Then he would give Wint twenty dollars and tell him to mend his ways; and afterward he would complain to Mrs. Chase of Wint’s ingratitude.
Wint had always taken this money without scruple. Whenever inner doubts perplexed him, he would say: “He’s got more than he can use. I might as well have it as any one else.” In all honesty, he knew the falsity of such an argument; but he used it successfully to stifle the reproaches of his own heart.
A day or two after his visit to the office, however, Amos Caretall asked him: “Wint, you need any money?”
“Didn’t know but you might,” Amos insisted. “Carry you over till your salary starts.”
“I’ve got enough,” Wint said. “Dad was always pretty liberal. Gave me more than I could spend.”
Amos did not seem surprised at this. He nodded his head. “That’s good,” he agreed. “If any one had told me, I wouldn’t have believed it. Wouldn’t have believed Senior had so much sense. Keeps you in his debt, like, don’t he? Keeps you d’pendent on him?”
Wint had never thought of it in that way, and he did not like the thought. He looked uneasy. Amos went on, puffing at his old black pipe: “Guess he figures to get it all back some way. ’F he sh’d come and ask you for something, after you’re in, you’d naturally have to give it to him. Yes, Senior’s a smart man.”
They were sitting in front of the coal fire in Amos’ sitting room; and for a time after that, neither of them spoke. Wint was thinking hard, and in the end he asked quietly: “Know any way I can earn a living till I’m inaugurated?”
Amos swung his head around, tilting it on one side, and squinting thoughtfully at Wint; and presently he smiled approvingly. “Guess you might,” he said. “Might do some o’ my letter writing. You’d learn things, that way. I never had no secretary. I’m allowed one. You c’n have the job, long’s I’m here.”