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.”