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.