Gergue nodded. “All right,” he assented. “Mind if I walk along with you? Going on this way?” Wint halted in his tracks. “What’s up?” he asked sharply. “What do you want?” “Me?” Peter ejaculated. “Why--me? I don’t want nothing.” “What are you so anxious to keep an eye on me for, then? I don’t want you.” Gergue hesitated, and he looked across the street toward his office; and at last he leaned toward Wint and said slyly: “Tell you th’ truth, it ain’t me. Amos is over at my place. He see you coming, and he was worried f’r fear you’d come up and find him there. He knows you’re mad at him. Don’t want to see you. Don’t want to listen to you. Knows you got a fair kick, and he don’t like to listen to kicks.” Wint looked across the way, and then at Peter; and then, without a word, he started across the street. Peter went hurriedly after him. “Say,” he begged, “you ain’t going--” “I’m going to tell that old scamp what I think of him.” Peter pleaded. “Oh, now, Wint--he’ll be mad at me.” He laid a restraining hand on Wint’s arm. Wint shook it off. “What do I care what he thinks of you?” he demanded. “Let go.” “You don’t want t’ see him, Wint.” Wint went stubbornly ahead. He turned into the stairs that led up to Peter’s office; and Gergue sighed. “Glory! Well--all right, then. I’ll trail along,” he said; and then he smiled at Wint’s ascending back with amiable satisfaction and followed Wint up the stairs. Wint had never been in Peter’s office before. He halted in the doorway, struck by the slack disorder of the place. There were spider webs in every corner; there was dust everywhere. The soft floor had been worn by many feet till every knot stood up like a rounded knob, and every nail upreared a shining head. The door of the wardrobe hung open, revealing some battered books inside. The old, oilcloth-covered table at the window was littered with papers and rusty pens, and sagged weakly under the weight of the books upon it. At this table, when Wint came in, sat Congressman Amos Caretall. The Congressman saw Wint, and got up hurriedly, eyes squinting, head on one side. He looked distinctly apologetic; and when he saw Peter behind Wint, he eyed his satellite reproachfully. Wint stormed across the room to face the Congressman; but even while he approached the older man, some of his anger died in him. Amos was so frankly unhappy, he was so apologetic, the tilt of his head was so plaintive. Nevertheless Wint cried: “What right had you to use my name in this way, Congressman?” Caretall shook his head humbly. “Not a right in the world, Wint.” “It was a dirty trick. Underhand.” The Congressman nodded. “I know it, Wint,” he assented. “I c’n see that now. All the trouble it’s made and everything. If I’d knowed.... But you see, a man gets to playing the game, and he don’t stop to think like he oughter.”