“What’s he going to do with it, Peter?”
Gergue rummaged through his black hair thoughtfully. “Guess that depends on what he’s let do with it. Somebody come along and tell him he ought to make a good Mayor, and he’ll make a bad one, just to show he can’t be bossed.”
“That’s right.” Amos agreed. He considered, grinned to himself. “You know, Pete, if we could get Kite to sign on as Wint’s guide, philosopher, and friend. Wint’d do all right.”
Gergue considered, and he chuckled. “Sure. If he went contrary to what Kite said. And he would. Wint’s always on the contrary-minded side of a thing.”
“Now why is that?” Caretall asked.
“That’s because he’s who he is, I sh’d say.”
Amos puffed deep at his black pipe. “Trouble is,” he commented, “Kite wouldn’t take the job. Not after what Wint handed him to-day. You heard that?”
Gergue grinned widely. “Yeah. The old buzzard. Say, that surely does hit Kite. The way he holds his head. I’d always thought of a turkey, but I guess a buzzard does it too. Like he was always looking over a wall.”
“What I’d like to see,” said Amos, “is some one that would guarantee to give Wint bad advice.”
“We-ell,” Peter told him, “I can do some of that.”