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.”