Gergue wagged his head. “We-ell, now,” he parried, “Amos don’t lay so much on that end of it. He’s a wet man, in politics; but he don’t touch it hisself. I guess he just wanted t’ give you a leg up--see what you’d do. Amos keeps his eye on the young fellows, that way.” They had crossed the tracks while they were talking, and now they met two men. Wint knew these men casually; they knew him. They were workmen; and they saw Wint and Gergue together, and grinned, and one of them called: “Morning, Mr. Mayor.” Wint smiled at them amiably. “Good morning.” “Congratulations!” “Thanks.” Wint’s cheeks were burning. The men passed by, and he and Gergue started up the hill by a back street that led toward his home. Neither of them spoke. Presently they began to meet other men. One or two men scowled at Gergue, stared angrily at Wint; but for the most part they smiled covertly, and voiced congratulations. Their words seemed to Wint to mark covert jibes. After a time the two came to a cross street that led toward town; and here Gergue halted and looked at Wint curiously. “Was there anything else?” he asked. Wint shook his head. “You wasn’t thinking, maybe, of walking uptown?” “Not now.” “Going on home, I guess.” “Yes.” Gergue nodded. “All right. When you come uptown, you might stop in and see me.” “I’ll see,” Wint told him. “Amos aims to do right by you,” said Gergue. “Much obliged.” “You don’t want to hold this against him.” Wint smiled slowly. “Good-by,” he said. Gergue nodded. “By-by,” he responded. “I’ll see you again.” He turned toward town, and Wint watched him for a moment, and then went on toward his home. Muldoon trotted sedately before him, ranging now and then across the street or into a yard to investigate some affair of his own. Wint walked swiftly, for he had an uneasy feeling of nakedness in the light of open day, as though every one he encountered must see the shame that was torturing him. He came to his home through a short cut that brought him by way of an alley to the kitchen door; and when he opened the door and stepped into the kitchen, he saw Hetty Morfee there. Hetty was rolling biscuits on a board, her sleeves rolled to the elbows on her creamy arms; and she turned at the sound of his entrance and stood with the rolling pin in one hand, brushing back the hair from her eyes with the other, and laughing at him softly. “Oh, you Wint!” she said. Wint closed the kitchen door behind him and faced the girl. “Is mother here?” he asked. “She’s in next door.” She nodded her head reproachfully. “You certainly have started something, Wint.” “Where’s father?” “Uptown. He telephoned just now to know if you had come home. He ain’t coming home for dinner.” Wint dropped his eyes for a moment, then lifted his head. “All right,” he said. “I--I suppose he’s mad as a hatter.” Hetty chuckled softly. “Mad as two of ’em,” she declared. “You certainly have started something this time, Wint.”