In the doorway she said: “Here’s the Congressman to see you, deary.” And she stood aside to let Amos come in. Wint saw that B. B. Beecham was with Amos, on the other’s heels. He watched them, steady enough by this time. He wondered what they had come for. To triumph? That would not be like B. B. Nor like Amos. Amos turned and told Mrs. Moody to go. “And thank you, ma’am,” he said. She went away, a little reluctantly. She was a curious old woman; she liked to know what went on in her hostelry. But--Amos had, when he chose, a commanding tone. When she was gone, he turned and looked at Wint, head on one side, squinting good-humoredly; and he said: “Well, Wint, how’s tricks?” Wint hesitated; then he said: “Good morning, both of you.” Amos nodded. B. B. said: “Good morning.” Wint looked around at the sparse furnishings of the room. “You’ve caught me early,” he said. “I’m not dressed yet.” And he added: “I can’t offer you both a chair, because there’s only one chair.” “Me,” said Amos, “I’ll sit on the bed. B. B., sit down.” Wint remained on his feet. “Well,” he asked, a challenge in his voice, “what’s on your mind?” Amos leaned back against the wall and began to fill his pipe. “Nothing much, Wint,” he said slowly. “We come down here principally to shake you by the hand. Don’t let me forget t’ do it, before I go.” His tone was friendly and reassuring. Wint wondered just what he meant. He smiled a little, and said: “All right.” “Thought you might be glad to see your friends,” Amos added; and Wint said, with lips a little white: “I would be.” “Well,” Amos told him. “Here’s two of us.” Wint looked at the Congressman; and he looked at B. B. B. B. said quietly: “That was a fine thing you did last night, Wint.” Wint flushed, as though he were ashamed of what he had done. “I don’t understand this,” he said, a little impatiently. “What do you want? Out with it!” Amos said: “Want to help you, any way we can.” Wint’s eyes narrowed, and he flung out a hand. “You’re too darned mysterious, Amos.” Amos lighted his pipe. “Well, Wint, I don’t aim to be,” he declared. “I’m talking straight as I know. B. B. and me are on your side; that’s all. We’re taking orders from you. We do anything you say.” Wint laughed, a sudden, harsh laugh. “I’ve heard they give a condemned man anything he wants--the last morning,” he exclaimed. Amos nodded. “Yes, I’ve heard tell o’ that. But what’s that got to do with this?” “Plain enough, I should think.” “You don’t count yourself a condemned man; now, do you?” “I should think so.” Amos shook his head doubtfully. “And here I thought you said last night you didn’t aim to quit.” “I don’t. But I’ll be snowed under--now. Of course.” “Well,” said Amos, “that may be so. I ain’t sure. Gergue will know, time he’s talked around a spell. Prob’ly you are--are beat. But I’ve seen men beat before that turned out pretty strong in the end.” He added slowly: “Anyway, licked or unlicked, I’m on your side, Wint. And always was.”