says he’s going to be the next Mayor--whe’er or no,” he remarked.

Kite’s dry little countenance twisted with pain. Amos saw, and asked sympathetically: “That gripe ye, does it?”

“I’ll never live in the town with him Mayor,” Kite exploded. “I won’t live here. I’ll sell out and move away. I’ll shoot myself! Or him! I’ll….”

He petered out, and Amos grinned. “I gather you and Chase don’t jibe. What’s he ever done to you?”

“Grinned at me. He’s always grinning at me like a--like a--like….”

Amos smoothed the grin from his own countenance with a great hand, and tilted his head on one side. “You and him disagree some on the liquor issue, I take it.”

“We disagree on every issue. He’s….”

“Hardiston’s a little bit wet, ain’t it?”

“Of course! And no one objects! But this Chase wants to get in and make it dry. He’s a….”

“This county option law’s popular, though.”

“Popular--with fools and hypocrites like Chase.”

“Chase’ll make a good Mayor,” Amos suggested. “He’s a fine, public-spirited man. Always sacrificing himself for the town--sacrificing his own interests--an’ all that. So he says, anyhow. Said so to me, to-night.”

Kite waved his clenched fists above his head. He fought for words. Amos seemed not to notice this.

“He’s a good man, a churchly man,” he mused.

Kite exploded. “Damn hypocrite!”

Amos looked across at the other in surprise. “Hypocrite? How’s that?”

Kite became fluent. “Take the liquor question. He preaches dry--talks dry--and drinks like a fish. And his son is a common toper.”

Amos shook his head. “We-ell, a man’s private life ain’t nothing to do with his political principles. Lots of cases like that. If a man thinks right, and performs his office, I reckon that’s all you can ask. Out of office hours--he’s allowed to do what he wants.”

“He’ll ruin Hardiston,” Kite declared. “Ruin it.” He whirled toward the other. “Your fault, 

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