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.”