too, Amos. If you’d put up a man against him, instead of a fish like Jim Hollow….” “I figured Jim would do. He always tried to do the right thing,” Amos protested; and Kite dismissed the protest with a grunt. “The town don’t want Chase,” he declared vehemently, “but they can’t take Hollow.” “We-ell,” said Amos thoughtfully, “what’s going to be done about it?” Kite threw up his hands. “Nothing. Too late. But I….” The Congressman interrupted drawlingly: “Now if it was young Wint that was going to be Mayor--you wouldn’t have to worry.” Kite laughed shortly. “I guess not. But--he’s not.” “He wouldn’t be likely to make the town so awful dry.” “Not unless he drank it dry.” “We-ell, he couldn’t do that.” Kite grinned. “I’d chance it.” They were silent for a moment; then Amos said slowly: “Funny--what a difference one letter makes. ‘Jr.’ instead of ‘Sr.’ Eh?”Kite nodded slowly; and Amos was silent again, and so for a time the two men sat, thinking. Kite stared at the fire, his face working. Amos watched the fire, but most of all he watched Kite. He studied the little man, his head tilted on one side, his eyes narrowed. And Kite remained oblivious of this scrutiny. In the end, Amos spoke: "Kite--how many votes you figure will be cast at this election?" Kite looked up, considered. “A thousand or twelve hundred, I suppose.” Amos bestirred his great bulk and drew from a pocket a handful of letters. He chose one, replaced the others. From another pocket he rooted a stubby pencil, moistened the lead, and set down Kite’s figures on the envelope. “I think that’s too many,” he commented. “Maybe,” Kite agreed. “What does it matter?” “How many wet votes can you swing against Chase as it stands?” Kite frowned. “I can’t do much with Hollow to work with. Maybe four hundred.” “Suppose you had a good man to work with?” “He ought to get close to five hundred out of twelve.” “Everybody so much in love with Chase as that?” Kite shook his head. “They don’t like him. Nobody does. He thinks he owns the town.” “Does he own it?” “A
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