Routt fidgeted in his chair. He had always been somewhat afraid of Amos. He wondered what the Congressman wanted now, but Amos did not tell him. He just sat, staring at the fire, smoking. Like Gergue, Routt was driven to break the silence.
“What did you want with me, Amos?” he asked.
Amos spat into the fire. “Wanted to talk things over, Jack,” he said. “I’m going to Washington to-morrow.”
“I’ve been expecting you’d go back.”
“Well, I’m going.”
Another silence, while Routt moved uneasily. At last he said: “You put Wint over, all right.”
“Yes,” Amos agreed. “I put him over.” He looked at Routt then, with eyes unexpectedly keen. “Think he’ll make a good Mayor, do you?”
“Well,” said Routt slowly, “he’ll be all right if he lets the booze alone.”
Amos caught Routt’s eyes and held them commandingly. “Jack,” he said, “I want you to let Wint alone.”
Routt asked angrily: “Me? What do you mean?”