She told him and he selected a bill and gave it to her. She took it, and tucked up her apron and delved into the pocket of her loose skirt and produced a dirty, cloth bag. This bag was tied with a string at the top; and she untied the string, and rummaged inside, and found his change, and gave it to him. He took it from her; and as he did so, he turned at a shuffling step and saw the drunken man at his elbow. This man peered at him; and Wint moved a little away from him. The man followed a lurching step, and grinned placatingly, and mumbled: “Wint Chase, ain’t it?” Wint nodded. “Yes.” He tried to pass the man and get to the door; but the man thrust out a shaking hand. “Shake!” he invited thickly. “Wanna shake hands with new Mayor. Voted f’r you, voted f’r you three times.” Mrs. Moody was leaning across the bar and watching and grinning. Wint hesitated, and then he took the man’s hand and shook it, and tried to release it; but the man clung to it, and lunged closer, and put his other hand on Wint’s shoulder. His weight fell against Wint’s chest. “New Mayor,” he repeated uncertainly. “Good, nice new Mayor.” He chuckled loosely and wiped his wet mouth with the back of his hand and gripped Wint’s shoulder again, and regarded Wint seriously, studying him. “Good little man,” he applauded. “Make dam’ good Mayor f’r this little town.” He rocked on his feet, and Wint tried to put the man away without offending him, but the man staggered and clasped his arms around Wint’s neck and giggled weakly on Wint’s breast. “This’ll be a nice, wet li’l town now, eh, boy!” he exulted. “Eh, boy? Nice, wet li’l town....” Wint, with a sudden revulsion that sickened him and stiffened his angry pride, thrust the man away and stepped quickly out into the street. He felt Muldoon brush against his legs, and he looked down at the dog and set his jaw. “You, dog,” he whispered. “They’ve tried one joke too many. Eh, pup? We’ll stay and turn the joke on them, Muldoon. What say?” Muldoon whined approvingly, fidgeting on eager feet; and Wint bent and clapped him on the shoulder. “Come on, you,” he said softly. “Come on. Let’s go home.” CHAPTER II JOAN Wint left the Weaver House at a little before noon, Muldoon trotting sedately at his heels. The street outside the hotel was empty; and Wint was glad of this. He followed it to the railroad tracks, intending to cross the yards and take a back street toward his home. But at the end of the street, he encountered Peter Gergue. Gergue saw him coming, and stopped, and fumbled in the tangle of hair at the back of his head until Wint came near. Wint would have avoided him, but there was no way to do this, and so he said coldly: “Good morning, Pete.” Gergue grinned slowly. “Why--right fair,” he agreed. “Yes’r, it’s a right fair morning--if you look at it that way.” Wint nodded. He would have passed by, but Gergue stopped him. “I was coming down after you,” he said. “Why?” Wint asked.