That seemed to be satisfactory. Every one cheered, so that the noise hurt his ears. Then he sat down. A moment later, every one got up, and he got up, and they all began to crowd around him, and to crowd toward the door. Somebody came up and shook hands with Wint, and he recognized the voice of V. R. Kite. He had never liked Kite; the man was like a foul bird. A buzzard. The idea pleased Wint. He said cheerfully: “To hell with you, you old buzzard.” He heard Amos chuckle, somewhere near him. Every one else stood very still. So Wint strode past Kite to the stairs, and Amos followed him, and Peter Gergue followed Amos. They went back home to Amos’s house. Once, on the way, Wint asked: “That all there is to it?” Amos said: “Land, no, that’s just the beginning.” Wint chuckled. He was beginning to enjoy himself. But he was very sleepy. When they got home, he went to bed and slept till dinner was ready, and he slept all the afternoon, and he went to bed for the night as soon as supper was done. * * * * * Amos had been thinking he ought to get back to Washington. He was glad Wint went off to bed, because there were two or three matters he wanted to attend to. One of these matters had to do with Jack Routt. Amos was not sure of his ground in that direction, but he had his suspicions. He sent for Peter Gergue after supper, and Gergue came quickly at the summons. They sat down before the coal fire, and Peter filled his pipe in careful imitation of Amos, and the two men smoked together in silence for a space, while Amos considered what to say. Peter was one of those unfortunate men who do not like silences. This put him at a disadvantage before Amos, who could be silent indefinitely. It was Amos’s chief superiority over Peter, and it gave the Congressman his mastery over the man. This night as always, it was Peter who spoke first. He puffed at his pipe, and he said: “Well, Amos, you’ll be gittin’ back to Washin’ton.” Amos turned his head, tilted it on one side, and squinted at Peter. “I guess so,” he agreed. “Thought you’d be going,” said Peter. “Wint’ll miss you.” “Do you think he’ll know he misses me?” Amos asked. “If he did,” said Peter, “he wouldn’t admit it.” The Congressman nodded. “Wint’s a cur’ous cuss. Peter.” “Yeah.” “He’s a nice boy--give him a chance.” “We-ell, he’s got his chance.” “What’s he going to do with it, Peter?” Gergue rummaged through his black hair thoughtfully. “Guess that depends on what he’s let do with it. Somebody come along and tell him he ought to make a good Mayor, and he’ll make a bad one, just to show he can’t be bossed.” “That’s right.” Amos agreed. He considered, grinned to himself. “You know, Pete, if we could get Kite to sign on as Wint’s guide, philosopher, and friend. Wint’d do all right.” Gergue considered, and he chuckled. “Sure. If he went contrary to what Kite said. And he would. Wint’s always on the contrary-minded side of a thing.”