Five minutes after telephoning Amos Caretall, Winthrop Chase saw that was a strategic mistake, and began regretting it. Until Amos’s home-coming the mayoralty campaign had been going smoothly and satisfactorily. Hollow was not a dangerous opponent, and Chase seemed reasonably sure of election by default. Nevertheless, the coming of Amos had disturbed him. Amos was rightly feared by his political enemies. He had the habit of success; and no matter how secure Chase might feel, the thought of Amos made him secretly tremble. He was not a man to avoid conflict; therefore he had sought to confront the enemy forthwith, and had telephoned Amos with that end in view. He wished to bolster his own courage by seeing Amos cower; and Amos had disappointed him. Instead of cowering, Amos had told him carelessly that if he, Chase, wished to do so, he might call on Amos that night. And Chase had promised to come. Now he was torn with regrets. He was sorry he had telephoned; and he was sorry he had promised to come. At first he thought he would stay at home, let Amos wait in vain; and he tried to bolster this decision with arguments. But they were unconvincing. Sure as he was of the election, Amos made him nervous; and eventually, with a desperate feeling that he must know the worst, and quickly, he set out for the Caretall home. Agnes came to admit him when he rang the bell. He liked the girl. She was pretty and gay, and she was always flutteringly deferential in his presence. She opened the door, and saw him, and cried delightedly: “Why, Mr. Chase! Come in!” He obeyed, drawing off his gloves. He was one of the four men in Hardiston who wore kid gloves. “Good evening, Agnes,” he said, in his tone of condescending graciousness. “Is your father at home?” “Oh, yes--he’s in by the fire.” Amos called from the sitting room: “Toasting my toes, Winthrop. Come in.” “Let me take your coat,” Agnes was begging; and he allowed her to help him off with the garment, and then handed her his hat and gloves and watched her bestow them on the rack. She was graceful in everything she did, and she looked up at him in a humble little fashion, as though to solicit his approval. He gave it. “Thank you, Agnes,” he said gravely. “Now!” she said, and turned toward the sitting-room door. In the doorway she paused. “Dad, here’s Mr. Chase.” “Come in, Chase,” Amos called again. “Take a chair. Any chair. Turning cold, ain’t it?” Amos did not get up; but Chase went toward him and held out his hand so that the Congressman was forced to rise. He was in the act of filling his pipe again, knife in one hand, slices of tobacco in the other; and he had trouble clearing one hand for the greeting, but he managed. “Now sit down, Chase,” he urged again, when the handshake was over. “Glad you came in. Is it turning cold or ain’t it?” “Yes,” said Chase seriously. “Yes, there’s a touch of cold in the air.” “Sky looked that way to me this afternoon. Early, too.”