went into the sitting room. Only half a dozen houses in Hardiston had living rooms in those days. Rooms with no other appointed use were, respectively, sitting rooms and parlors. The library and the living room were arriving together.Amos went into the sitting room and pulled a creaky rocking chair up before the coal fire. His feet were in carpet slippers, and he kicked off the slippers and thrust his feet toward the blaze. He wore knitted wool socks, gray, with white heels and toes. Maria Hale had knitted Amos’ socks for ten years. He wriggled his toes comfortably, then searched from one pocket a black plug of tobacco, from another a crooked-blade pruning knife. He sliced three or four slices from the plug with grave care, restored plug and knife to his pockets, rolled the slices to a crumbling pile in his palm, and filled his pipe. When it was lighted--he “primed” it by cramming into the top of the pipe some half-burned tobacco from a previous smoking--he leaned back luxuriously in the chair, closed his eyes, puffed hard and thought gently.

He was still in this position when the telephone rang; and he rose, grumblingly, to answer it. Winthrop Chase, Senior, was at the other end of the wire; and when he discovered this, Amos winked gravely at the fire and his voice descended half an octave.

“Good evening, Congressman,” said Chase.

“Evening, Mr. Chase,” said Amos.

“Gergue told me you were coming home.”

“I guess he was right.”

“He thought you would want to see me.”

Amos’ eyes widened. “Did he say so?”

Chase laughed. “Well--you understand--Gergue has his methods.”

Amos nodded soberly. “Yes, yes. Well--you can come to-night if you want.”

“Er--what--”

“I said you could come to-night. I’ll be home all evening.”

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