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