deserved their votes. An hour -after the scene in the Post Office, Wint was more determined to win than -he had ever been before. Even Amos was not invincible. The man could be -beaten. Not only in this fight, but in others. Wint began to cast -forward into the future, and plan what he would do.</p> - -<p>Dick Hoover came in, after a while, and gripped him by the shoulder. “I -say,” he exclaimed excitedly, “they tell me Amos has thrown you down. Is -it true?”</p> - -<p>Wint nodded. “Yes,” he said crisply.</p> - -<p>Hoover swore. “The dirty, double-crossing hound. What are you going to -do?”</p> - -<p>“Lick him,” Wint replied.</p> - -<p>Hoover looked doubtful. “Lick him? You can’t, Wint.”</p> - -<p>Wint said nothing.</p> - -<p>“Can you?” Dick Hoover asked.</p> - -<p>“I’m going to,” said Wint.</p> - -<p>Hoover banged his fist on the book that lay open before Wint. “By God, -you’ll find some that are willing to help!”</p> - -<p>“I know it,” Wint agreed.</p> - -<p>“My father and I.... Whatever we can do.”</p> - -<p>“Thanks!”</p> - -<p>“Get after him, Wint,” Hoover urged. “Show him up. No one has ever gone -after Caretall the right way. Start something. The people are always -looking for fun, for a change. By God, I believe you can do it!”</p> - -<p>“I told you I was going to,” Wint repeated.</p> - -<p>That night, his father spoke to him of the matter. The elder<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_329" id="page_329">{329}</a></span> Chase had -heard it during the day, had heard what Amos had done. And there was -fire in his eye. He had no sooner come into the house, before supper, -than he called:</p> - -<p>“Oh, Wint!”</p> - -<p>Wint was upstairs, getting ready for supper. He answered: “Hello, dad.”</p> - -<p>“Coming down?”</p> - -<p>“Right away.”</p> - -<p>“Well, hurry.”</p> - -<p>Wint was surprisingly cheerful. The elation of battle was on him. He -chuckled at the impatience in his father’s tone; but he did make haste, -and a moment later joined the other man in the sitting room. The elder -Chase was standing, stirring about, his face hot and angry.</p> - -<p>“Look here, Wint,” he exclaimed, without parley. “I hear Amos Caretall -turned you down, to-day.”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“In the Post Office.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, this morning.”</p> - -<p>“Told Routt he was going to win.”</p> - -<p>“Just that, dad.”</p> - -<p>Chase threw up his hands furiously. “By God, Wint, I told you he’d cut -your throat! The dirty....”</p> - -<p>Wint put his hand up to his neck. “Cut my throat?” he repeated. “I seem -to be all here.”</p> - -<p>“You wouldn’t believe me, Wint. But I warned you.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, you did.”</p> - -<p>“What do you say now to this fine friend of yours? Damn the man!”</p> - -<p>“I say he’s started trouble for himself.”</p> - -<p>“What do you mean?”</p> - -<p>“I mean I’m going to prove that when he said Routt would be elected, he -was either a fool or a liar.”</p> - -<p>Chase banged his hand on the table beside him till the lamp jumped in -its place, and the shade tilted to one side. Mrs. Chase came bustling in -just then, and straightened it, and protested anxiously: “I declare, -Winthrop, you’re the hardest man around the house. You do disturb things -so. I don’t see<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_330" id="page_330">{330}</a></span>—”</p> - -<p>“Caretall has turned against Wint,” Chase told her.</p> - -<p>She nodded wisely. “Well, didn’t you always say he would?”</p> - -<p>“Of course I did. Wint wouldn’t believe me. Now he’s done it.”</p> - -<p>“He ought to be ashamed of himself,” Mrs. Chase declared. “But I always -did think you were wrong, Wint, to be so friendly with a man who had -treated your father as he did. He—”</p> - -<p>“I know you did, mother.”</p> - -<p>Chase cried: “You take it almighty calmly, Wint. Isn’t there any blood -in you, son? Don’t you ever get mad? Damn it, the man ought to be kicked -out of town.”</p> - -<p>Wint laughed good-naturedly. “Oh, I don’t know. He has a right to -support Jack if he wants to.”</p> - -<p>“A right? What have his rights to do with it? By God, I’d have more -respect for you if you could get good and mad!”</p> - -<p>Wint chuckled. “I’ll try to work up a fever if you like. I always want -your respect, dad.”</p> - -<p>Chase said in a softer tone: “You always have it, Wint. You’ve earned -it. But it makes my blood boil to see Caretall do this to you. To my -son.”</p> - -<p>“It’s terrible,” Wint agreed whimsically; and Chase protested:</p> - -<p>“I believe you’re laughing at me.”</p> - -<p>Wint shook his head anxiously. “No. But I don’t see that it does any -good to get excited. I’m aiming to keep my head—and my job.”</p> - -<p>“You’re going to fight?”</p> - -<p>“Fight?” Wint echoed. “Why, dad, you won’t be able to see me for dust.”</p> - -<p>“You’ve waked up at last. You’re not going to sit back and let Routt lie -about you, and let Amos trick you.”</p> - -<p>“I’m going to fight,” said Wint. “Also I’m going to win.”</p> - -<p>Chase exclaimed: “I believe you can. If you try.”</p> - -<p>“You know,” said Wint, “in a way I’m glad this has happened.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_331" id="page_331">{331}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“Glad?” Chase asked. “For God’s sake, why?”</p> - -<p>Wint touched his arm in a comradely way. “Because now you and I can line -up together. Fight side by side. I’d rather have you with me than Amos.”</p> - -<p>Chase said, with a sudden humility: “Amos might be able to help you more -than I can.”</p> - -<p>“I’d rather have your personal vote than all the votes Amos can swing.”</p> - -<p>“You’d have had that, anyway.”</p> - -<p>“Well, isn’t that worth being crossed by Amos?”</p> - -<p>Chase said: “But don’t fool yourself, Wint. Don’t imagine this is going -to be easy. Caretall is powerful.”</p> - -<p>Wint said with a slow energy: “I’ve done some thinking, dad. Amos is -powerful. But—I don’t know just how to say it, but what I mean is this. -I think I’ve been a good Mayor. I’ve tried to be a good one, anyway. And -if a fellow tries to do the right thing, it seems to me the world has a -habit of turning his way. I’ve done my share, straight out and out. And -I’m going to the voters on that record. If there’s anything -in—democracy—then I can beat Amos. He’s cleverer; he’s better at -tricks and contraptions. But he can’t beat the right thing, dad. -And—I’ve a hunch that the right is on my side, on our side, in this.”</p> - -<p>“Right or wrong,” Chase declared, “we’ll lick him if there’s any way in -the world it can be done.” His eyes lighted. “I believe I can get Kite -to line up with you.”</p> - -<p>Wint shook his head. “No.”</p> - -<p>“I think I can,” Chase urged. “He hates Amos.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t want him,” said Wint. “This is a clean fight.”</p> - -<p>“You want all the help you can get.”</p> - -<p>“All the decent help. There are enough decent folk in town to put this -thing through.”</p> - -<p>“You can’t be too squeamish, Wint.”</p> - -<p>“I’m too squeamish to take help from Kite,” said Wint. “That’s flat, -dad. Put it out of your head.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Chase was still doing her own work. She called them to supper, just -then; and while they ate, she told them how tired she was. “I declare,” -she said, “I wish Hetty would<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_332" id="page_332">{332}</a></span> come back here. I saw her, uptown, -yesterday; and I asked her to. But she wouldn’t. Said she had a better -job. I told Mrs. Hullis last night that the girl—”</p> - -<p>“Hetty never cooked a better supper than this,” her husband told her; -and the little woman smiled happily, and bridled like a girl, and said:</p> - -<p>“Now, Winthrop, you’re always telling me things like that, when you know -they’re not true. I’m just a—”</p> - -<p>Wint laughed: “Quit apologizing for yourself, mother. It’s a darned bad -habit. Tell people you’re a wonder, and they’ll believe you. I’ve found -that out. That’s the way I’m going to be re-elected.”</p> - -<p>“You can tell them that, but you have to back it up,” his father -reminded him. “Brag’s not so bad, if there’s something to base it on.”</p> - -<p>“Well, isn’t there?” Wint asked quietly; and his father’s eyes lighted, -and he cried:</p> - -<p>“Yes, son, by Heaven, there is!”</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>Wint made no move, during the next day or two; but he laid his plans. He -intended to do a great many things in the last week before election. He -would concentrate his effort in those last days, so that the effect -should not have time to disappear. He talked with Dick Hoover, and -Dick’s father; he talked with others. And he was surprised to find that -such loyal supporters of Amos as Sam O’Brien and Ed Howe and even James -T. Hollow were inclined to support him. Support him in spite of Amos. -Sam told him as much.</p> - -<p>He met Sam at the moving-picture show that night; that is to say, he met -Sam just outside. And Sam and Hetty Morfee were together. That surprised -Wint; he had not even known that they were friends. But it was obvious -that they were very good friends indeed. When he stopped to speak to -them, Hetty looked at him with an appealing defiance. He wondered if Sam -knew. He did not think it would matter. Sam was the sort who could, if -he chose, forgive.</p> - -<p>He spoke to Sam of the coming election; and Sam said: “Sure, I’m for -you. Amos’s all right in Congress. But h<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_333" id="page_333">{333}</a></span>e’d make a mighty poor Mayor. -I’m for you, Wint, m’boy. You’ve got nerve; and you’re funny, sometimes. -Lord, but I’ve thought there was times when I’d die laughing at you. But -you’re there, Wint. You can have me.”</p> - -<p>He and Hetty went away together, and Wint watched them, forgetting what -Sam had said in wondering about Sam and Hetty.</p> - -<p>He got further comfort the next day from a man as close to Amos as Peter -Gergue. Peter told him it looked as though Routt would win. “But there’s -a pile that’ll vote for you,” he added. “It ain’t hurt you much, Amos -quitting.” He looked all around furtively, and fumbled in his back hair, -and said: “Amos didn’t do you such a bad turn, even if he meant to. I -might give you a vote myself, Wint. I don’t know but I might.”</p> - -<p>Wint laid plans for rallies on Friday and Saturday nights of the week -before election. On Monday and Tuesday of that week, he worked all day, -preparing the words he meant to say at those rallies. It was tough work; -it was hard for him to put his own determination into words.</p> - -<p>Tuesday night, the first of November, there came a diversion. Jim -Radabaugh telephoned to him at midnight, summoning him out of bed. When -Wint answered the ’phone, the marshal asked:</p> - -<p>“That you, Wint?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“You r’member you told me to get after the bootleggers?”</p> - -<p>“Of course.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I’ve done that little thing.”</p> - -<p>Wint exclaimed: “First rate. You mean you’ve arrested some one?”</p> - -<p>“I should say I had.”</p> - -<p>“Who?” Wint asked.</p> - -<p>“You know Lutcher?”</p> - -<p>“Of course.”</p> - -<p>“Him,” said Radabaugh.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_334" id="page_334">{334}</a></span></p> - -<h3><a name="CHAPTER_VI-e" id="CHAPTER_VI-e"></a>CHAPTER VI<br /><br /> -<small>KITE TAKES A HAND</small></h3> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">T</span>HAT Radabaugh should have arrested Lutcher was almost as though he had -arrested Kite himself; and Wint knew it. It brought matters to an issue, -direct and unavoidable. Lutcher, for all practical purposes, was Kite. -His arrest meant an open defiance to the head and front of the -opposition. Wint, characteristically, leaped at the chance. He might -have been more lenient with a lesser man.</p> - -<p>He asked the marshal: “Where is he?”</p> - -<p>“Locked up,” said Radabaugh.</p> - -<p>“In the calaboose?”</p> - -<p>“Yeah. Him and the fire horses are all little pals together.”</p> - -<p>“You’ve got the evidence?”</p> - -<p>“Sure.”</p> - -<p>“No doubt about it?”</p> - -<p>“Not a bit. I’ll tell you—”</p> - -<p>“That can wait till morning. What does he say?”</p> - -<p>“Acts like he wasn’t surprised. Acts like he expected it. Matter of -fact, he pretty near invited me to pinch him.”</p> - -<p>Wint nodded to himself. “That means they’re looking for trouble.”</p> - -<p>“I’d say so.”</p> - -<p>“Haven’t seen Kite, have you?”</p> - -<p>“Hear he’s out of town. Be back Thursday.”</p> - -<p>“All right. We’ll hold Lutcher till then and have it out.”</p> - -<p>Wint heard a gulp that told him Radabaugh was shifting that bulge in his -cheek. “He’s wanted to furnish bail,” the marshal said.</p> - -<p>“Nothing doing,” Wint told him.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_335" id="page_335">{335}</a></span></p> - -<p>“We-ell—he’s got a right to want to.”</p> - -<p>“We’re sound sleepers here. You couldn’t raise me with the telephone,” -Wint suggested.</p> - -<p>“Lutcher’s all dressed up in a yellow vest and everything; and he didn’t -fetch his jail pajamas with him.”</p> - -<p>“He can sleep in the yellow vest.”</p> - -<p>“It’s your funeral,” Radabaugh decided philosophically. “Whatever you -say.”</p> - -<p>“That’s right.” And Wint added: “I’m glad you got him, Jim. Good work.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, he weren’t so much to get. I told you he put himself in the way of -it.”</p> - -<p>“Just the same, you had good nerve.”</p> - -<p>“We-ell—maybe so.”</p> - -<p>Wint went back to bed; but he didn’t go to sleep. He was tingling with -the pleasurable excitement of combat; and he was immensely pleased at -this chance to give evidence of the sincerity of his fight for a clean -Hardiston. Those orders to Radabaugh which had become something like a -proverb in Hardiston.... This was their test. He meant that they should -meet the test.</p> - -<p>He could not decide whether the incident would help him or hurt him at -the polls; it was impossible to tell. But—he did not care. Hurt or -help, his course would be the same. Unchangeable. Lutcher should get the -limit. Whatever the evidence justified. The rest was on the lap of the -gods. Let them take care of it.</p> - -<p>It may have been an hour or two before he was asleep again; and he woke -in the morning a little tired because of the sleep he had lost. But the -cold tub revived him; he was cheerful enough when he came down to -breakfast; and when his father appeared, Wint told him the news.</p> - -<p>“Something doing, dad,” he said.</p> - -<p>Chase looked at him in quick and surprised interest; and he asked: -“What? What do you mean, Wint?”</p> - -<p>“Did you hear the telephone last night, about midnight?”</p> - -<p>“No.”</p> - -<p>“I did,” said Mrs. Chase. “I thought I heard the bell; but<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_336" id="page_336">{336}</a></span> your father -was asleep, and I wasn’t sure. I came to the head of the stairs, but you -were already down.”</p> - -<p>“I answered as quickly as I could. The bell only rang once or twice.”</p> - -<p>“Who was it?” Chase asked quickly.</p> - -<p>“Radabaugh. Jim. The marshal. He’s arrested Lutcher.”</p> - -<p>“Lutcher! What for?”</p> - -<p>“Bootlegging!”</p> - -<p>Chase uttered an involuntary exclamation. “Lutcher? He’s Kite’s -right-hand man.”</p> - -<p>“Absolutely.”</p> - -<p>“Radabaugh arrested him?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“Has he got a case?”</p> - -<p>“Jim always has a case, when he makes an arrest.”</p> - -<p>“But Lutcher.... He’s shrewd. Knows how to cover his tracks.”</p> - -<p>“He didn’t cover well enough this time.” Wint’s elation was singing in -his voice.</p> - -<p>“But he—”</p> - -<p>“As a matter of fact,” said Wint, “Radabaugh thinks Lutcher allowed -himself to be caught. Thinks he wanted to get arrested.”</p> - -<p>“By God, that doesn’t sound reasonable!”</p> - -<p>“He’ll be sorry.”</p> - -<p>“They’ve got something up their sleeves, Wint.”</p> - -<p>“So have I!”</p> - -<p>“You—What?”</p> - -<p>“My arms,” said Wint cheerfully. “With a fist on each one and a punch in -each fist.”</p> - -<p>Chase looked uncertain. “They’ll try some trick.”</p> - -<p>Wint touched the other’s arm. “Don’t worry. They’ve got to fight in the -open, now. The time’s short. And I’m not afraid of them in the open.”</p> - -<p>“They’re treacherous. They’ll strike behind your back.”</p> - -<p>“I’m not worried.”</p> - -<p>But the older man was worried. He said little more; nevertheless his -concern was plain. Wint was sorry, a little disap<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_337" id="page_337">{337}</a></span>pointed. His father’s -uneasiness did not affect his own confidence. He was as sure of himself -as before. But he had expected his father to be as confident as himself, -as sure. To him, the matter of Lutcher simply offered an opportunity for -a telling blow; but it was evident that to his father the incident was -rather a threat than an opportunity.</p> - -<p>He and his father walked downtown together; they separated when Wint -turned aside toward the fire-engine house where his office was. The -older man gave him a word of warning there. “Go carefully, Wint,” he -urged. “Watch yourself.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t worry.”</p> - -<p>“Be sure of the law, Wint. Don’t make a mistake. They would jump on it.”</p> - -<p>“That’s Foster’s job. And I’m no ... I’ve studied up a bit.”</p> - -<p>“Take care.”</p> - -<p>“Right, dad.”</p> - -<p>They separated, and Wint went on to his office. Radabaugh was not there, -but he appeared a little later. “I’ve just had Lutcher up to Sam -O’Brien’s for breakfast,” he explained. “He wanted to go to the hotel; -but I told him Sam had the contract to victual the city prisoners.”</p> - -<p>Wint chuckled. “Where is he now?”</p> - -<p>“Down in the calaboose.”</p> - -<p>“Does he still want to furnish bail?”</p> - -<p>“Says he does.”</p> - -<p>“Kite comes home to-morrow, doesn’t he?”</p> - -<p>“Yeah.”</p> - -<p>“Well, we’ll let Lutcher out on bail till then. I’m curious to hear what -Kite will have to say.”</p> - -<p>Radabaugh shifted the plug in his cheek. “Think he’ll have anything to -say?”</p> - -<p>“Don’t you?”</p> - -<p>“We-ell, he might.”</p> - -<p>“Bring Lutcher up, and we’ll turn him loose.”</p> - -<p>Lutcher came. Wint chuckled inwardly at sight of what Radabaugh had -called a yellow vest. It was an ornate affair; no doubt of it. He was -inclined to expect an outbreak from<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_338" id="page_338">{338}</a></span> Lutcher, but the big, bald man was -cheerfully amiable. Wint said: “Sorry we had to hold you in jail. The -marshal tried to get me, but I’m a sound sleeper.”</p> - -<p>“Well, the bed wasn’t soft,” Lutcher admitted. “But I can stand it.”</p> - -<p>“I’m going to hold you till to-morrow,” Wint said. “Unless you want to -plead guilty and accept sentence now.”</p> - -<p>“Guilty? No, sir. You can’t pin anything on me, Wint. You ought to know -that.”</p> - -<p>“We’ll see,” Wint told him. “Want to stay in jail, or furnish bail?”</p> - -<p>“Bail, of course. I can get any one.”</p> - -<p>“I’d rather have money.”</p> - -<p>“Check any good?”</p> - -<p>“I’ll cash it before you leave here.”</p> - -<p>Lutcher said amiably that that was all right, and asked the amount. Wint -said “Four hundred.” And Lutcher whistled, and protested: “That’s pretty -hard.”</p> - -<p>“Harder than the bed in the calaboose?”</p> - -<p>Lutcher grinned, and wrote. Wint took the check and his hat and left -Lutcher with the marshal. He went to the bank, drew the money, and -deposited the cash to the city’s account. “Just so there can be no -question of stopping payment on that check,” he explained.</p> - -<p>Back at his office, he told Lutcher he was free to go. Lutcher, -contriving to look dapper and well-dressed in spite of his night, took -himself away. Then Wint turned to the marshal.</p> - -<p>“Now, Jim, how about it?” he asked. “What’s the case against him?”</p> - -<p>Radabaugh shifted the knob in his cheek to clear the way for speech; and -he sat down, and hitched his trousers up, and opened his coat and put -his thumbs in his armholes. “We-ell,” he said, “it was like this.”</p> - -<p>He had been scouting around for two weeks past, he said, according to -Wint’s orders, without discovering anything. But the afternoon before, -an automobile had come into town with some boxes in the tonneau and a -stranger driving. It made some stir on Main Street; and then it drove -openly enough to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_339" id="page_339">{339}</a></span> Lutcher’s place, on the alley. He had seen the boxes -carried up Lutcher’s stair.</p> - -<p>“First off,” he explained, “I figured it couldn’t be what it looked -like. Didn’t seem as if they’d be so open about it. Lutcher had been -lying low. I figured they might be aiming to get me excited, just to -make a fool of me. So I held off a spell.</p> - -<p>“But the thing stuck in my head. They might be trying a game, and they -might not. I decided to keep an eye on Lutcher’s place, and I did. All -that afternoon.”</p> - -<p>Wint said: “They were brazen, eh?”</p> - -<p>“I’d say so,” Radabaugh agreed; and he shifted his plug and went on.</p> - -<p>“Nothing happened, particular, all afternoon. I et my supper; and after -it was dark, I took another walk down that way. Met Jack Routt coming -out of the alley; and he stopped me and talked to me. It was on his -breath. Plain enough. He must have knowed that; must have meant me to -smell it. He was so darned open, I suspicioned there was a trick. So I -still held off.</p> - -<p>“But I took a walk through the alley about nine o’clock. All quiet. A -light in Lutcher’s place, that was all. Some men up there. I wondered.</p> - -<p>“I walked through again, after a while. Sounded like they was having a -game. Finally, about a quarter past eleven, I come along through, and -some one yelled. Sounded boozy. So I says to myself: ‘Jim, you’re the -goat. You got to bite, if it’s only to see the joke.’ So I went up the -stairs. Quiet.”</p> - -<p>“No search warrant?” Wint asked.</p> - -<p>“Why, no,” said Radabaugh innocently. “I was just dropping in for a -drink, like I’d done before. Some time back.”</p> - -<p>Wint grinned. “Of course. Go ahead.”</p> - -<p>“We-ell, the door wasn’t locked,” said Radabaugh. “So I knew I was meant -to come in. And I went in. On in where they were. Four of them. Tuttle, -and Harley, and Gates, and this Lutcher. I went in; and Tuttle throws a -five-dollar bill to Lutcher and says: ‘Here’s for that last bottle, -Lutch.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_340" id="page_340">{340}</a></span>’</p> - -<p>“Lutcher took it. And he’d seen me before he took it. Then he got up and -says: ‘Hello, Jim. Have a drink?’</p> - -<p>“So I told him to come along.”</p> - -<p>He stopped; it was evident that his story was done. Wint nodded. “Well, -that’s plain enough,” he agreed.</p> - -<p>“It’s my evidence against theirs,” Radabaugh reminded him. “But that’s -the way it’s got to be.”</p> - -<p>“Your evidence is good enough for me.”</p> - -<p>“Sure. But he’ll fight.”</p> - -<p>“We can’t help that,” Wint reminded him. “All we can do is—soak him.” -There was a sudden heat in his voice; and Radabaugh eyed him curiously -and asked:</p> - -<p>“In earnest, ain’t you?”</p> - -<p>“Absolutely,” said Wint.</p> - -<p>“Well, it never hurt any, to be in earnest. Go to it, boss.”</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>Hardiston talked it over that day, and wondered what Wint would do. Most -people thought he would sentence Lutcher; some declared he would wait -till after election, for fear of influencing the vote. Sam O’Brien -laughed at this view. “Wint wasn’t ever afraid of anything,” he -declared. “Why man, you make me laugh. He’ll soak Lutcher so hard -Lutcher’ll need to be wrung out like a sponge.”</p> - -<p>There were others who were loyal to Wint; and there were some few—not -very vociferous except among those of like views—who were loyal to -Lutcher. But for the most part, people waited. Waited for Kite to come -home. This was his fight; that was understood. Lutcher was his man.</p> - -<p>He came on the early morning train next day; and his coming was marked. -Lutcher met him at the train. They came up the hill from the station -together, and went to the Bazaar, and were alone there for a little -while. Routt joined them presently. Routt would represent Lutcher in -court, he said. But Kite laughed at that.</p> - -<p>“It will never come to court, man,” he told Routt. “You know that.”</p> - -<p>“I’m not so sure,” Jack objected.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_341" id="page_341">{341}</a></span></p> - -<p>“Then we’ll smash that young rip, flat as an egg,” said Kite harshly, -with a gesture of his clenched fist. “But he’ll crawl, I say.”</p> - -<p>Lutcher got up. “I’m willing to see that,” he declared amiably. “Come -along and stage the show.”</p> - -<p>So they went down to the fire-engine house together, and they found the -council room where Wint held court crowded with Hardiston folk who -wanted to see what was going to happen. Radabaugh was there; and he told -them Wint was in his office, in the rear. Kite bade Routt and Lutcher -sit down. “I want to see the Mayor,” he told Radabaugh, in a peremptory -tone. “Take me in.”</p> - -<p>Radabaugh shifted the bulge in his cheek, and told Kite to stay where he -was. “I’ll see if he wants to see you,” he said, and went into Wint’s -office. A moment later, he appeared at the door and beckoned to Kite, -and there was an instant’s hush in the big room as every one watched -Kite go in. Then they began to whisper and talk together; and instantly -were still again, trying to hear what Wint and Kite were saying. -Radabaugh had shut the door behind Kite and stood, with his back against -it, indolently studying the crowd.</p> - -<p>They tried to hear; but they did not hear anything except a murmur of -voices now and then. They could only guess at what had been said from -what happened when Kite had been with Wint five minutes, or perhaps ten. -At the end of that period, the door opened so suddenly that Radabaugh -was thrown off balance. He stumbled to one side, and Wint came out and -sat down at his desk. Kite was on Wint’s heels; he whispered to Wint -fiercely, but Wint, without heeding Kite, said to the clerk:</p> - -<p>“Call Lutcher’s case.”</p> - -<p>And at that Kite looked at Wint for a moment with a red and furious -face, and then he turned and bolted for the stairs and was gone.</p> - -<p>Wint’s countenance was steady, his lips were white. He heard Radabaugh’s -story of the arrest of Lutcher; and when it was done, he asked Routt, -who was appearing for Lutcher, whether<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_342" id="page_342">{342}</a></span> the man denied anything. Routt -hesitated, uncertain what Kite would wish him to do. He whispered with -Lutcher. Then he stood up and said:</p> - -<p>“He has decided to plead guilty, your Honor.”</p> - -<p>Wint nodded, consulted in a low voice with Foster, and said: “Two -hundred and costs.”</p> - -<p>That was all. While Routt and Lutcher arranged the payment of the fine, -the crowd began to disperse, a few lingering in the hope of some fresh -sensation. And those who lingered and those who went their way were -agreeing, one with another, that this matter was not ended.</p> - -<p>“Kite’s got something up his sleeve,” Gates told Bob Dyer. “You wait and -see.”</p> - -<p>And Dyer nodded, and grinned, and said: “Yes, wait till old V. R. takes -a hand.”</p> - -<p>When every one was gone except Radabaugh, and Foster, and one or two -others, Wint got up and went into his office and shut the door.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_343" id="page_343">{343}</a></span></p> - -<h3><a name="CHAPTER_VII-e" id="CHAPTER_VII-e"></a>CHAPTER VII<br /><br /> -<small>A FEW WORDS TO THE WISE</small></h3> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">T</span>HOSE minutes—five or ten—which Wint spent with V. R. Kite in his -office behind the council chamber, before he sentenced Lutcher, left -Wint depressed, shaken by foreboding. He was like one beset in the -darkness by enemies he could not see. He felt the imminence of disaster -without being able to avert it. The world was all wrong. Life had turned -her thumbs down. There could be only destruction ahead.</p> - -<p>He felt this, without being able to put a name to the peril. It was -intangible; Kite had only hinted at it. But the little buzzard of a man -had been in deadly earnest. Wint was sure of that. So.... There was -nothing to do but wait for the blow to fall; and waiting is the hardest -thing in the world to do.</p> - -<p>Kite had come into Wint’s office that morning with a smile in his dry -eyes. It was a smile that had triumph in it; and it held also a certain -mean magnanimity to a fallen foe. It was as though Kite knew Wint was -beaten, and expected him to surrender, and was willing to accept the -surrender while despising Wint for yielding. Wint had expected the -little man to come in anger, with protestations, and open threats, and a -desperate sort of defiance. He was prepared for these things; he was not -prepared for the confidence in Kite’s bearing. And his first glimpse of -it disturbed him, made him uneasy.</p> - -<p>Kite sat down without being invited; he put his hat on Wint’s desk; and -he said in an amiably triumphant way:</p> - -<p>“Well, young man?”</p> - -<p>He seemed to expect Wint to speak; but Wint had nothing to say to Kite. -He replied: “You wanted to speak to me?”</p> - -<p>“Not exactly,” said Kite. “I wanted to hear what you have to say.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_344" id="page_344">{344}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“I?” said Wint. “I have nothing to say, except what I shall say to -Lutcher in court presently.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, yes, Lutcher,” Kite murmured. “Lutcher, to be sure.” And he nodded -as though Lutcher were scarce worth considering, and kept silent, to -force Wint into speech.</p> - -<p>This trick of keeping silent, forcing the other man to make the -advances, was a favorite with Amos Caretall. Amos had beaten V. R. Kite -at the game more than once; but Wint had beaten Amos. He beat Kite, now. -The older man was driven to speak first. He said, in a quick rush of -words:</p> - -<p>“You know you’re done for. Done. Skinned. Licked. Down. What have you -got to say?”</p> - -<p>Before a direct attack, Wint recovered himself. He laughed. “I should -say you were wide of the mark, Kite,” he said cheerfully. “That is, if I -know what you’re talking about. The mayoralty?”</p> - -<p>“Of course. Your hide is on the fence.”</p> - -<p>Wint shook his head. “I haven’t felt it being removed; and they say the -process is painful. So I would have felt it go.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t joke, young man. You know what I mean.”</p> - -<p>“I know,” said Wint, “that I’m going to be elected Mayor. I know Routt -is licked. If that’s what you mean.”</p> - -<p>Kite laughed, a harsh, short, mirthless laugh. “What’s the use of -bluffing? I tell you, I know.”</p> - -<p>Wint said a little impatiently: “You’re talking in a mysterious way, -Kite. I don’t see your object. If you’ve no plain words in your system, -we’re wasting time.”</p> - -<p>“I’ve a plain word for you. Hardiston will have a plain word for you.” -There was a deadly menace in the little man’s tone, and Wint felt it, -and was a little impressed. But he managed a smile.</p> - -<p>“I’ve a plain word for Lutcher, too,” he said. “You’re keeping Lutcher -waiting.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, Lutcher,” said Kite again. “You’ll let him go.”</p> - -<p>“Hardly,” said Wint; and Kite cried:</p> - -<p>“I say you will. Don’t be a fool. I tell you I know.”</p> - -<p>“You may know some things,” said Wint slowly. “But you are wrong about -Lutcher. He gets the limit.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_345" id="page_345">{345}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>Kite leaned forward; and his voice was almost kind. “Young man,” he -said, “you’ve good nerve. You’re a good fighter. You’re a vote getter, -too, in an awkward way. If I didn’t have the winning hand, I should be -worried about what you can do. But I have; from the person who knows. -You’re beaten. You might as well accept it.”</p> - -<p>“If I’m beaten,” said Wint, “I’ll know it by midnight of the eighth. Not -by your telling.”</p> - -<p>Kite lost his temper for an instant; and he cried: “You miserable little -dog! With not even the grace to know you’re whipped.”</p> - -<p>Wint said coldly: “Just what are you talking about, Kite? You wanted to -see me. Well, here I am. What have you got to say? I’ll give you about -thirty seconds more.”</p> - -<p>“Thirty seconds?” Kite echoed. “You’ll give me all the time I want. I -tell you, you’re done.”</p> - -<p>“What have you got to say?”</p> - -<p>“Go out there, and.... No, first write out for me a notice of your -withdrawal from the mayoralty fight. Then go out there and turn Lutcher -loose. If you do these two things, they’ll save you, for a while. And -nothing else in the world can save you.”</p> - -<p>Wint—there could be no question of this—was frightened. He was afraid -of the certainty in Kite’s manner, afraid of the mystery behind the -other’s confidence. But it is braver to appear brave when you are -frightened than when there is no fright in you; and Wint, frightened -though he might be, was yet brave. He rose.</p> - -<p>“Time’s up, Kite,” he said.</p> - -<p>Kite exclaimed: “Don’t be a fool. I don’t want to ruin you. Save -yourself, boy.”</p> - -<p>Wint opened the door and stepped out into the other room.</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>That was Thursday morning, five days before election. A fair, fine day -of the sort you will see in Hardiston in the fall. The sun was warm, the -air was crisp and dry. It was a day when simply living was pleasant; -when to draw breath was a joy.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_346" id="page_346">{346}</a></span> Ordinarily, Wint would have drunk this -day to the full. But there was abroad in Hardiston a whispered word; men -looked at him curiously as he passed them. No one seemed to know exactly -what was coming; yet they looked upon Wint as one looks upon a man about -to die. Kite had said nothing. From the fire-engine house he had gone -direct to his Bazaar and stayed there. One or two of his lieutenants -visited him there during the morning.</p> - -<p>Kite said nothing; no one had any definite word. Yet Hardiston was -whispering its guesses. Somehow the rumor had gone abroad that Wint was -done, that Kite was about to strike. There was a lively and an eager -anticipation. It is always easy to anticipate the misfortunes of others; -and there will always be those to rejoice in the imminent downfall of -one who has held himself high. Wint had enemies enough; even some of -those whom he had counted his friends looked askance at him this day.</p> - -<p>When he went to the Post Office for the noon mail, he encountered Hetty -on the street. Because he was thoughtful and abstracted, he spoke to her -curtly. Hetty did not speak to him at all. She turned away her head. But -Wint, already passing by, did not mark this.</p> - -<p>He met B. B. Beecham in the Post Office, and stopped in with B. B. at -the <i>Journal</i> office afterward. B. B. talked pleasantly of a number of -things, till Wint could be still no longer. He asked abruptly:</p> - -<p>“B. B., have you heard anything?”</p> - -<p>The editor looked surprised. “How do you mean?” he asked.</p> - -<p>“What’s Kite up to?”</p> - -<p>B. B. said: “I don’t know. Is he up to something?”</p> - -<p>“He came to me before court this morning and demanded that I withdraw -from this fight and let Lutcher go.”</p> - -<p>“Demanded it?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“On what ground?”</p> - -<p>“He made some covert threat. He was not specific.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_347" id="page_347">{347}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>B. B. shook his head. “I hadn’t heard.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, no one knows this,” Wint told him. “I refused, of course, and fined -Lutcher. Now every one in town seems to know that something is going to -drop on me.”</p> - -<p>“What is there that he can bring against you?”</p> - -<p>“Not a thing. Except the old stuff. What everybody knows.”</p> - -<p>B. B. nodded. “I should not worry, if I were you, if there’s nothing.”</p> - -<p>“There isn’t anything, I tell you,” Wint exclaimed impatiently.</p> - -<p>“Then what can he do?”</p> - -<p>Wint got up, a little weary. “All right,” he said. “I thought you might -have heard.”</p> - -<p>B. B. shook his head. “Not a thing.”</p> - -<p>Wint went to Sam O’Brien’s restaurant for dinner. It was a little after -his usual hour, and there were only two or three others on the stools -before the high, scrubbed counter. O’Brien waited on Wint himself, and -Wint ate in silence, under the other’s sympathetic eye.</p> - -<p>When he paid for his dinner, O’Brien asked heartily:</p> - -<p>“Well, Wint, m’ boy, how’s tricks?”</p> - -<p>Wint looked up at the other and smiled wearily. “Rotten, Sam,” he said.</p> - -<p>O’Brien protested. “Lord, now, I’d not say that. As fine a day as it -is.”</p> - -<p>“I wasn’t talking about the weather,” Wint told him. “It’s just.... I -guess I’m in the dumps, Sam. I’ve got a hunch. I’ve got a hunch -something’s going to drop on me like a ton of bricks.”</p> - -<p>“A hunch like that is bum company,” O’Brien commented. “Where did you -get it, Wint?”</p> - -<p>Wint shook his head. “I don’t know.”</p> - -<p>“Lord, boy! You act like you’d lost your nerve, Wint.”</p> - -<p>Wint said: “Maybe I have.” He was terribly depressed, almost ready to -drop out and surrender.</p> - -<p>“You’d nerve enough when you soaked Lutcher, this morn<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_348" id="page_348">{348}</a></span>ing,” Sam -reminded him. “I was proud of you, m’ son. You’ve give me many a laugh, -Wint, but I was proud o’ your cool nerve this day.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I’m not worried about Lutcher.”</p> - -<p>“I’d not be. Him nor his. The old buzzard of a Kite, neither.”</p> - -<p>Wint said: “I don’t know. Kite’s got something up his sleeve.”</p> - -<p>“That’s as much as to say that he’s tricky. It’s these magicians that -has things up their sleeves. Full of tricks. You stick to the middle of -the road, Wint, and never mind their tricks. They’ll trick their own -selves.”</p> - -<p>Wint shook his head. “That’s all right. But what can I do?”</p> - -<p>“Do?” Sam echoed. “Why, fight ’em like that dog of yours fit Mrs. -Moody’s Jim.” He nodded to Muldoon, curled as always near Wint’s feet; -and Wint dropped his hand to Muldoon’s grizzled head. He was apt to turn -to Muldoon in trouble. The dog was his shadow, always with him; but it -was when he was troubled that Wint gave most heed to the terrier. At -Wint’s caress, Muldoon rolled his eyes up without moving his head; and -Sam said:</p> - -<p>“Look at him grin; the nervy pup. He’s telling you to take a brace, m’ -son. You can’t scare the dog.”</p> - -<p>“I’m not scared.”</p> - -<p>“You act damn like it,” said Sam frankly; and Wint protested:</p> - -<p>“It’s only that I’m sick of it all. Sick of the fight, and the -mud-throwing. And getting no thanks.”</p> - -<p>“Hell’s bells,” Sam exclaimed. “You talk like a woman!”</p> - -<p>Wint looked at him curiously. “What’s Kite up to, Sam? Have you heard?”</p> - -<p>“Heard some rats say he would rip you up. And I told them you’d be doing -some ripping, about that time. You’re not going to make me out a liar, -Wint. Are you now?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I suppose I’ll fight.”</p> - -<p>He left the restaurant and walked down to Hoover’s office and secluded -himself in the back room; but his studies could<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_349" id="page_349">{349}</a></span> not hold him. There was -a curiously passive despair upon the boy. He could not shake it off. The -whole thing seemed so little worth while. If there had been a chance to -fight.... But the peril was intangible. He could not come to grips with -it. He could not even be sure there was peril. He could not be sure of -anything. Not even of himself. He asked himself despairingly: “Are you -going to be a quitter, Wint?” And then thought hopelessly: “Oh, what’s -the use?”</p> - -<p>In mid-afternoon, Dick Hoover looked in and said Gergue wanted to see -Wint. Wint was surprised. “What does he want?” he asked. “Gergue?” He -got up and went to the door and saw Peter waiting; and he called: “Come -along in here.”</p> - -<p>Gergue came at the invitation. His hat was off; he was fumbling in the -tangle of hair at the back of his neck. There was a curiously furtive -uncertainty about the man. Wint thrust a chair toward Peter with his -foot, and said: “Sit down.” When Gergue was seated, and slicing a fill -for his pipe, Wint asked:</p> - -<p>“What’s on your mind?”</p> - -<p>Gergue looked at him sidewise, stuffing the crumbled tobacco into the -black bowl. And he asked: “Wint, where do you figure I stand?”</p> - -<p>Wint was surprised. “You mean—in this business between Routt and me?”</p> - -<p>Gergue nodded. “Yeah.”</p> - -<p>“Why, with Routt, I suppose,” Wint told him.</p> - -<p>“Why d’you figure that?”</p> - -<p>“You’re tied up with Amos.”</p> - -<p>Gergue scratched a match. “Wint,” he said, “Amos is a fine man. He does -things his own way; but in the end, he pretty near always turns out -pretty near right.”</p> - -<p>“Well, that’s his record,” Wint agreed. “He’s usually on the winning -side.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t let that get away from you,” said Gergue. “Don’t you forget that, -Wint!”</p> - -<p>Wint laughed harshly; and he said: “I’m not likely to. I counted on him -in this, you know.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_350" id="page_350">{350}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>Gergue leaned toward him. “Thing is, Wint, I’m wonderin’ what you’d -think if I told you something?”</p> - -<p>“That would depend on what you told me.”</p> - -<p>“Something for your own good. Help you some.”</p> - -<p>Wint said, amiably enough: “I want to win this fight, Peter. But—after -Amos’s stand—I don’t particularly want any help from him. I’d mistrust -it.”</p> - -<p>“Say this come from me, personal.”</p> - -<p>“You’re linked with Amos.”</p> - -<p>Gergue nodded resignedly. “Have it so,” he agreed. “Anyway, I’m going to -tell you.”</p> - -<p>Wint said: “All right. What do you want to tell?”</p> - -<p>Gergue hesitated for a while, choosing his words. At last he asked: “You -wondering what Kite aims to do to trim you?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“Got any ideas?”</p> - -<p>“No.”</p> - -<p>Gergue looked at him shrewdly. “Know any way he could hit at you?”</p> - -<p>“No. Not with the truth.”</p> - -<p>Gergue hesitated; then he asked slowly: “Know any way he could hit at -you with Hetty?”</p> - -<p>“Hetty?” Wint echoed. “Hetty Morfee?”</p> - -<p>“Yes. Her.”</p> - -<p>Wint was stupefied with surprise. “Good Lord, no!”</p> - -<p>“She got any reason to be against you?”</p> - -<p>“No. I—She’s friendly, I think. Ought to be.”</p> - -<p>Gergue puffed at his pipe. Then he got up. “Wint,” he said, “take it for -what it’s worth. I hear he’s going to hit you with her.”</p> - -<p>Wint exclaimed angrily: “You’re crazy, Peter. Or you’re.... Look here, -did Amos send you?”</p> - -<p>“No.”</p> - -<p>“Is this some damned trick of his?”</p> - -<p>“No.”</p> - -<p>“Well, what in God’s name are you talking about?”</p> - -<p>Gergue said thoughtfully: “I’ve said all I know. Think it over, Wint.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_351" id="page_351">{351}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>He went out, with a surprising quickness, and was gone before Wint could -frame other questions. The young man was left to consider the thing.</p> - -<p>When Wint went home for supper, he was still mystified; but he was -beginning to grow angry. Angry at the mere suggestion that lay behind -Peter’s words. Angry at Gergue for saying them. And this anger was a -more hopeful sign than his depression of the morning had been. He was -fiercely resentful at Hardiston, at the whole world.</p> - -<p>He met Joan, halfway home. That is to say, he overtook her on her way, -and they walked home together. He was so absorbed in his own thoughts -that he did not see there was something troubling the girl until she -spoke of it. She said: “Wint, I met Agnes Caretall uptown.”</p> - -<p>He nodded, scarce hearing; and Joan said: “She’s a good deal of a -gossip, you know.”</p> - -<p>There was something in her tone which caught his attention; and he -looked at her sharply and asked: “What do you mean? What did she say?”</p> - -<p>“She said Mr. Kite was going to ruin you,” Joan told him.</p> - -<p>Wint laughed shortly. “Well, that’s no secret. At least it’s no secret -that he wants to.”</p> - -<p>“She said he was going to,” Joan insisted.</p> - -<p>Wint asked: “How, since she knew so much, did she know how?”</p> - -<p>Joan touched his arm. “Don’t be angry, Wint.”</p> - -<p>But Wint was angry, even with Joan. He exclaimed harshly, after the -fashion of angry men: “I’m not mad. What did she say?”</p> - -<p>Joan told him. “She said they were going to link you up with Hetty.”</p> - -<p>Wint exclaimed: “Lord! You too? I’m sick of that tale. Hetty!”</p> - -<p>Joan begged: “But there isn’t anything, is there?”</p> - -<p>Wint faced her hotly. “If you don’t know without being told.... Can’t I -even count on you, Joan?”</p> - -<p>“I only asked.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_352" id="page_352">{352}</a></span></p><p>They were at her gate, and Wint lifted his hat abruptly. “Think what -you like,” he told her sharply. “Good afternoon!”</p> - -<p>He left her there; left her, and Joan looked after him with troubled -sympathy in her eyes, and something more. There was a mist of tears in -them when she went on toward the house.</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>While they were at supper that night, the telephone rang, and Wint’s -father answered. After a moment he came back into the dining room. -“Wint,” he said, “it’s Kite.”</p> - -<p>“Kite?” Wint demanded, pushing back his chair. “What does he want?”</p> - -<p>“He wants to see you—and me. He says he’ll be out here at eight. He -wants us to be here.”</p> - -<p>Wint’s face turned black with anger; then he threw up one hand. “All -right,” he cried, “tell Kite we’ll be here.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_353" id="page_353">{353}</a></span>”</p> - -<h3><a name="CHAPTER_VIII-e" id="CHAPTER_VIII-e"></a>CHAPTER VIII<br /><br /> -<small>POOR HETTY AGAIN</small></h3> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">W</span>HEN Chase came back from the table after telling Kite that they would -expect him at the appointed time, Wint asked:</p> - -<p>“Did he say what he wanted?”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Chase exclaimed: “I don’t think you ought to have let him come, -Winthrop. I don’t want that man in my house. He—”</p> - -<p>Chase answered Wint. “No. Just said he wanted to see us.” He was -troubled; and he showed it. “What do you think he wants, Wint? Something -about Lutcher?”</p> - -<p>Wint shook his head. “I think he’s going to hit at me. Somehow. There’s -been a rumor around town all day. They say he has something.”</p> - -<p>Chase asked quickly: “Has he? Has he got anything on you, Wint?”</p> - -<p>“Not that I know of. There’s nothing he could get. Nothing to get.” He -looked at his father in a quick, appealing way. “Dad, I wish you’d just -remember that, whatever happens. You know the worst there is to know -about me. Anything else is just flat lie.”</p> - -<p>His father nodded abstractedly. “Of course. But Kite is confoundedly -clever. Now I wonder what he’s—”</p> - -<p>“I always told you, Wint, that you hadn’t any business in politics,” -Mrs. Chase exclaimed. “I don’t think it’s decent, the way men talk about -each other. Why, Mrs. Hullis told me that Jack Routt is going around -saying the most terrible things about you. That you—”</p> - -<p>“I know, mother. That’s Jack’s idea of a campaign. We’ll show him his -mistake next Tuesday.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_354" id="page_354">{354}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“But he says that you—”</p> - -<p>“Now, mother,” her husband interrupted, “never mind. Wint, did you hear -anything definite about Kite? What he’s planning....”</p> - -<p>Wint hesitated; he had heard something definite. Definite but -incredible. That which he had heard could not possibly be true; he could -not believe it. To tell his father would only disturb the older man; he -could not be sure how Chase would react to the report. He held his -tongue. “No, nothing definite,” he said.</p> - -<p>“Is he’s coming to see you about it, he must have something.”</p> - -<p>Wint got up from the table. “Well,” he said abruptly, “we’ll soon know. -It’s after seven, now.”</p> - -<p>They went into the sitting room to wait; and the waiting was hard. Wint -tried to read the daily; his father took a book from the shelves. But -Wint’s eyes strayed from the printed columns. He was in a curiously numb -state of mind. This was part hopelessness, part the sheer suspense of -waiting. Wint was one of those men who in their moments of greatest -passion and excitement become outwardly serene and calm. Their own -emotions put a physical inhibition on them so that they are still, and -do not speak. Once or twice Chase glanced toward his son and saw Wint -motionless, apparently absorbed, apparently quite at ease. But actually -Wint was stirring to the throbbing of his heart, held still by the very -fury of his own dread and anger and suspense.</p> - -<p>At fifteen minutes before eight, some one knocked on the front door. -Wint said: “There he is,” and got up and went to the door; but when he -opened it, Jack Routt stood there. Wint was surprised; he said slowly:</p> - -<p>“Oh, you, Jack?”</p> - -<p>Routt nodded, a little ill at ease. “Is Kite here?” he asked.</p> - -<p>“No. He’s coming.”</p> - -<p>Routt smiled ingratiatingly. “I don’t know what he wants. He told me to -meet him here about eight, to have a talk with you.”</p> - -<p>“Told you to?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_355" id="page_355">{355}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“Yes. I asked him what he meant; and he said to wait. I supposed he had -made arrangements with you.”</p> - -<p>Wint said dully: “Yes, he has. He’s coming.” And after a moment, he -added: “You might as well come in.”</p> - -<p>Routt grinned. “You’re damned cordial,” he remarked.</p> - -<p>“Oh, that’s all right,” Wint assured him abstractedly. He was thinking -so swiftly that he seemed stupefied. His father came into the hall, and -Wint said: “Here’s Jack Routt. Kite told him to come.”</p> - -<p>Chase looked at Routt uncertainly; and Routt said: “I’ll get out if you -say so.”</p> - -<p>Wint shook his head. “No. Sit down. Go on in.”</p> - -<p>They went into the sitting room; but before they could sit down, some -one else knocked. This time it was B. B. Beecham. He stood in the door -when Wint opened it, and smiled, and said:</p> - -<p>“I’m not sure I understand, Wint. V. R. Kite telephoned me there was to -be some sort of a conference here, about a matter for the good of -Hardiston. I thought it curious that the word should come from him.”</p> - -<p>Wint laughed harshly. “All right, come in,” he said. “I don’t know any -more about it than you do. I suppose Kite thought it would be cheaper to -use our house than to hire a hall.”</p> - -<p>B. B. said simply: “I don’t want to inconvenience you.”</p> - -<p>“Come in,” Wint repeated. “I’m up in the air, that’s all. Routt’s here -already. Kite will be along, I suppose.”</p> - -<p>“Routt?” B. B. echoed, in surprise.</p> - -<p>“Yes; in there.”</p> - -<p>Wint and B. B. went into the sitting room where Chase and Routt were -talking awkwardly. After the first greetings, no one could think of -anything more to say. B. B. broke the silence. “I saw a robin to-day,” -he said. “They stay here, sometimes, right through the winter.”</p> - -<p>Birds and flowers were B. B.’s hobbies; he knew them all. And other -people recognized this interest in him, and shared it. They liked his -enthusiasm. Chase said: “Is that so? I had no idea they stayed. It -doesn’t seem to me I ever saw one in winter.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_356" id="page_356">{356}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“They live in the sheltered places,” said B. B. “You’ll find them in the -woods, and the brushy hollows, and around houses where there is a good -deal of shrubbery. Especially if the people put out a lump of suet for -them to feed on.”</p> - -<p>“Why, everybody ought to do that,” Chase declared, with a quick -interest. “You ought to tell them to, in the <i>Journal</i>, B. B.”</p> - -<p>B. B. smiled and said he was telling people just this, every week. He -spoke of other birds. Chase seemed interested. Routt and Wint said -nothing. Routt seemed uncomfortable; and that was a strange thing to see -in this assured young man. Wint’s eyes were lowered; he was thinking. -Lost in a maze of conjectures. Kite would be coming, any minute now.</p> - -<p>B. B. was still talking about birds when Kite came. Wint heard footsteps -on the walk in front of the house, heard them come up the steps. There -were several men. Not Kite alone. The sounds told him that. He waited, -sitting still, till they knocked on the front door. Then he went out -into the hall and opened the door and saw Kite standing there, his dry -little face triumphant, malignantly rejoicing.</p> - -<p>Wint looked at Kite steadily for a moment; and then he lifted his eyes -and saw, behind Kite, Amos Caretall. And at one side, Ed Skinner of the -<i>Sun</i>. He had thought there were others. But he saw no one else.</p> - -<p>Kite stepped inside the door. Skinner and Amos stood still till Wint -asked: “Well—what is it?”</p> - -<p>Kite said then: “Come in, Amos. You too, Ed.”</p> - -<p>Amos, his big head on one side, his eyes squinting in a friendly way, -drawled a question: “How about it, Wint? Kite says he’s got something to -talk over. Asked me to come along. But I don’t allow he’s got any right -to ask me into your house.”</p> - -<p>“Come in, Amos. Both of you,” Wint said; and Kite repeated:</p> - -<p>“Yes, come in. I know what I’m talking about. This young man isn’t -likely to object.”</p> - -<p>“All right, Wint?” Amos asked again; and Wint nodded, and Amos lumbered -into the hall. Then Chase came to the door that led from the sitting -room into the hall; and at sight<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_357" id="page_357">{357}</a></span> of Amos, he stopped very still, with a -white face. Wint crossed to his father’s side and told him quietly:</p> - -<p>“It’s all right. Kite brought him. It’s all right, dad.”</p> - -<p>Chase exclaimed: “How do I know it’s all right? I don’t understand all -this mystery. Kite, by what right do you use my house for a meeting -place? What is all this, anyway? What is the idea, Kite?”</p> - -<p>Kite smiled his dry and mirthless smile; and he said mockingly: “Do not -fret yourself, Chase. Our concern is with this young man, with Wint. You -shall hear.” He was stripping off his overcoat in a business-like way. -This was Kite’s big hour, and he meant to make the most of it. He -dropped the coat on the seat in the hall; and Amos and Ed Skinner -imitated him; and Kite said briskly, rubbing his hands:</p> - -<p>“Now, then, where can we have our little talk?”</p> - -<p>Chase looked at Wint uncertainly; and Wint, still held by that curious -inhibition which made his voice level and low, said quietly:</p> - -<p>“The sitting room. Come in, gentlemen.”</p> - -<p>There were not chairs enough for them in the sitting room. Wint went -into the dining room for another, and found his mother there, putting -away the dishes. She asked in a whisper:</p> - -<p>“Who is it, Wint? Mr. Kite?”</p> - -<p>Wint nodded. “Yes, mother. Several men. You’d better go upstairs the -back way.”</p> - -<p>He was so steady that she was reassured; he did not seem excited or -disturbed. Yet was there something about him that made her think of a -hurt and weary little boy; and she laughed softly, and put her arm -around him and made him kiss her. He did so, patting her head; and then -he said:</p> - -<p>“There, mother. Run along.”</p> - -<p>She went out toward the kitchen, and Wint took the chair he had come for -into the other room. He found the others all sitting down. Amos had -slumped into the biggest and the easiest chair in the room. B. B. sat -straight in the straightest chair, his round, firm hands clasped on his -knees. B. B.’s legs were short and chubby; and his lap was barely big -enough to hold his clasped hands. Ed Skinner and Chase were on the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_358" id="page_358">{358}</a></span> -couch at one side of the room. Routt sat on the piano stool, twirling -slowly back and forth through a six-inch arc. Kite, in the manner of a -presiding officer, had pulled his chair to the table in the middle of -the room and sat there very stiffly, his head held high in that -ridiculous likeness to a turkey.</p> - -<p>Wint placed his chair just inside the door, and sat down. He and Kite -were the only composed persons in the room. B. B. looked acutely -embarrassed and uncomfortable; Chase was angry; Skinner was nervous; -Routt’s ease was palpably assumed. And Amos was fumbling uncertainly -with his black old pipe. He asked, when Wint came in:</p> - -<p>“Your mother mind smoke in her sitting room?”</p> - -<p>Wint said: “No; go ahead.” He filled his own pipe, and Amos sliced a -fill from his plug and deliberately prepared his smoke and lighted it. -Kite seemed in no hurry to begin. He had taken a letter or two and a -slip of paper from his pockets and was studying them in silence. Wint -thought he recognized that slip of paper. A check.... It seemed to him -that a cold hand clutched his throat. He felt a sick sense of the -hopelessness of it all; a sick despair. Not so much on his own account.</p> - -<p>Kite at last looked around the room, and said importantly:</p> - -<p>“Well, gentlemen!”</p> - -<p>Wint’s father could be still no longer. He cried: “See here, Kite, -what’s all this tomfoolery? What’s this nonsense? It’s an outrage. Be -quick, or be gone. I’ve no time to waste.”</p> - -<p>Kite looked at Chase; and then he looked at Wint and asked maliciously: -“Do you bid me be gone, too, young man?”</p> - -<p>Wint shook his head. “Say what you have to say,” he suggested; and there -was a great weariness in his voice.</p> - -<p>Kite nodded. “I mean to.” And to Chase: “You see, the young man -understands it is in his interest to handle this thing among ourselves.”</p> - -<p>“To handle what thing?” Chase demanded. Kite cleared his throat.</p> - -<p>“A matter,” he said importantly, “that concerns first of all the good -name of Hardiston. A matter that concerns, very<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_359" id="page_359">{359}</a></span> intimately, the good -name of your son. A matter that will be decisive in the mayoralty -campaign now pending. A matter—” His poise suddenly gave way before the -fierce rush of his exultation; and he cried: “A matter that will stop -this damned Sunday-school nonsense of denying grown men the right to do -as they please. That’s what it is, by God! A matter that will show up -this young hypocrite in his true light. If I were not merciful, I would -have spread it before the town long ago.”</p> - -<p>He stopped abruptly, looking from one to the other as though challenging -them to deny that he was merciful. No one denied it. B. B. cleared his -throat; and the sound was startling in the silence that had followed -Kite’s words. Amos puffed slowly at his pipe and squinted across the -room at Wint. Wint said nothing. He had scarce heard what Kite said; he -was curiously abstracted, as though all this did not concern him. He was -like a spectator, looking on.</p> - -<p>Chase looked at his son; and there was fear in the man’s eyes. For Kite -was so terribly confident. Chase looked at his son, expecting Wint to -make denial, to defend himself. But Wint said nothing; Wint did not lift -his eyes from the floor. He only puffed slowly and indolently at his -pipe, moving not at all.</p> - -<p>Kite cleared his throat again; and his dry little eyes were gleaming.</p> - -<p>“I have given this matter some thought,” he said. “Some thought, since -the facts came into my hands. And I must confess, at first they seemed -incredible. I made investigations, I was forced to believe—the whole, -black story.” He paused again. He wanted some one to question him, but -no one spoke. He went on:</p> - -<p>“My first impulse was to cry the truth to the whole town. But I held my -hand. I went to the city for the final proof. Got it. And when I came -back, it was to find that this young man had caused the arrest of one of -my friends, Lutcher, on a ridiculous liquor charge. Simply because -Radabaugh discovered Lutcher and three others engaged in a game of -cards, drinking as they had a right to do.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_360" id="page_360">{360}</a></span></p> - -<p>“I was indignant; but even then I was merciful. I wanted to give this -young man a chance; and I went to him and offered him the chance to save -himself.”</p> - -<p>He paused, moved one of his hands as though to brush the possibility -aside. “But it is unnecessary for me to tell you that his chief trait is -a blind and unreasoning stubbornness. It betrayed him, on this occasion. -He rejected my offer; refused to take the easy way out.</p> - -<p>“That was this morning. I considered. My chief concern was for the good -name of Hardiston; that such a man should not be chosen Mayor. This -seemed to me the simplest and least painful way to arrange his -withdrawal. So I asked you to come here.”</p> - -<p>Amos drawled from the depths of his chair: “Did you fetch us here to -talk us to death, Kite?”</p> - -<p>Kite smiled bitterly. “No, Amos. Be patient.”</p> - -<p>Chase was watching Wint, still with that desperate hope in his eyes. -They were all watching Wint; but Wint was looking at the floor, -following with his eyes the pattern in the rug. This was the end. He had -just about decided that. There was in him no more will to fight. He had -been a good Mayor. If they didn’t want to re-elect him—that was their -affair. He would do no more. He had a sick sense of betrayal. His lips -twisted in a bitter little smile.</p> - -<p>Kite addressed him directly. “So, young man, we want your withdrawal -from the mayoralty race. And this whole matter will end right here.”</p> - -<p>Wint still did not lift his head. His father thought the boy was shamed; -and his heart was torn. Kite asked sharply: “Come! What do you say?”</p> - -<p>Wint looked at Kite, then, for the first time; looked at him with a -slow, steady, incurious gaze that made Kite twist in his chair. And he -repeated, in a low voice:</p> - -<p>“You want me to withdraw?”</p> - -<p>“Exactly. Now.”</p> - -<p>Wint shook his head gently. “No,” he said, “I won’t withdraw.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_361" id="page_361">{361}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>Kite threw up one clenched fist in a furious gesture. “By God, if you -don’t you’ll be run out of town!”</p> - -<p>“I’m in the fight,” said Wint steadily. He spoke so low they could -scarce hear him. “I’m in the fight. I’ll stay.”</p> - -<p>“Then I’ll smash you, flat as a pancake. You young fool.”</p> - -<p>“Kite,” Wint murmured gently. “I don’t give a damn what you do. I’m in -to stay.”</p> - -<p>Kite banged his fist on the table. “Then the whole story comes out.”</p> - -<p>“Let it come,” said Wint.</p> - -<p>“You mean you want me to tell these men here? The black shame?”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” Wint assented. “Tell them anything you please.” He lowered his -eyes again, resumed his study of the carpet, puffed at his pipe. Kite -stared at the boy’s bent head as though he could not believe his eyes, -or his ears. He had counted so surely on Wint’s surrender; he had been -so sure that Wint would yield.</p> - -<p>But Wint.... The fool sat there, passively defying him; daring him. -Kite’s face twisted with a sudden furious grimace. He jerked back his -head. So be it. He flung defiant eyes around the room; he said abruptly, -curtly:</p> - -<p>“Very well. Here it is. This young rip is the father of Hetty Morfee’s -child.”</p> - -<p>There was a moment’s terrible silence in the room. Then Jack Routt -cried: “Good Lord, Kite, that can’t be! Wint’s a decent chap.”</p> - -<p>Kite snapped at him: “Can’t be? It is. Here’s the very check he gave -her, to go away.” He shook the slip of paper in the air. “What do you -say to that?”</p> - -<p>“I don’t believe it,” Routt insisted. “I’ve known Wint too long.” He got -up and strode across and gripped Wint’s shoulder. “Tell him it’s a -damned lie, Wint,” he begged.</p> - -<p>Wint looked up at Routt with slow, steady eyes; and Routt, after a -moment, could not meet them. He turned back to Kite, protesting Wint’s -innocence. Their wrangling voices jangled in the silence. B. B. -pretended not to hear, stared straight ahead<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_362" id="page_362">{362}</a></span> of him. Ed Skinner twisted -uneasily where he sat. Amos, deep in his chair, was watching Wint; and -Wint’s father was watching Wint, too. Watching his son with a desperate, -beseeching look in his eyes.</p> - -<p>Wint did not see; he was looking at the floor; and he was thinking of -Hetty, thinking what this would mean to her. That which had come to her -was already guessed at, in Hardiston; now every one would know beyond -need of guessing. She would be outcast; no saving her; but one black -road ahead. For the thing would be believed. He knew that. People had -been ready to believe before this; ready to accept the mere rumor. His -own father, his own mother.... This had been their first thought when he -wished to help Hetty. Joan.... She had sought to question him. Yes, they -would believe. Every one.</p> - -<p>He was not angry at them for their credulity; he pitied them. That they -should be so malignant, and so blind. He was quite calm, not at all -sorry for himself. Sorry for them. And most of all, he was sorry for -Hetty. He had always liked Hetty; a good girl, give her a chance. The -stuff of good womanhood in her. Blasted now.... He wished he might find -a way to help her. Some way....</p> - -<p>A word from Kite to Routt cut through his thoughts. “If you won’t -believe me,” Kite exclaimed, “will you believe her?”</p> - -<p>“Hetty never said this,” Routt protested; and Kite got up and went -swiftly out into the hall, saying over his shoulder:</p> - -<p>“Just a minute, then.”</p> - -<p>Every one looked toward the door, listening. They heard Kite open the -front door and call:</p> - -<p>“Lutcher.”</p> - -<p>A man answered, outside. Kite asked: “Is she there?” The man said:</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“Send her in,” Kite directed. And they heard the sound of moving feet.</p> - -<p>So she had been waiting there, all this time, with Lutcher. Wint thought -she must have been miserably unhappy as she waited. When he heard her -step in the hall, he looked up and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_363" id="page_363">{363}</a></span> saw her. Her eyes met his for an -instant; and Wint was curiously stirred by the pitiful appeal in them. -As though she begged him to forgive.... Then her eyes left his. She came -in and stood, just inside the door. Kite said:</p> - -<p>“Sit down.” He gave her his own chair, by the table. The girl moved -apathetically across the room and took the chair. Kite looked down at -her.</p> - -<p>“Now, Hetty,” he said, in the tone of one who questions a child. “I have -been telling them what you told me. They think I am lying. Am I lying?”</p> - -<p>She shook her head slowly; and Kite looked from man to man triumphantly. -Routt cried:</p> - -<p>“Hetty, you don’t understand. He said Wint was your—your baby’s father? -That’s not true. It can’t be.”</p> - -<p>She looked at Routt; and there was a somber light in her eyes. She said, -in a low, steady voice:</p> - -<p>“Yes. Sure it’s true.”</p> - -<p>Her eyes remained on Routt. He stepped back as though she had struck -him. Wint raised his head and looked around the room; saw Amos squinting -at his pipe; saw B. B. ill at ease, and Skinner squirming; saw his -father white and shaken in his seat. Then Routt turned to him, -exclaiming:</p> - -<p>“Wint, for God’s sake.... You heard what she said.”</p> - -<p>Wint hardly knew himself; he was, suddenly and surprisingly, very calm, -and happy with an anguished happiness of renunciation. The old stubborn, -prideful Wint would have denied, have fought, have sworn. But Wint -looked at Hetty; he was terribly sorry for her. He surrendered himself -to a great and splendid magnanimity.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” he told Routt. “I heard.”</p> - -<p>“But it’s a lie!”</p> - -<p>Wint got up slowly, looked around the room, studied them all; and he -smiled. “Hetty would not lie about me,” he said. “She and I have always -been friends. We are going to be married, right away.”</p> - -<p>He held them a moment more with his steady gaze; they were frozen, every -man. And then he looked at Hetty, and saw her eyes widen pitifully, and -saw her face twist with anguish.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_364" id="page_364">{364}</a></span> And he smiled reassuringly, and he -said: “It’s all right, Hetty. Truly. Don’t be afraid.”</p> - -<p>While they were still motionless, he turned and went quietly into the -hall. Muldoon had been dozing under his chair; the dog scrambled up now -and followed him. Wint got his hat and went out of the house, Muldoon -upon his heels.</p> - -<p>In the room he had left, every man was very still. Only poor Hetty -crumpled slowly in her chair; and she dropped her head in her arms upon -the table and began to cry, with great, gasping sobs. And she whispered -to herself, so harshly that they all could hear:</p> - -<p>“My God! My God! Oh, my God!”</p> - -<p class="fint">END OF BOOK V</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_365" id="page_365">{365}</a></span> </p> - -<h2><a name="BOOK_VI" id="BOOK_VI"></a>BOOK VI<br /><br /> -<small>VICTORY</small></h2> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_366" id="page_366">{366}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_367" id="page_367">{367}</a></span> </p> - -<h3><a name="CHAPTER_I-f" id="CHAPTER_I-f"></a>CHAPTER I<br /><br /> -<small>THE WEAVER HOUSE AGAIN</small></h3> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">T</span>HERE is a dramatist hidden in every one of us. We like to cast -ourselves as heroes, as heroines, as villains of the piece. Make-believe -is one of the fundamental instincts. It is human nature to construct a -drama about our lives; it is also very human to seize dramatic -situations.</p> - -<p>There was a good deal of the dramatic in Wint. When he left his home -that night, Muldoon at his heels, he was acutely conscious that his life -was broken. He had lost everything. He had lost father, and mother; and -he had lost Joan. They were irrevocably gone. Furthermore, he was beaten -in his fight. There could be no question of this. Hardiston would -overwhelm him. There was left for him in this world—nothing.</p> - -<p>Wint was enough of a boy to take a keen delight in the tragedy of this; -he was enough of a boy—or enough of a dramatist, for the two things are -in many ways the same—to emphasize his situation, bring out the high -lights, vest it in the trappings of drama. He did not think of himself -as a hero, for having sacrificed everything for Hetty; he did not think -of that phase of the situation at all. He had done that because it was -the inevitable consequence of events. It was the only thing he could do. -He took no credit to himself for the doing. But he did picture himself -as broken or destroyed; and as he walked, more or less aimlessly, it was -natural that his thoughts should cast back through the months to those -other days when he had fallen low. Thus he remembered the Weaver House, -and Mrs. Moody.</p> - -<p>There seemed to him something appropriate and fitting in the idea of -returning to the Weaver House this night. He had<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_368" id="page_368">{368}</a></span> risen out of it; he -would return to it. It was in such surroundings, now, that he belonged.</p> - -<p>He turned that way.</p> - -<p>It was no more than nine o’clock in the evening, or perhaps a little -later, when Wint left his home. The day had been fine; the night was -clear, and there was a moon. It was pleasant to be abroad on such a -night. Wint took a leisurely course that brought him through the last -fringes of houses above the railroad yards; and he followed the tag end -of a street down the hill to the flats covered with slack and cinders. -In the light of day, this was a hideous place, black and begrimed. But -the moon could glorify even this. It painted blue shadows everywhere; it -laid streaks of silver light along the rails; it touched a pool of -water, a puddle here and there, and under the touch the water became -quicksilver, alive and beautiful. A switching engine moved down the -yard, and when the fire-man twitched open the door to replenish the -fires, the glare shone in a pale glow upon his figure and back upon the -tender. The long strings of cars, box cars with open doors, or coal cars -loaded high, took on a beauty of their own in the night; and the winking -switch lamps were like jewels, like rubies and emeralds shining in the -moon.</p> - -<p>He had to climb between two freight cars, on his way across the yard; -and Muldoon scurried underneath them. Wint grimed his hands on the cars, -and rubbed them together, cleansing them as well as he could, while he -went on. He picked his way across the tracks, past the roundhouse where -a locomotive slumbered hissingly, and on into the fringes of the -locality where the Weaver House awaited him.</p> - -<p>It is the custom in Hardiston that when the moon is full, be it cloudy -or clear, the street lamps are not lighted. Thus the street along which -Wint took his way was illuminated only by the moon. On either side, the -dingy, squalid houses stood, with a flicker of light from one and -another where those who dwelt within were still awake. A little later, -he passed a store or two, and turned a corner, and so came to the hotel.</p> - -<p>Something prompted him to stop outside and look in through the dirty -window glass. It was so light outside, and the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_369" id="page_369">{369}</a></span> lamp inside furnished -such a meager illumination, that Mrs. Moody saw him at the window; and -she took him for some wandering ne’er-do-well, and came scolding to the -door. “Be off,” she cried, before she saw who it was. “Get away from -there.”</p> - -<p>Muldoon snarled at her; and Wint said: “Quiet, boy,” and to the woman: -“It’s me. Wint Chase.”</p> - -<p>She came out and peered up at him; and he saw her horribly even teeth -shine like silver between her cracked old lips. “You, is it?” she -exclaimed aggressively. “Well, and you don’t need to come a-snooping -around here. We’re lawful folks, here. And you know it. So you can just -go along.”</p> - -<p>He said: “I came for lodging;” and she backed away.</p> - -<p>“Eh?” she asked.</p> - -<p>“For lodging,” he repeated. “Can you give me a room?”</p> - -<p>“What’s the matter with you, anyhow?” she demanded. “You had a fight -with your paw again?” She was still aggressively and suspiciously on -guard. He laughed, and said whimsically:</p> - -<p>“Come; you wouldn’t turn an old friend out. Let me have a room.”</p> - -<p>So she thawed, became her old, meanly ingratiating self.</p> - -<p>“Why, deary,” she protested, “you know old Mother Moody never turned a -man away. You come right in now. Come right in where it’s warm. Did you -say you’d had a scrap with your paw?”</p> - -<p>Wint went before her into the office of the squalid hotel. Muldoon kept -close to his heels; and Jim, Mrs. Moody’s dog, growled from beneath the -table. Mrs. Moody squalled at him:</p> - -<p>“You, Jim, be still.”</p> - -<p>Wint looked around him; it was curious to find the place so little -changed. A train clanked past on the track that flanked the hotel. He -could almost hear the gurgle of the muddy waters of the creek behind. -The office itself was lighted, as it had always been, by a single oil -lamp. It did not seem to Wint that this lamp had been cleaned since he -was here before. It stood on the square old table in the corner, where -the wall benches ran along two sides. The dog slept under this<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_370" id="page_370">{370}</a></span> table; -and the boy—the same boy—was leaning his elbows on the table by the -lamp and poring with mumbling lips over a tattered, paper-backed tale. -This boy’s clothes were still too small; his wrists stuck out from his -sleeves, his neck reared itself bare and gaunt above the collar of the -coat. There was a strange and pitiful atmosphere of age and experience -about him.</p> - -<p>There was one change in the room, as Wint saw when he had persuaded Mrs. -Moody to leave him to his own devices, and she had gone to her chair -behind the high counter that had been a bar. This change lay in the fact -that one of the two old checker players was no longer here. The other -sat on the wall bench in the corner behind the table; the disused -checkerboard lay before him. He was asleep, with sagging head, his -occupation gone. His white beard was stained an ugly brown below his -mouth. Wint wondered if the other old man were dead. Perhaps.</p> - -<p>He did not wish to be alone, just then; he wanted companionship, -friendly and impersonal. So he sat down beside the boy, and filled his -pipe, and lighted it, and asked amiably:</p> - -<p>“What are you reading, son?”</p> - -<p>The boy was too absorbed to answer. He brushed at his ear with his hand -as though a fly buzzed there, and turned a dogeared page. But the sound -of Wint’s voice so near him woke the old man; he stirred, opened his -eyes, looked all about. And he reached across and laid a hand like a -claw on Wint’s arm.</p> - -<p>“Play checkers?” he asked hoarsely. “Play checkers, do you?”</p> - -<p>“A little,” Wint said.</p> - -<p>“I’ll play you,” the old man challenged. “I’m a good player. I always -was. Played all my life. Played every night, right here at this table, -with the best player in the county, for seven years.” His skinny old -hands were feverishly arranging the pieces, while Wint took his place by -the board. “I beat him, too,” the old man boasted. “Beat him lots of -times. He’d say so himself. He would, but he had to go and die.” There -was resentment in his voice, as at a personal wrong. He said curtly: -“Your move,” and spoke no more.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_371" id="page_371">{371}</a></span></p> - -<p>Wint moved, the old man countered. On Wint’s fifth move—he was an -indifferent player—the old man cackled gleefully. “That beats you,” he -cried. “Heh, heh, heh! That beats you, now.”</p> - -<p>It did; and Wint lost the next game, and the next, as easily. His -success put the old man in the best of humor. He laughed much between -games, studying the board with fixed intensity while the play was in -progress. Wint watched the old man as much as he watched the board; he -studied the old fellow, with a curiously wistful eye. This old wreck of -manhood had been a boy once; a baby once, in a mother’s arms. No doubt -she had dreamed dreams for him. Dreamed he might be President, some day. -Might be anything.... This is one of the things that makes babies -fascinating; their potentialities. There is no greater gamble than to -bring a baby into the world. Wint, considering this, thought of Hetty’s -baby. The baby that had died. As well, perhaps. Otherwise, it might have -come, some day, to playing checkers in the Weaver House. He put the -thought aside abruptly. At least, it would have lived. Even this old man -had lived. No doubt life had been reasonably sweet to him till his -antagonist died. “Had to go and die....”</p> - -<p>The old man accused him. “You ain’t trying to play, young fellow. Now -don’t you go easy on me. I’ll show you some things.” And Wint gave more -of his attention to the game.</p> - -<p>He was playing when the door opened and Jack Routt came in; he did not -look around till Jack exclaimed behind him: “Wint! By God, I thought -you’d be here!”</p> - -<p>He looked up then, and said: “Hello, Jack,” in a calm voice, and went on -with his play. Routt dropped on the seat beside him and caught his arm.</p> - -<p>“Here, Wint,” he protested, “I want to talk to you. Where’d you pick up -that old duck? Listen. I want to.... Let’s go outside.”</p> - -<p>Wint said: “Wait till we finish the game.” The old man seemed -unconscious of Routt’s presence; and when Routt spoke again, Wint bade -him be quiet, and wait. Only when the game<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_372" id="page_372">{372}</a></span> was done did he rise. To the -old man he said: “Thanks. We’ll have another game. I’ll beat you yet.”</p> - -<p>The other protested jealously at his going; but Wint said he must. Then, -to Routt: “Come upstairs.”</p> - -<p>“Have you got a room?” Routt asked, amazed; and Wint said:</p> - -<p>“Yes.” And he went toward the stair. Routt followed him.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Moody had given Wint that same dingy room in which he had spent the -night of his election. They went there, and Wint bade Routt sit down. -Routt sat on the bed; Wint stood indolently by the door. Routt exclaimed -at once:</p> - -<p>“Wint, I want you to know this wasn’t my doing. You could have knocked -me flat. I’m sorry as hell.”</p> - -<p>“Of course,” Wint agreed.</p> - -<p>“I want to know if there isn’t some way we can fix it up,” Routt urged. -“There must be something we can do. Some damned thing.”</p> - -<p>“There’s nothing to fix,” Wint told him.</p> - -<p>“Nothing to fix? Good God!” Routt shifted his position, reached into his -pocket. “My Lord, but I’m knocked out. Shaky. I’ve got to have a drink. -Mind?”</p> - -<p>“Go ahead.”</p> - -<p>Routt produced a flask. He held it toward Wint. “Have a slug?” Wint -shook his head. Routt drank, again asked: “Sure you won’t?” Wint said:</p> - -<p>“No.”</p> - -<p>“If I were in your shoes,” said Routt, with the flask still open in his -hand, “I’d want to soak myself in it. A good, stiff drunk. There are -times when nothing else is any good.”</p> - -<p>“I used to think so,” Wint agreed.</p> - -<p>Routt took a second drink, wiped his mouth, screwed the cap on the flask -and put it in his pocket. “If you want any, say the word,” he suggested. -“Now, Wint, what are we going to do?”</p> - -<p>Wint, leaning quietly against the wall, stirred a little. “I’m going to -tell you something, Routt,” he said.</p> - -<p>“Tell me? What?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_373" id="page_373">{373}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“This,” Wint went on gently, eyes a little wistful. “This. That I—know -you now. At last.”</p> - -<p>Routt sat for an instant very still; then he got to his feet. “Wint, -what do you mean?”</p> - -<p>“I thought you were my—friend,” said Wint. “Stuck to that thought. -People warned me. Amos, and father; and—Joan. Said you were not—my -friend. But I believed you were.”</p> - -<p>“Damn it, I am your friend.”</p> - -<p>“I’m not sorry I held to you as long as I could,” Wint went on -impassively. “It’s a good thing to have faith, even in—false friends. -But—I know you now, Routt. You’ve made me drunk, played on the worst in -me, slandered me, tricked me, played your part in this black thing -to-night.” He hesitated, and Routt started to speak, but Wint cut in.</p> - -<p>“Are you—responsible for Hetty, Jack?” he asked.</p> - -<p>“Am I?” Routt demanded. “Why, damn you, you said yourself....”</p> - -<p>“If I thought you were,” Wint told him evenly. “If I thought you had -done that to her.... She was a nice girl. Clean. I think I’d take you by -the throat, Routt, and kill you here.”</p> - -<p>Routt cried angrily: “You’re crazy. What the hell! You said yourself -that you....”</p> - -<p>“In fact,” Wint told him, “unless you go away, I am going to hurt -you—even now. Without being sure. Hurt you as badly as I can.”</p> - -<p>Routt started to speak; then Wint’s eyes caught his and silenced him. He -stood for a moment, staring at the other.</p> - -<p>And his eyes fell. He looked around gropingly for his hat, and he put it -on. He went past Wint at the door; and he went past quickly, as though -afraid of what Wint might do.</p> - -<p>He went along the hall and down the stairs without speaking again.</p> - -<p>Wint, left alone, stood still where he was for a time; then he stirred -himself and began to prepare for bed. He moved slowly, indolently. -Stripped off coat and collar, sat down to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_374" id="page_374">{374}</a></span> unlace his shoes. After a -while, he crossed and opened the window. He felt, somehow, infinitely -cleaner, healthier, since he had put Jack Routt out of his life. He felt -as though he had washed smears of grime from his hands.</p> - -<p>Yet there was a certain loneliness upon him, too; for he had lost one -whom he had counted a friend.</p> - -<p>After a while, he went to bed and slept peacefully enough till dawn.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_375" id="page_375">{375}</a></span></p> - -<h3><a name="CHAPTER_II-f" id="CHAPTER_II-f"></a>CHAPTER II<br /><br /> -<small>A BRIGHTER CHAPTER</small></h3> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">T</span>HE crowded events of the evening before had wearied Wint more than he -knew; his sleep was dreamless and profound, and he might not have waked -till midday if it had not been for Muldoon. The dog slept beside Wint’s -bed; but at the first glint of day, it became restless; and when the sun -rose, Muldoon got up and walked stiffly across to the open window and -propped his feet on the sill and looked out. The slight sound of his -nails on the bare floor disturbed Wint, and he turned in his sleep; and -Muldoon came back to the bed to see what was the matter. Wint’s arm was -hanging over the side of the bed, and Muldoon licked his master’s hand. -Which woke Wint effectually enough.</p> - -<p>He opened his eyes, and at first he could not remember where he was. The -dingy room.... He stared up at the cracked and broken ceiling. At one -place, a patch of plaster had fallen, leaving the laths bare. It took -Wint some little time to recognize his surroundings. But at last he -remembered. He sat up on the edge of the bed, rumpling Muldoon’s ears -with his right hand, and looked around.</p> - -<p>The room contained, besides the bed, a chair and a wardrobe. His clothes -were on the chair. The sagging doors of the wardrobe hung open. There -was nothing inside the decrepit thing. His eyes wandered toward the -mantel. The cracked old mirror still hung there. His eyes fell to the -floor, and he marked the charred place near the hearth, burned there -that night of his election when at sight of his own image in the mirror -he had smashed the lamp in a fury of shame. He remembered that night, -now, and he smiled a little whimsically. It seemed his fortunes were -always to be bound up with this dingy room.</p> - -<p>Muldoon, disturbed by Wint’s long silence, looked up at his master, and -barked, under his breath, uneasily. Wint took the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_376" id="page_376">{376}</a></span> dog’s head in both -his hands and shook it gently back and forth. “What’s the matter, pup?” -he asked affectionately. “What’s on your mind? What are you fussing -about, anyhow? What have you got to fuss about, I’d like to know? Come.”</p> - -<p>Muldoon twisted himself free, and he snarled. It was a part of the game. -Then he flung himself forward and pinned Wint’s right hand and held it, -growling. Wint took him by the scruff of the neck and lifted the dog -into his lap; and Muldoon’s solid body accommodated itself to Wint’s -knees and he lay there, perfectly contented.</p> - -<p>“You stuck around, didn’t you, boy?” Wint asked, his voice a little -wistful. “The rest of them didn’t give a hoot for Wint; but you stuck -around. Eh? The rest of them didn’t care. ‘Get out. Good enough for -him.’ That’s what they’d say. But not you, eh, Muldoon? You stuck. Even -Jack Routt. Even Jack came only to offer me booze. And the rest of them -didn’t come at all. Only you, pup. You and I, now. But we’ll show them -some things. Eh?”</p> - -<p>Muldoon rolled his eyes up at Wint and said nothing; and Wint lifted the -dog from his knees to the bed. “There, take a nap while I’m dressing,” -he said. “Then we’ll be moving on.”</p> - -<p>The dog stayed obediently on the bed; and Wint dressed, moving quietly -to and fro. He did not hurry. He was possessed by an easy indolence. -There seemed to be nothing in the world worth hurrying for. He was not -unhappy; he whistled a little, as he dressed. But once or twice he -remembered that his father had let him go without a word, and he winced -at the thought. And once or twice he remembered that he had no friend -now, anywhere, save Muldoon; and that was not pleasant remembering.</p> - -<p>But for the most part, he put a good face on life. “After all, pup,” he -told Muldoon, “thing’s can’t be any worse. So they’re bound to get -better. And we’ll just play that hunch for all it’s worth. Why not? Eh?”</p> - -<p>Muldoon had no objections; he wagged the stump of his tail and opened -his jaws and laughed, dog-fashion, tongue hanging happily. Wint grinned -at him, and sat down to tie his shoes.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_377" id="page_377">{377}</a></span></p> - -<p>Save for collar and coat, he was fully dressed when he heard through the -open door the voice of some one who had come into the office of the -Weaver House, downstairs. The voice was unmistakable. The newcomer was -Amos; and when Wint realized this, he stood very still, and his face -turned a little white. He waited without moving. There was nothing else -to do.</p> - -<p>He heard Amos and some one else coming up the stairs, guided by Mrs. -Moody. “Right along here,” the old dame was saying. “Always the same -room. I always give him the best. That’s the kind of a gentleman he is, -when he comes to old Mother Moody. Right here, now.”</p> - -<p>In the doorway she said: “Here’s the Congressman to see you, deary.” And -she stood aside to let Amos come in. Wint saw that B. B. Beecham was -with Amos, on the other’s heels. He watched them, steady enough by this -time. He wondered what they had come for. To triumph? That would not be -like B. B. Nor like Amos.</p> - -<p>Amos turned and told Mrs. Moody to go. “And thank you, ma’am,” he said. -She went away, a little reluctantly. She was a curious old woman; she -liked to know what went on in her hostelry. But—Amos had, when he -chose, a commanding tone. When she was gone, he turned and looked at -Wint, head on one side, squinting good-humoredly; and he said:</p> - -<p>“Well, Wint, how’s tricks?”</p> - -<p>Wint hesitated; then he said: “Good morning, both of you.”</p> - -<p>Amos nodded. B. B. said: “Good morning.”</p> - -<p>Wint looked around at the sparse furnishings of the room. “You’ve caught -me early,” he said. “I’m not dressed yet.” And he added: “I can’t offer -you both a chair, because there’s only one chair.”</p> - -<p>“Me,” said Amos, “I’ll sit on the bed. B. B., sit down.”</p> - -<p>Wint remained on his feet. “Well,” he asked, a challenge in his voice, -“what’s on your mind?”</p> - -<p>Amos leaned back against the wall and began to fill his pipe. “Nothing -much, Wint,” he said slowly. “We come down here principally to shake you -by the hand. Don’t let me forget t’ do it, before I go.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_378" id="page_378">{378}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>His tone was friendly and reassuring. Wint wondered just what he meant. -He smiled a little, and said: “All right.”</p> - -<p>“Thought you might be glad to see your friends,” Amos added; and Wint -said, with lips a little white:</p> - -<p>“I would be.”</p> - -<p>“Well,” Amos told him. “Here’s two of us.”</p> - -<p>Wint looked at the Congressman; and he looked at B. B. B. B. said -quietly: “That was a fine thing you did last night, Wint.”</p> - -<p>Wint flushed, as though he were ashamed of what he had done. “I don’t -understand this,” he said, a little impatiently. “What do you want? Out -with it!”</p> - -<p>Amos said: “Want to help you, any way we can.”</p> - -<p>Wint’s eyes narrowed, and he flung out a hand. “You’re too darned -mysterious, Amos.”</p> - -<p>Amos lighted his pipe. “Well, Wint, I don’t aim to be,” he declared. -“I’m talking straight as I know. B. B. and me are on your side; that’s -all. We’re taking orders from you. We do anything you say.”</p> - -<p>Wint laughed, a sudden, harsh laugh. “I’ve heard they give a condemned -man anything he wants—the last morning,” he exclaimed.</p> - -<p>Amos nodded. “Yes, I’ve heard tell o’ that. But what’s that got to do -with this?”</p> - -<p>“Plain enough, I should think.”</p> - -<p>“You don’t count yourself a condemned man; now, do you?”</p> - -<p>“I should think so.”</p> - -<p>Amos shook his head doubtfully. “And here I thought you said last night -you didn’t aim to quit.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t. But I’ll be snowed under—now. Of course.”</p> - -<p>“Well,” said Amos, “that may be so. I ain’t sure. Gergue will know, time -he’s talked around a spell. Prob’ly you are—are beat. But I’ve seen men -beat before that turned out pretty strong in the end.” He added slowly: -“Anyway, licked or unlicked, I’m on your side, Wint. And always was.”</p> - -<p>Wint stared at him with a curious, threatening light in his eyes. -“What’s the idea? You turned me down cold, in public. Now you come -whining around....<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_379" id="page_379">{379}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“I’m not whining, Wint,” said Amos cheerfully. “Do you think I’m -whining, B. B.?”</p> - -<p>B. B. smiled. “Congressman Caretall has his own methods, Wint. I know he -seemed to be against you; but I also know that he’s been secretly -working for you, that every vote he can swing will go to you. He’s been -passing that word around for a week.”</p> - -<p>Wint hesitated, looking from one to the other. “I never caught you in a -lie, B. B.,” he said.</p> - -<p>“It’s true enough,” the editor told him. “You see—” He looked at Amos, -then went on: “You see, your father has no use for Amos. And Amos knew -it. He also knew your father could do a good deal to help you win this -election. But—Chase would not be on your side so long as Amos was with -you. Do you see?”</p> - -<p>“I see that much,” said Wint. He was thinking hard.</p> - -<p>“But your father has been working for you since Amos pretended to have -turned against you. Hasn’t he?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t suppose you ever thought of that,” B. B. suggested; and Wint -drew his hand across his eyes, and looked at Amos, and asked huskily:</p> - -<p>“Is it true, Amos?”</p> - -<p>Amos grinned; and he said: “I’m like you. I never knowed B. B. to tell a -lie.”</p> - -<p>“But why didn’t you tell me?”</p> - -<p>“You can’t keep a secret, Wint. You’re too damned honest. Maybe you’re -too honest for politics. I don’t know. Anyhow, I couldn’t let on to you -without your father seeing it in your eye.”</p> - -<p>Wint said, grinning a little shakily: “It hurt me a good deal, just the -same.”</p> - -<p>“I guess you’ll outgrow that.”</p> - -<p>“I suppose so.”</p> - -<p>He said nothing more for a minute; and Amos puffed at his pipe, and B. -B. studied Wint, smiling a little at the young man’s confusion. Wint was -flushed; and he was happier than he had ever expected to be again. These -two were true friends, at<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_380" id="page_380">{380}</a></span> least. Not all the world had turned its back -on him. He crossed abruptly and gripped their hands.</p> - -<p>“Why, that’s all right,” said Amos, marking how Wint was moved. “If you -hadn’t run away last night, before we could move, I’d have told you -then. I tried to find you, after. But no one seemed to know.”</p> - -<p>Wint nodded. “I just walked blindly, for a while. I could not go home. -This was the first place I thought of.”</p> - -<p>Amos blew a cloud of smoke. “Well, that’s all right.”</p> - -<p>“How did you find out I was here, now?” Wint asked. “Just guess? Or -what?”</p> - -<p>“Jack Routt is—spreading the word,” Amos explained. There was a -suggestion of something hidden behind his simple statement.</p> - -<p>“Routt? Yes, he was here last night,” Wint agreed.</p> - -<p>“Yes, he said he was.” Wint caught the implication in the Congressman’s -tone, and he asked:</p> - -<p>“What’s the matter? What does Routt say?”</p> - -<p>“Well, as a matter of fact, he says you were down here last night, -stewed to the eyes and getting steweder all the time.”</p> - -<p>Wint’s eyes narrowed; then he laughed. “Oh, he says that?”</p> - -<p>“Says it frequent and generous.”</p> - -<p>“He came down last night and suggested that I drown my sorrows,” Wint -explained. “I—” He hesitated. “You see, Jack and I—I’ve always counted -him my best friend. But I seemed to see through him last night. I—don’t -count him my friend any more.”</p> - -<p>“We-ell,” Amos drawled, “I can’t say as I blame you for that. I’ll say -he don’t talk friendly about you.”</p> - -<p>Wint, flushing, asked quickly: “You don’t believe what he’s saying?”</p> - -<p>Amos shook his head. “I know a hangover when I see one; and I know when -I don’t.”</p> - -<p>Wint nodded. “I’m not starting in again on the booze at this stage of -the game.”</p> - -<p>“No; I’d guess not.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_381" id="page_381">{381}</a></span></p><p>Wint sat down beside Amos on the tumbled bed. “Now, Amos, let’s get -down to tacks. I said last night I was going to stick; and I meant it. I -mean it all the more, now, with you to back me. The thing is—”</p> - -<p>Amos turned his head toward the door. “Some one coming,” he said; and -Wint heard steps on the stair, and Mrs. Moody’s cheerful harangue. He -got up quickly. His father stood in the doorway.</p> - -<p>In the long moment of silence that followed the appearance of the elder -Chase, Wint put his whole heart into the effort to read his father’s -face. Was there anger there? Or shame? Or bitter reproach? Reason -enough, in all conscience, for any one of these emotions. He stared deep -into his father’s eyes.</p> - -<p>The elder Chase came into the room, one stiff step; and he looked at -Wint, and at B. B., and at Amos. His lips twitched a little at sight of -Amos, then set firmly together again. That was all.</p> - -<p>Wint moved toward him a little. “Dad....” he said huskily.</p> - -<p>His father’s eyes searched Wint’s. The older man’s voice was shaking. He -said slowly: “Routt is telling Hardiston you are drunk, down here.”</p> - -<p>Wint nodded. “Yes; I’d heard.”</p> - -<p>“I heard him telling men this thing.”</p> - -<p>Wint said nothing; the older man’s face lighted fiercely. “I knew he -lied, Wint. I knew he lied.”</p> - -<p>Wint flushed with the sudden rush of happiness within him. He looked -from his father to Amos. “Dad,” he said, “there’s one thing. I know my -friends now.”</p> - -<p>“Routt is no friend.”</p> - -<p>“I know.”</p> - -<p>“I always told you.”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“He....”</p> - -<p>Wint laughed softly. “Forget Jack Routt, dad. I’ve other friends. Amos, -here.”</p> - -<p>Chase’s face hardened; he said, without expression, “Amos?”</p> - -<p>“He and B. B. came to me when I thought I hadn’t a friend<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_382" id="page_382">{382}</a></span> in the world. -You and Amos have got to make it up, dad. You’ve got to. Please.”</p> - -<p>The older man hesitated; then he turned to Amos. “All right,” he said. -“I ... Wint’s friends are mine.”</p> - -<p>Amos got up from the bed and took the offered hand; and he smiled -shrewdly. “I did play you dirty, Chase,” he confessed. “I admit it. But -doing it—I played a good trick on your son. Didn’t I now?”</p> - -<p>Chase said slowly: “Yes.”</p> - -<p>“Wouldn’t you rather have him as he stands?” Amos asked. “Wouldn’t you -rather have him as he stands—than the way he was a year ago?”</p> - -<p>“Yes. God knows.”</p> - -<p>Amos said slowly: “When you’re sorest at me—just give me credit for -that.”</p> - -<p>Chase exclaimed swiftly: “It doesn’t matter. It’s past. Done. All I want -is—my boy. You, Wint.”</p> - -<p>Wint was beginning to believe all was right with the world. He said -slowly: “Even—after last night, dad? Hetty....”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said his father.</p> - -<p>“Mother?” Wint asked. “She’ll.... Is she unhappy?”</p> - -<p>“Why did you go away from us, Wint?” his father asked huskily. “Why did -you run away?”</p> - -<p>“I thought you wouldn’t want me at home.”</p> - -<p>“We always want you.”</p> - -<p>B. B. caught Amos Caretall’s eye; and he nodded slightly; and Amos -understood. He said: “We’ll be moving, Wint. See you uptown, by and by.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, I’ll be up,” Wint said.</p> - -<p>“So long, Chase.”</p> - -<p>“Good-by,” Chase told him quietly. Amos and B. B. went out, and along -the hall, and down the stair. Wint and his father were left alone. For a -little while they did not speak; then Chase said gently:</p> - -<p>“Come home to your mother, Wint.”</p> - -<p>Wint asked: “Even—knowing this, what happened last night? You want me -in spite of it?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_383" id="page_383">{383}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“In spite of—what I’ve done?”</p> - -<p>Chase threw up his hand; he cried: “Damn it, yes. What do we care? -Whatever you do....” His voice broke huskily. “You’re always our son!”</p> - -<p>Wint could not move for a moment; he was choking. At last he laughed, -happily enough; and he touched his father’s shoulder with one hand.</p> - -<p>“Wait till I put on my collar,” he said. “I’ll come along.”</p> - -<p>Muldoon, as though in his dog mind he understood, began to prance and -bark about his master as Wint prepared to leave the Moody hostelry -behind him. Wint was as happy as the dog. He knew his friends, now. Knew -the loyal ones. And his father, and his mother.... They loved him.</p> - -<p>All was well with the world.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_384" id="page_384">{384}</a></span></p> - -<h3><a name="CHAPTER_III-f" id="CHAPTER_III-f"></a>CHAPTER III<br /><br /> -<small>HETTY HAS HER DAY</small></h3> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">W</span>INT and his father walked home in a silence that was little broken. -Across the railroad yards, up the hill. A new understanding of his -father and mother was coming to Wint; some measure of comprehension of -the completeness of their love for him. He marked that there had been no -reproaches from his father, no questions, no scolding. That which had -passed was to be forgotten, was to be ignored. He was their son; nothing -else mattered in any degree. His father, on their homeward way, spoke of -other matters, once or twice. He said the day was fine; he said Mrs. -Chase would probably have breakfast waiting. Wint took the older man’s -lead, ignored what had passed the night before.</p> - -<p>When they got to the house, his mother met him in the hall, and she put -her arms around him and cried on his shoulder, and called him her boy. -Wint cried, too, and was not ashamed of it. He kept patting her head, -and saying: “There, mother,” in an awkward way. She told him he must -never go away from home again. Never; for anything....</p> - -<p>He said: “I thought you would want me to go.”</p> - -<p>But she clasped him close, protesting.</p> - -<p>She had breakfast hot upon the stove. The elder Chase had gone downtown -as soon as it was day, to try to locate Wint. They ate together; and -after that first moment in the hall, they did not speak of what had -happened at all. When breakfast was done, Wint went into the kitchen -with his mother to help with the dishes. She tied an apron around him, -and laughed at him with a sob in her voice; and Wint laughed with her, -and joked her, till the sob disappeared. His father looked in on them -once or twice, then left them alone together.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_385" id="page_385">{385}</a></span></p> - -<p>Once, Wint broke a little silence by saying, his arm around her -shoulders:</p> - -<p>“Mother!”</p> - -<p>She looked up at him with quick anxiety; and he said: “I’m sorry, for -your sakes.”</p> - -<p>She said: “You didn’t lie, Wint. Anyway, you didn’t lie. There, dry that -plate. So....”</p> - -<p>He smiled a little whimsically. After all, he had lied. But they did not -care whether it was true or false; these two. He was their son. The -thought was glorious. He nursed it, treasured it.</p> - -<p>When the work was done, and the dishes were being put away, they heard a -step on the porch outside the kitchen. They both looked that way; and -through the window saw Hetty. She passed the window, knocked on the -door.</p> - -<p>Wint looked toward his mother; and he saw that she was white as death. -But even while he looked at her, she touched her mouth with her hand, -and steadied herself, and went to the door and opened. “Hetty!” she said -pleasantly, gently. “Hetty! Well, come in.”</p> - -<p>The girl came into the kitchen. She was pale, but she seemed very sure -of herself. She looked from Mrs. Chase to Wint. “I want to talk to -Wint,” she said gently.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Chase nodded. “You wait here.” She went quickly out into the dining -room. They heard her speak to her husband. She was back, almost at once. -“Go into the sitting room,” she said. “There’s no one there.”</p> - -<p>Hetty went toward the door; but Wint at first did not stir. He was -curiously ashamed to face Hetty. She stopped in the doorway, and looked -back at him; and he pulled himself together, and untied his apron and -followed her. In the sitting room, she sat down on the couch, and Wint -sat by the table. She looked at him steadily, smiled a little.</p> - -<p>He said: “Well, Hetty.”</p> - -<p>She laughed at him in a tender way. “Oh, you Wint!” she exclaimed, in a -fashion that reminded him of the old, careless Hetty. He shifted -uneasily. He felt as though he were guilty toward her. But there was no -accusation in her voice.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_386" id="page_386">{386}</a></span> She shook a forefinger at him. “What got into -you?” she asked. “Why didn’t you tell them to go to the devil?”</p> - -<p>There was no way to put it into words. He shook his head. “I don’t know. -It’s all right.”</p> - -<p>“You knocked us flat; the lot of us,” she said. “Wint, you pretty near -killed me. You darned, decent kid.”</p> - -<p>Wint stirred uneasily.</p> - -<p>“I thought I’d die,” she said. Her voice shook, though she was smiling. -“I....” She laughed. “You ought to have seen the others.”</p> - -<p>He asked awkwardly: “What happened? I haven’t heard.”</p> - -<p>“Didn’t your father—”</p> - -<p>“No. I stayed at the Weaver House last night.”</p> - -<p>She laughed. “Oh, you. Leave it to you. To think of the fool thing to -do.”</p> - -<p>He said soberly: “I was in earnest, Hetty. I meant what I said.”</p> - -<p>She nodded. “Sure you did. You’re just a big enough fool to go through -with it, too.”</p> - -<p>“Of course.”</p> - -<p>“You’ve got a f-fat chance, Wint,” she said, and her voice broke, and -she was very near crying through her smiles. “I’ve waked up, now. You’ve -got a fine, fat chance of that.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t hold it against you,” he said. “I’d—be good to you.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t be a nut, darn you! You’ll make me cry. I came near crying myself -to death, last night.”</p> - -<p>Wint’s curiosity was awake; he asked again: “What happened?”</p> - -<p>“Why, you knocked us all flat,” she said. “I took it out in crying. -Routt beat it after you. He was the first to move.”</p> - -<p>There was a curious, hard quality in her voice; and Wint asked: “Was -it....” He bit off the question, furious with himself for asking. She -said slowly:</p> - -<p>“Never mind. That’s past. I thought for a while I’d be better dead; but -I know better, now. Nothing can kill you unless you want to be killed. -Nobody ever fell so hard they<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_387" id="page_387">{387}</a></span> couldn’t get up. I’m going to get up, -Wint, and go right on living.”</p> - -<p>He told her quickly: “Of course. I’ll help. Honestly....”</p> - -<p>She said fiercely: “You will not. If you think I’m going to let you go -through with this—” She broke off, laughed. “Well, I was telling you -what happened. Routt beat it after you. The rest of us sat still, me -bawling. Then your father got up and ran out to the front door, and out -to the street. While he was gone, Kite begun to stir. I looked at Kite. -Believe me, Wint, he was squashed. He hadn’t expected you to—do what -you did. He looked like a dead man. He stuffed his things into his -pocket and he pattered out into the hall. Then he came back; and he said -to me:</p> - -<p>“<span class="lftspc">‘</span>Come, Hetty.’</p> - -<p>“I said to him: ‘You go where you’re going, you old buzzard.’ And I went -on crying. It felt good.</p> - -<p>“I heard Kite go out the front door; and then your father came back. He -says: ‘He’s gone! Wint’s gone!’</p> - -<p>“Then he looked at me, and I couldn’t look at him. And he went out and -went upstairs.</p> - -<p>“The rest of them went along, then. Ed Skinner went first. Then B. B. -and Amos together. Amos says to me: ‘Don’t cry so, Hetty. Don’t cry so.’ -I told him to shut up; and he went along. When they were all gone, I got -myself together and went out. Lutcher and Kite were waiting at the -corner. They stopped me; and Kite, he says: ‘My God, what are we going -to do?’</p> - -<p>“I hit him in the face, hard as I could. Lutcher grabbed my arm; and I -told him to let go, and he let go. I went on and left them. Went home -and cried some more.”</p> - -<p>She laughed a little. “I’ll say I felt like crying, Wint. That was your -doing. Darn you!”</p> - -<p>He said: “You mustn’t feel badly.”</p> - -<p>“Badly!” she echoed, and her eyes were suddenly hard. “Wint, I could cut -out my tongue.” She moved abruptly, hid her face. After an instant, she -turned to him again.</p> - -<p>“There’s no use in saying I’m sorry. They fed me up to it.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_388" id="page_388">{388}</a></span> Threats, and -promises. If I’d do it, they’d give me—a rat of a man to marry. He said -he’d marry me himself. But he’d said that before. He told me himself -that he’d marry me if I’d do this. Marry me and take me away. I knew he -was a liar, but I thought maybe he’d keep the promise, this time. I -thought I had to have him, to be able to look people in the eye. Oh, I’m -not making excuses, Wint. There isn’t any excuse for me.”</p> - -<p>He said: “It’s all right. Please don’t feel badly.”</p> - -<p>“The thing is,” she said steadily, “how am I going to make it up to you? -What do you want me to do?” He did not answer at once; and she told him -humbly: “I’ll do anything you say.”</p> - -<p>He shook his head. “Nothing. I’m willing to go through with it.”</p> - -<p>She rose to her feet with a swift, furious movement. “Damn you, Wint!” -she cried chokingly. “Don’t you say that again. Ain’t I sorry enough to -suit you? Haven’t you poured coals of fire on my head till—till my -hair’s all singed? Don’t rub it in, Wint,” she pleaded. “You’ve made me -feel bad enough. I’ll say I was ready to quit, last night. It wasn’t -worth a penny, to live. Then I thought I might make it up to you. So -I—stayed alive. Don’t you rub it in to me, now. Don’t you say that -again. I tell you, Wint, I went through something, last night.” Her -voice shook, she stretched out her hands to him. “For God’s sake, Wint, -don’t rub it in any more!”</p> - -<p>There were tears in her eyes, on her cheeks; her face was the face of -one in torment. He took her hands; and he said gently: “Please—I didn’t -mean to make you unhappy. You’ve—really, you’ve made me happy. I -thought every one would be against me. But Amos and B. B. came to me, -offered me their friendship, and their help. And father came to me. I -never knew before what friends I had. You’ve done that for me, already.”</p> - -<p>“I’ll bet Routt came to you, too,” she said, a terrible scorn in her -voice. “He’s a friend of yours, isn’t he?”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said Wint, “he came.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_389" id="page_389">{389}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>She was frankly crying, now; her shoulders shaking, tears streaming down -her face. Her lips twisted; she held out her clenched hands. “I’d like -to kill him.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t cry,” Wint begged. “Please.”</p> - -<p>She brushed her arms across her eyes and smiled at him. “All right. -Now.... What do you want me to do? It’s up to you.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t want you to do anything,” Wint protested. “It will all come out -right in the end.”</p> - -<p>“I’m not going to stand and wait.”</p> - -<p>“Please. You’ll see.”</p> - -<p>She stamped her foot fiercely. “I tell you, no. I was the goat, -yesterday. They made a fool of me. But I’m grown up over night, Wint. -This is my day. I’m going to tear things open—wide.”</p> - -<p>For all the harshness of her speech, there was a strange new gentleness -about Hetty; and there was a new strength in her. Wint had never liked -her more, respected her more. He said steadily: “You’re wrong, I think. -You’re excited, to-day. I tell you, things will turn out better than you -think.”</p> - -<p>The telephone tinkled in the hall; and Wint said: “Wait a minute, will -you?” And he went to answer it.</p> - -<p>Sam O’Brien, the fat restaurant man, was on the other end of the wire. -He asked: “This Chase’s house?”</p> - -<p>Wint said: “Yes, this is Wint Chase. That you, Sam?”</p> - -<p>O’Brien exclaimed: “Yes, it’s me! Say, Wint—you’re there, boy. You’re a -man.”</p> - -<p>“Pshaw!”</p> - -<p>“Say, Wint,” O’Brien cut in. “Is Hetty up there? They say at her room -she started for there.”</p> - -<p>Wint glanced toward the door of the sitting room. “Yes,” he said.</p> - -<p>“Do me a favor?” Sam asked.</p> - -<p>“Of course.”</p> - -<p>“Keep her there till I come.”</p> - -<p>“All right,” Wint agreed. “What—”</p> - -<p>But Sam had hung up. Wint went back to Hetty. He decided, for no reason -in the world, not to tell her what Sam<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_390" id="page_390">{390}</a></span> had asked him to do. She asked, -as soon as he came into the sitting room:</p> - -<p>“Who was that? Sam O’Brien?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“What did he want?”</p> - -<p>Wint laughed uneasily, and said: “He just wanted to tell me he was on my -side.”</p> - -<p>Hetty nodded. “There’s one decent man, Wint.” There was a curious warmth -in her tone.</p> - -<p>“Yes, he is,” Wint agreed.</p> - -<p>“He’s been fine to me,” she said, a little wistfully. Then she put Sam -aside with a movement of her hand. “Well, Wint, you want me to go ahead -my own way?”</p> - -<p>He hesitated; then he said: “Hetty, you’re all right. I don’t blame you -for—anything. But I do want you to forget the whole thing. You’ll see -it will straighten out. Don’t mix things up.”</p> - -<p>They heard his mother come into the dining room, across the hall, and -busy herself there; and they kept silent till she went out into the -kitchen again. A matter of minutes. Hetty moved once, crossing from her -chair to stand beside Wint and touch his shoulder lightly with her hand. -When Mrs. Chase had gone out of hearing, she said softly:</p> - -<p>“I guess there’s one person you’d like to have know the straight of -this.”</p> - -<p>Wint’s jaw set slowly with something of the old stubbornness; and he -said: “No. She doesn’t believe in me. She’s made no move. I’ll not.”</p> - -<p>She twisted her fingers into his hair and shook him good-naturedly. -“You, Wint; you’re as stubborn as a mule,” she told him. “What would you -think of her if she’d come running? After you’d said you were going -to—marry me? What could she do? But she knows you’re a liar, just the -same. I’ll bet she’s just waiting.”</p> - -<p>Some one came up on the porch outside, and she looked sharply that way, -and asked: “Who’s that?”</p> - -<p>“I’ll go,” Wint told her; and he went to the front door. Sam O’Brien was -there. He had expected Sam. But Jack<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_391" id="page_391">{391}</a></span> Routt was with him, and Wint had -not expected to see Routt.</p> - -<p>He looked from Sam to the other. Routt’s collar, he saw, was rumpled; -and there were little beads of perspiration on Sam’s forehead. Wint -hesitated. Sam said huskily:</p> - -<p>“I know you don’t want this skunk in your house, Wint. But is—she -here?”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” Wint told him.</p> - -<p>“Well, this thing wants to see her,” Sam explained. “Speak up, you.” He -looked at Routt.</p> - -<p>Routt said: “Yes.” He ran a finger around inside his collar.</p> - -<p>Wint moved aside. “Come in,” he agreed; and they stepped into the hall. -Then Hetty came out of the sitting room. She had heard their voices, -heard what they said. She stood very still, looking at Jack Routt with -inscrutable eyes.</p> - -<p>Routt looked from Sam to Wint furtively. Then he looked at Hetty; and he -moved toward her as though he expected violence. Two paces from where -she stood, he stopped; he fidgeted. At last he said:</p> - -<p>“Will you marry me?”</p> - -<p>There was a parrot-like quality in his voice that made Wint, even in -that moment, want to smile. Hetty did smile; she said quietly:</p> - -<p>“I suppose Sam brought you here.”</p> - -<p>Routt looked at Sam; then he protested: “No. I wanted to come. -Honestly.”</p> - -<p>“You never wanted anything honestly in your life, Jack,” she told him; -and there was as much pity as anger in her voice. “I wouldn’t marry you. -I wouldn’t look at you. Not if you were the last man in the world.”</p> - -<p>No one said anything. They stood very still. Then Routt moved a little; -and he turned, and he looked questioningly at Sam O’Brien. Sam had his -hat in his hand. He dropped it, to leave his hands free. He opened the -front door and stepped outside; and Routt followed him as though at a -word of command.</p> - -<p>Sam took him by the arm; then he closed the door. Wint looked at Hetty.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_392" id="page_392">{392}</a></span></p> - -<p>They heard a muffled, thudding sound. A hoarse cry. A scuffle of feet. -The front gate banged.</p> - -<p>When Wint opened the door, Sam was standing on one foot, precariously -poised; and with his handkerchief he was carefully wiping the toe of his -right shoe. Routt was not in sight.</p> - -<p>Hetty came to the door beside Wint; and Sam looked at her humbly, and he -asked:</p> - -<p>“Will you walk along with me?”</p> - -<p>Hetty, smiling a little tenderly, said: “You oughtn’t to have done -that.”</p> - -<p>“I can clean my shoe,” Sam explained, as though that were the only -consideration. “Will you walk along with me?”</p> - -<p>She hesitated a moment; then she said swiftly: “Yes, Sam,” and looked at -Wint with a quick, laughing glance. “Yes, Sam, I’ll walk along with -you.”</p> - -<p>Sam looked at Wint. “We’re much obliged to you,” he said.</p> - -<p>Wint nodded. Then Sam and Hetty went down to the gate; and Wint watched -them go away together.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_393" id="page_393">{393}</a></span></p> - -<h3><a name="CHAPTER_IV-f" id="CHAPTER_IV-f"></a>CHAPTER IV<br /><br /> -<small>WINT’S RALLY</small></h3> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">I</span>T was well toward dinner time when Hetty and Sam O’Brien went away -together and left Wint. He watched them to the corner, and thought Sam -was a good fellow. And a lucky one, too. There was a fine strength and -pride in Hetty. No doubt about it, Sam was lucky.</p> - -<p>When they were out of sight, Wint went into the house. His father had -not yet come downstairs; Mrs. Chase was still in the kitchen. Wint -settled himself in the sitting room, and filled his pipe, and went over -in his thoughts the scenes this room had witnessed in twenty-four hours -past. He looked back at them as though he had been an observer. He could -not believe he had been chief actor in them all. It is, perhaps, this -trait of the human mind which permits mankind to rise to emergencies. -The emergency does not seem like an emergency at the time. It seems -rather like the ordinary run of life; it is only in retrospect that the -actors realize, and wonder at themselves. There is, during these great -moments, a vast simplicity about life. It had been so with Wint; it was -only now, as he thought back over what had taken place, that the drama -of it caught him. And he wondered at it all; and most of all he wondered -at himself.</p> - -<p>His father came downstairs, after a little while, and joined him. The -older man made no reference to Hetty’s having been there; and Wint, at -first minded to tell the whole story, to tell his father that Hetty was -going to right the wrong she had done, decided on second thought to -wait. It would be sweeter to anticipate their joy when they should hear -the truth. So he held his tongue.</p> - -<p>After a while, Mrs. Chase called them to dinner; and they went into the -dining room together. Some impulse made Wint<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_394" id="page_394">{394}</a></span> drop his hand lightly on -his father’s shoulder; and the older man reached up and took Wint’s hand -and held it, so that they crossed the hall with hands clasped, as though -Wint were still a little boy. He was suddenly very proud of his father. -And ever so fond of him....</p> - -<p>At the dinner table, it was as though nothing had happened. Mrs. Chase -was cheerful; she talked amiably of everything in the world except -Hetty. Wint and Mr. Chase answered her—that is to say, they interrupted -her with a remark now and then—while they ate. It was only when they -both had finished that Chase looked at his son and said, a little -awkwardly:</p> - -<p>“You don’t want to forget you have a rally arranged for to-night, Wint.”</p> - -<p>Wint exclaimed: “Good Lord; I had forgotten!”</p> - -<p>“You’re not going to give it up?”</p> - -<p>“Give it up? No. But I’d forgotten all about it. I’ll have to go -uptown.”</p> - -<p>“You had made some arrangements, hadn’t you?”</p> - -<p>“Yes. Hired the Rink. B. B. is going to preside. That is, he said he -would. And I asked Sam O’Brien to speak, and you promised that you -would.”</p> - -<p>“I think I’d rather not,” Chase said, flushing uncomfortably. Wint -asked, smiling to take the sting out of his words:</p> - -<p>“Not deserting me, are you?”</p> - -<p>“No. I’ll be with you. Sitting on the stage. But—I wouldn’t know what -to say, Wint.”</p> - -<p>“And Davy Morgan is going to speak.” He pushed back his chair. “I’ll go -right uptown and make sure things are all right.”</p> - -<p>Chase said: “I’m glad you’re not giving it up. I’ll walk up with you, -Wint.”</p> - -<p>His mother kissed him good-by at the door; and that was unusual. It was -the only sign she gave of what she must have been feeling. Wint had -sometimes thought, impatiently, that she was a babbling old woman, never -able to keep a thought to herself. He was learning a new respect for -her. And something more. He had felt that he was justified in counting -on his father and mother to stand by him; but he had expected<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_395" id="page_395">{395}</a></span> and been -prepared for questions and perhaps reproaches. There were no questions; -there was never a reproach. It is often tactful to keep silent; and tact -is sometimes a shade nobler than loyalty, than many another virtue.</p> - -<p>He hugged her close and hard, kissed her again; then he and his father -walked away toward town. Shoulder to shoulder, swinging like brothers. -They met people. Wint could see a furtive curiosity in the eyes of those -they met. But he could bear that. He had anticipated coven jeers, -perhaps an open jibe; and his muscles had hardened at the thought.</p> - -<p>They went into the Post Office together, and separated there. Wint met -Dick Hoover; and Hoover gripped his hand and clapped his shoulder and -told him he was all right. That heartened Wint. On his way from the Post -Office, he encountered V. R. Kite, face to face, in front of the Bazaar. -Kite dropped his eyes and scuttled to cover like a crab in seaweed. Wint -chuckled with amusement. Hoover said:</p> - -<p>“He can’t face you.”</p> - -<p>Wint laughed good-naturedly. “Oh, Kite’s all right. He fights in the -only way he knows....”</p> - -<p>He left Hoover in front of the <i>Journal</i> office and went in. B. B. was -there, stoking the decrepit stove, breaking up the clotted coals with a -bit of wood, and pouring on fresh fuel. He greeted Wint smilingly; said:</p> - -<p>“Good afternoon!”</p> - -<p>“Hello, B. B.!” Wint rejoined, and sat down. “Still fussing with that -stove?”</p> - -<p>B. B., amiably enough, said: “Yes. It’s a good stove. Perhaps it doesn’t -look as well as it might; but it heats this office. That’s the way with -a good many things that don’t look very well; they manage to do their -work better than the fine-looking things. Did you ever stop to think of -that?”</p> - -<p>“In other words,” Wint agreed, “beauty is only skin deep, even in -stoves.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I’d rather have an ugly stove that would draw and give heat than -a fine one that wouldn’t,” B. B. declared; and Wint said he did not -blame him. B. B. sat down at his desk, working and talking at the same -time. This was a way he had;<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_396" id="page_396">{396}</a></span> a way he had to have, for there was nearly -always some one in the office to talk to him. Wint said:</p> - -<p>“I almost forgot about my meeting to-night. Are you still willing to -preside?”</p> - -<p>B. B. said: “Certainly.”</p> - -<p>“I thought you might have changed your mind.”</p> - -<p>“No indeed. At the Rink, is it?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“Who are your speakers?”</p> - -<p>“I’m not having any fine talent,” Wint said, smiling. “Just a couple of -good friends of mine, Sam O’Brien and Davy Morgan. And if you’d be -willing to say something—”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I always talk when I get a chance like that.”</p> - -<p>“Sure.”</p> - -<p>“Is your father going to speak?”</p> - -<p>Wint shook his head. “No,” he said frankly. “Dad’s all right. He’s been -absolutely fine. But—he says he wouldn’t know what to say. He’s no -speaker, you know.”</p> - -<p>“I’ve heard him do very well.”</p> - -<p>Wint laughed. “You probably wrote those speeches for him yourself.” And -B. B. good-naturedly acknowledged the corn.</p> - -<p>“About half past seven?” Wint asked, as he got up to go; and B. B. -agreed to the hour, and said he would be there.</p> - -<p>When he had left B. B., Wint telephoned the furnace to make sure of Davy -Morgan; and Morgan said energetically that he surely would be on hand. -“I’ve some few things to say, also,” he declared. “I can talk when they -get me mad, Wint. And I’m mad enough, to-day.”</p> - -<p>Wint said: “All right; go as far as you like. This is a fight. It’s no -pink tea.” And he dropped in on Sam O’Brien. But Sam was not in the -restaurant. His underling told Wint the fat man had been out all day.</p> - -<p>“He went looking for Jack Routt,” the man explained.</p> - -<p>“He found him,” said Wint. “Well, tell Sam I’m counting on him to be at -the Rink to-night.”</p> - -<p>From the restaurant, he crossed the street to Dick Hoover’s office. Dick -and his father were busy, so that Wint was alone for a time. Then he -decided people might think he was hiding;<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_397" id="page_397">{397}</a></span> so he came downstairs and out -to the street again, and went to the barber shop for a haircut. Jim -Radabaugh was there; and Jim shifted the bulge in his cheek and shook -hands with Wint and said:</p> - -<p>“You’re there, boss. I’d say you’re there.”</p> - -<p>Marshall, the barber, violated all the traditions of his craft by being -a silent man. He said nothing whatever while he trimmed Wint’s crisp -hair; and Wint was glad of that. He would not hide. But he did not want -to talk overmuch. When he came out of the barber shop, he saw Amos and -Sam O’Brien and Peter Gergue on the other side of the street. They were -walking purposefully, coming uptown from the direction of Amos’s home. -They saw him, and Amos waved his hand in greeting; then Peter spoke to -Amos, and left the others, and came across to Wint, scratching the back -of his head. Wint said:</p> - -<p>“Hello, Peter.”</p> - -<p>Gergue grinned. “Well, Wint, you’ve started something.”</p> - -<p>Wint nodded. “I suppose so.”</p> - -<p>“You’ve made ’em talk, Wint. That never hurt a bit.”</p> - -<p>“I think you told me that once before,” Wint agreed, laughing.</p> - -<p>“Well, and it’s so,” Gergue insisted. He looked all around, took Wint’s -arm. “Let’s walk along,” he suggested.</p> - -<p>Amos and Sam had disappeared. Wint said: “I’ve been looking for Sam. I -want to see him.”</p> - -<p>“What about?”</p> - -<p>“He’s going to speak at my meeting to-night. At least I want him to.”</p> - -<p>Gergue chuckled; and he gripped Wint’s arm as though he knew a thing or -two, which he might tell if he chose. “Oh, he’ll speak,” he said. -“Sam’ll speak.”</p> - -<p>“I’ve counted on him.”</p> - -<p>“You going to speak, ain’t you?” Gergue asked.</p> - -<p>“Why, yes. Naturally.”</p> - -<p>“Fixed you up a speech, have you?”</p> - -<p>“Not yet. I’ll—just say whatever comes up at the time. Anything.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_398" id="page_398">{398}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>Gergue shook his head. “I tell you, Wint,” he said. “You better go on -home and write you a speech. A good one, with flowers on it, and all.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I don’t need to.”</p> - -<p>“I’ve seen more’n one man get up on his hind legs and go dumb. Good idea -to have something on your mind before you get up.”</p> - -<p>“We-ell, maybe.”</p> - -<p>“I tell you,” Gergue said again. “You go on home and fix up something. -Best thing to do.”</p> - -<p>“I want to see Sam.”</p> - -<p>“I’ll see him.”</p> - -<p>Wint was more than half persuaded, before Peter spoke to him. He had -thought of going home; he was tired. He wanted to sleep. He said: -“We-ell, all right.”</p> - -<p>“That’s the talk,” said Peter. “You go along.”</p> - -<p>“So long, then.”</p> - -<p>“Fix you up a good one,” Gergue advised him again. “Fix it up, and learn -it, and all. You’ll maybe be interrupted, you know.”</p> - -<p>“If there’s any one there to interrupt,” Wint said, in a tone of doubt; -and Gergue cackled.</p> - -<p>“Lord, there’ll be some folks there. Don’t you worry about that. You go -home and fix you up a speech. You’ll have a crowd.”</p> - -<p>So Wint went home, in mid-afternoon. He found the house empty. His -mother, he thought, was probably next door, with Mrs. Hullis. He felt -sleepy; and he went to his room and lay down. His father woke him, at -last. Told him it was supper time.</p> - -<p>At supper, Chase asked Wint’s mother if she were going to Wint’s rally. -She said: “I don’t know. I said to Mrs. Hullis this afternoon that I -wanted to go, but I didn’t know whether women went. And she said she -didn’t know either. But I told her I—”</p> - -<p>“You’ll have plenty of company,” her husband told her. “From what I -hear, the whole town is going to be there. Every one was talking about -it this afternoon.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_399" id="page_399">{399}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“Then I’m going,” she said. “Mrs. Hullis wanted me to go with her; and -I—”</p> - -<p>“You go with her,” Chase advised. “I’ll be on the stage, with Wint.”</p> - -<p>She said: “I’ll have to leave the dishes. There won’t be—”</p> - -<p>“I’ll do them, mother, while you’re dressing,” Wint told her cheerfully. -“Don’t worry about that.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I don’t know!”</p> - -<p>In the end, Wint and his father did them together. Wint broke a plate, -and Mrs. Chase called down the stairs to know what had happened, and -protested that she ought to come down and do them. But they would not -let her. Afterwards, they all started downtown together, Wint and his -father, Mrs. Chase and Mrs. Hullis. Two by two.</p> - -<p>It was dark; the early dark of a winter evening. They met people, or -overtook them, or were overtaken by them; and Wint thought there were -more people than usual abroad. The moon was bright again this night, -bright as it had been the night before when Wint took his way to the -Weaver House. That seemed more like weeks than hours ago. As they came -nearer the Rink, they saw more people; and Chase said:</p> - -<p>“You’re certainly going to have a crowd.”</p> - -<p>Wint nodded. He was beginning to be nervous. He realized that this was -going to be hard.</p> - -<p>But it was only when they turned the last corner and started down the -hill toward the Rink that he realized just how hard it was going to be. -It seemed to him all Hardiston was there ahead of him. The crowd -clustered in front of the Rink and extended out into the street; and -more were coming from each direction. Mrs. Hullis and Mrs. Chase, ahead, -were lost in the throng. Wint stopped; he turned to his father.</p> - -<p>“We’ll cut through the back way,” he said.</p> - -<p>Chase agreed; and they turned down an alley, and came circuitously to -the stage door and went in. The minute he came inside the door, he heard -the hum and buzz of voices. He could see out on the stage, with its -stock set of a farmyard scene. There were chairs, and a table.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_400" id="page_400">{400}</a></span></p> - -<p>Amos, and Sam O’Brien, and B. B. and two or three others were waiting -just inside the stage door; and Sam gripped Wint’s shoulders and -exclaimed: “Lord, but you give us a scare, Wint. Thought you wasn’t -coming. I was all set to go fetch you.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I was coming, all right,” Wint said nervously, one ear attuned to -the murmur of the crowd. “Sounds as though there were a lot of people -here.”</p> - -<p>“Every seat, and standing room in the aisles, and half of ’em can’t get -in.”</p> - -<p>Wint grinned weakly. “And I suppose they’ve got every rotten egg in -town.”</p> - -<p>Sam stared; then he howled. “Rotten egg! Oh, Lord, Wint, you’ll be the -death of me. I’ll die a-laughing. Rotten egg!” He turned to Amos. “Wint -says rotten egg!” he cried.</p> - -<p>Amos looked at Wint in a curious fashion; and he smiled. “It’s half past -seven,” he said. “No need to make them wait.”</p> - -<p>Wint gulped. “All right. I’m ready as I will be.”</p> - -<p>Amos nodded. “Then it’s your move, B. B.”</p> - -<p>B. B. cleared his throat. “Very well.” He turned and started toward the -stage. Sam shepherded Wint that way. Amos and Wint’s father came side by -side, the others following. Wint found himself out on the stage.</p> - -<p>The glare of the footlights blinded him for a moment; but he heard the -sudden, brief clatter of handclapping that greeted them. The stir was -quickly hushed. His eyes, accustomed to the footlights, discovered that -the house was banked full of people. Floor and gallery were jammed. -Small boys clung to the great beams and steel rods that crisscrossed to -support the roof. Some of them seemed right overhead. And everywhere -Wint looked, people were staring at him. He felt the actual, physical -weight of all those eyes, overwhelming him. He felt crushed, helpless; -he had a curious obsession that he could not move hands or feet. He -worked the fingers of his right hand cautiously, and was relieved to -find that they answered to his will. He was dazed.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_401" id="page_401">{401}</a></span></p> - -<p>He became conscious that B. B. was on his feet, his hands clasped in -front of him in a characteristic way; there was a little smile upon his -face, and he was speaking in a low, pleasant voice. Wint could not catch -the words; his ears were not functioning. His senses were numbed by that -overpowering sea of faces in front of him.</p> - -<p>He caught, presently, a word or two that appalled him. “...violate the -usual order,” B. B. was saying. “The principal speaker usually last.... -Keep you waiting.... Lengthy introduction.... I believe you know him, -now....”</p> - -<p>He turned to look at Wint; and Wint, appalled and panic-stricken, saw -the invitation in B. B.’s eyes. B. B. wanted him to speak first; but he -was still tongue-tied and muscle-fast in the face of all those eyes. He -shook his head weakly. Some one tugged at his elbow. Sam O’Brien. Sam -whispered hoarsely:</p> - -<p>“Get up on your feet, boy!”</p> - -<p>Wint shook his head again, trying to find words to explain. Then a man -yelled, out beyond those footlights. Other men yelled. Wint flushed -angrily, his courage came back. They thought him afraid. Baying him like -dogs.... He’d show them all....</p> - -<p>He stood up and strode forward to the very lip of the stage. There was a -moment’s hush. He flung out one hand. “People....” he began.</p> - -<p>But it was as well that Wint had not wasted time in following Gergue’s -advice to fix up a good speech; because on that one word of his, an -overwhelming blast of sound struck him full in the face. A roar, a -bellowing, a whistling, a shrilling.... Shouts and screams and cries.... -He stiffened, furious. They were trying to yell him down. He flung up -both hands, shouted at them....</p> - -<p>Every one in the house was up on his or her feet. Some one threw his hat -in the air. Order came out of chaos. A terrible, rhythmic order. The -blare of sound dissolved into beats; they pounded on Wint’s ears; he -shuddered under the blow of them. His anger gave way to bewilderment. He -could not<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_402" id="page_402">{402}</a></span> understand. He bent lower to see more clearly the faces of -those in the front row, just beyond the footlights. Dick Hoover was -there. And Dick was yelling in a fashion fit to split his throat, -flinging his fists up toward Wint, shrieking. Beside Dick, Joan. Her -face stood out suddenly before Wint’s eyes. She was crying; that is to -say, tears were streaming down her cheeks. Yet was she happy, too. -Smiling, laughing, calling to him.... She was clapping her hands, he -saw. Then he discovered that others were clapping their hands, while -they yelled at him. Everybody was clapping their hands....</p> - -<p>Utterly bewildered, Wint whirled around to look at the men behind him. -And there was Amos, both hands upraised, beating time to that appalling -roar that swept up from the house before them. Beating time, leading -them....</p> - -<p>Sam O’Brien and Davy Morgan—they were both yelling like fools—came -swiftly across the stage to where Wint stood. They caught his arms. He -struggled with them, not understanding. They swept him off his feet, up -in the air, to their shoulders.... Swung him to face the house.</p> - -<p>The noise doubled; then it seemed as though an army of men swarmed upon -the stage. So, at last, Wint understood. They were not trying to yell -him down.</p> - -<p>It is one of the most hopeful facts of life that all mankind is so ready -to recognize, and to applaud, an action which is fine. Wint was in the -hands of his friends. He thought, for a little while, that they would -kill him.</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>When it was all over—and this took time, and left Wint sore and stiff -from hand-shaking and back-slapping—the people began to drift away. And -Wint escaped, off the stage, into one of the compartments that served as -greenroom for theatrical folk. His father was there, and his mother. And -Peter, and Amos, and Sam.</p> - -<p>Every one seemed to be wild with exultation; they continued the -celebration, there among themselves. And Wint heard how it had been -done. Hetty had gone to Amos with the story. To Joan first, Sam told -Wint. “I was with her,” the fat man said. “You understand. I was with -her.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_403" id="page_403">{403}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>Wint nodded, gripping Sam’s shoulder. “She’s fine,” he said. “You’re -lucky. I understand.”</p> - -<p>Joan, Sam said, sent them to Amos, and Amos had arranged the rest; sent -Wint home—Gergue was his agent in this—and spread the word through -Hardiston. To-night had attested the thoroughness of his work.</p> - -<p>Wint found a chance at last to thank Amos. They were a little apart from -the others; and they talked it over briefly. Amos, Wint thought, was -curiously subdued, curiously sad. He wondered at this. But he -understood, at the end.</p> - -<p>He had said: “Wonder what Routt will say to this, anyway? And Kite?”</p> - -<p>“You don’t have to—worry about Routt,” said Amos.</p> - -<p>Wint asked quickly: “Why not? Is he ... Is there something?”</p> - -<p>“He took the noon train,” said Amos. “And—Agnes went with him. She -telephoned to-night. She says they’re married.”</p> - -<p>Wint was so stunned that for a moment he could not speak; he could not -move. He managed to grip Amos’s hand; tried to say something.</p> - -<p>“I’ve said to myself, more than once,” Amos told him huskily, “that I -wished her mother hadn’t ’ve died.” He began, slowly, to fill his pipe. -Wint thought there was something heroic, splendid about the man. Facing -life, driving ahead. And this to think upon.... He was sick with sorrow.</p> - -<p>Amos was facing the stage; he said slowly, smiling a little, “but forget -that. Here’s some one coming for you to see her home.”</p> - -<p>When Wint turned, he saw Joan.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_404" id="page_404">{404}</a></span></p> - -<h3><a name="CHAPTER_V-f" id="CHAPTER_V-f"></a>CHAPTER V<br /><br /> -<small>SEEING JOAN HOME</small></h3> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">T</span>HEY walked home slowly, Wint and Joan. The moon was bright upon them; -the streets were still filled with the dispersing throng. People spoke -to them, then went discreetly on their way, and smiled back at the two. -Wint and Joan said little; and what they said was of no importance. He -told her he had seen her crying.</p> - -<p>“I had to,” she said. “I was so happy.”</p> - -<p>“I wasn’t happy,” Wint declared. “I was scared.”</p> - -<p>She said she didn’t blame him. “It must have been hard to face them -all.”</p> - -<p>He nodded. “I’ll tell you; all that noise.... It—made me seasick. -Something like that.”</p> - -<p>“I know,” she said.</p> - -<p>When they were halfway home, she told him that Hetty had come to her, -that morning. Wint looked at her quickly.</p> - -<p>“Hetty’s all right,” he said. “She’ll be all right. She’s found -herself.”</p> - -<p>Joan nodded. “It’s going to be a fight, for her.”</p> - -<p>“She’ll win. Sam will help.”</p> - -<p>“I know. I saw that, this morning.”</p> - -<p>A little later, she said: “You—did the right thing. Foolish, maybe. -But—it was fine, too. Foolish things often are.”</p> - -<p>Wint shook his head. “But I’d like to pound Routt.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t,” she said. “Agnes loves him.”</p> - -<p>Wint told her then what Amos had told him; and she uttered a low, -pitiful exclamation. “I didn’t know that,” she said. “But—they may be -happy. Agnes is good.... Loyal.... In her way.”</p> - -<p>“You knew she loved him?”</p> - -<p>“Yes. I’ve always known. Agnes had talked to me.”</p> - -<p>“I hope Routt does—settle down.”</p> - -<p>Joan said thoughtfully: “There is something strong in him. -Misdirected.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_405" id="page_405">{405}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“I liked him,” Wint said. “I can’t help it, even now. He was my friend.”</p> - -<p>“I believe they will come out all right. I feel it.”</p> - -<p>Wint laughed at her gently. “Intuition?”</p> - -<p>“Yes. You men call it a hunch.”</p> - -<p>Silence again, for a while. They came to her house. Wint thought the -simple place was beautiful in the moonlight; he wanted, desperately, to -go in. But there was a curious diffidence upon him, and he stopped at -the gate till she said:</p> - -<p>“Come. It’s not cold, to-night. We can sit on the porch.”</p> - -<p>“You want me?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, Wint.” Her eyes said more than her words. He opened the gate, and -they went up the walk to the house sedately enough, side by side. Any -one might have seen.</p> - -<p>The moonlight did not fall upon the porch. There was a shadowed place -there. When they came into this shadow, Joan stopped, and looked at -Wint. Her eyes were very dark. Something was pounding in his throat, so -that he could not speak. He put out one hand, in an uncertain, fumbling -way. Joan looked down at his hand, and smiled a little, and put her hand -in his.</p> - -<p>They stood thus for a little, hand in hand, facing each other. Wint said -huskily, at last:</p> - -<p>“I’ve—tried, Joan.”</p> - -<p>Her voice was clear and sweet as a bell when she answered. “You’ve done -more than try, Wint,” she told him. “You’ve—won.”</p> - -<p>So, without either of them knowing, or caring, how it happened, she was -in his arms. And he kissed her; and her lips answered his. No cool kiss -of a child, this. Months of longing and of yearning spoke through his -lips, and through hers. Infinite promise of the years to come....</p> - -<p>While they sat together on her shadowed porch thereafter, they could -hear for a long time the murmuring voices of people passing on their -homeward way. Some looked toward Joan’s house; but they could not see -Wint and Joan.</p> - -<p>It was as well; for it is the way of Hardiston to talk. The way of a -little town....</p> - -<p class="fint">THE END<br /><br /> -PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA</p> - -<hr class="full" /> -<pre style='margin-top:6em'> -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GREAT ACCIDENT *** - -This file should be named 64002-h.htm or 64002-h.zip - -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: -http://www.gutenberg.org/6/4/0/0/64002/ - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm -concept and trademark. 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