“There will be no accident.” “Eh?” “I intend to see to it that there is no accident.” Amos nodded. “Well,” he commented, “that’s your privilege.” Chase leaned forward. “Congressman,” he said seriously, “it’s a bad plan to stay away from home so long. You get out of touch with affairs here. You ought to--you need some ally here to watch over your interests.” Amos looked up quickly. “Now, I never thought of that,” he declared. Chase clapped his hand on his knee. “It’s right. You can’t tell what the people are thinking unless you live among them--as I do, sir.” Amos considered this statement, and then he remarked: “Take this wet and dry business, for instance. Now, me--I’m so far away I don’t rightly know what the folks here are thinking. But you--” He hesitated. “How does it strike you, Chase?” “It’s the big issue here.” “How? County’s dry.” “But the town isn’t. The law is not enforced here.” “Why not?” Chase laughed shortly. “The present Mayor--” Amos interrupted. “I’m a wet man, Chase. You know that. I guess you are, too, ain’t you?” Chase shook his head sternly. “No, indeed. Prohibition is the greatest good for the greatest number. I want to see it sweep the country--state-wide--nation-wide.” Amos looked startled. “I’m surprised.” “There’s no question about it, Congressman. Prohibition is coming. And I’m for it.” “You have--you ain’t a dry man, are you?” “I believe in moderation.” “Now that’s funny, too,” Amos commented, his head on one side in the familiar posture that suggested he was suffering from stiff neck. “Funny? Why?” “You and me. Me--I’m a wet man; I believe in license. But I’m a teetotaller. You’re a dry man--but you like moderation. I’m for a wet state and a dry cellar--and you’re for a dry state and a wet cellar. Ain’t that always the way?” Chase flushed stiffly. “Many great men have held public views differing from their private practice.” “Who, f’r instance?” “Why--many of them.” Amos nodded. “Well, you’ve studied the thing. Maybe you’re right.” “I am right.” The Congressman looked at the other with a cold, quizzical light in his eyes. “How ’bout Wint? He hold your views?” Chase turned red as fire. “He has nothing to do with this.” “I heard he was a wet man, personally. But I wondered if he was dry like you in theory.” The other said stiffly: “My son has disgraced me. I have been very angry with him. But it may have been as much my fault as his. I have tried to be patient. He understands, now, that if he continues--if he does not mend his ways--I--” He stopped uncertainly. “Reck’n you’d disown him.” An unexpected and very human weakness showed in the countenance of the elder Chase. His features worked; he said huskily, “Well--the boy--he’s my only child, Amos.” Amos had never liked Winthrop Chase till that moment. He was surprised at the burst of sympathy that moved him. He nodded. “You’re right, Chase. And--Wint’s a good boy, I figure.”