He had encountered Amos more than once upon the street since the election, though neither had carried their greetings further than a nod or word. But there came a day when Chase met the Congressman face to face in the Post Office at a moment when there were no others there; and when Chase nodded, Caretall stopped and tilted his head on one side and squinted in a friendly way at Chase.
“No hard feelings, is there, Senior?” he asked.
Chase looked at him, started to speak, flushed, checked himself; and at last said huskily: “Congressman, I want to talk with you.”
Caretall nodded. “That’s fair.”
“Where can we talk?”
Amos scratched his head. “Tell you,” he suggested. “I’ll go along up to Pete Gergue’s office. You go down t’ your place, ’nd then come in the back way. Guess we don’t want it known we’re gettin’ t’gether.”
“Very well,” Chase said stiffly. “I’ll be there in half an hour.”
When he climbed the stairs, Amos had sent Gergue away and was sitting at the oilcloth-covered table, slowly whittling a charge for his pipe. He got up bulkily at Chase’s entrance, and motioned the other man to a chair across the table from his own. Chase sat down and Amos, lighting his pipe between his sentences, said slowly: “Chase....” a scratch of the match. “You don’t want to hold this against me.” A succession of deep puffs. “It’s politics. All in th’ game.” A puff. “You was getting too strong for me. I had t’ lick you.” Puff, puff, puff!
Chase struck his fist with quiet vehemence on the table. “It was a dirty trick, Amos.”
Amos shook his head, vastly pained. “Now, Senior,” he protested, “don’t go talking that way. ’Twas all in th’ game. All in the game.”