The telephone tinkled in the hall; and Wint said: “Wait a minute, will you?” And he went to answer it. Sam O’Brien, the fat restaurant man, was on the other end of the wire. He asked: “This Chase’s house?” Wint said: “Yes, this is Wint Chase. That you, Sam?” O’Brien exclaimed: “Yes, it’s me! Say, Wint--you’re there, boy. You’re a man.” “Pshaw!” “Say, Wint,” O’Brien cut in. “Is Hetty up there? They say at her room she started for there.” Wint glanced toward the door of the sitting room. “Yes,” he said. “Do me a favor?” Sam asked. “Of course.” “Keep her there till I come.” “All right,” Wint agreed. “What--” But Sam had hung up. Wint went back to Hetty. He decided, for no reason in the world, not to tell her what Sam had asked him to do. She asked, as soon as he came into the sitting room: “Who was that? Sam O’Brien?” “Yes.” “What did he want?” Wint laughed uneasily, and said: “He just wanted to tell me he was on my side.” Hetty nodded. “There’s one decent man, Wint.” There was a curious warmth in her tone. “Yes, he is,” Wint agreed. “He’s been fine to me,” she said, a little wistfully. Then she put Sam aside with a movement of her hand. “Well, Wint, you want me to go ahead my own way?” He hesitated; then he said: “Hetty, you’re all right. I don’t blame you for--anything. But I do want you to forget the whole thing. You’ll see it will straighten out. Don’t mix things up.” They heard his mother come into the dining room, across the hall, and busy herself there; and they kept silent till she went out into the kitchen again. A matter of minutes. Hetty moved once, crossing from her chair to stand beside Wint and touch his shoulder lightly with her hand. When Mrs. Chase had gone out of hearing, she said softly: “I guess there’s one person you’d like to have know the straight of this.” Wint’s jaw set slowly with something of the old stubbornness; and he said: “No. She doesn’t believe in me. She’s made no move. I’ll not.” She twisted her fingers into his hair and shook him good-naturedly. “You, Wint; you’re as stubborn as a mule,” she told him. “What would you think of her if she’d come running? After you’d said you were going to--marry me? What could she do? But she knows you’re a liar, just the same. I’ll bet she’s just waiting.” Some one came up on the porch outside, and she looked sharply that way, and asked: “Who’s that?” “I’ll go,” Wint told her; and he went to the front door. Sam O’Brien was there. He had expected Sam. But Jack Routt was with him, and Wint had not expected to see Routt. He looked from Sam to the other. Routt’s collar, he saw, was rumpled; and there were little beads of perspiration on Sam’s forehead. Wint hesitated. Sam said huskily: “I know you don’t want this skunk in your house, Wint. But is--she here?” “Yes,” Wint told him. “Well, this thing wants to see her,” Sam explained. “Speak up, you.” He looked at Routt. Routt said: “Yes.” He ran a finger around inside his collar.