“I don’t want you giving him any advice, and I don’t want you getting him drunk. I want you to let him alone. Is that clear?”
Routt protested: “I’m the best friend Wint’s got.”
“You’re the worst enemy he’s got,” said Amos. “And you know it.”
“You can’t say that,” Routt pleaded.
Amos did not let go the other man’s eyes. “You got Wint drunk, day before election,” he said. “You got him drunk last night. Routt, don’t you do that again.”
“I got him drunk? Good Lord, Congressman, Wint’s a grown man. I’m not his keeper.”
“I made you his keeper, before election,” said Amos. “I told you to keep him straight. You didn’t do it. You got him drunk. Now I tell you, let him alone.”
“I tried to keep him from drinking,” Routt urged.
“You said to him, ‘Don’t you drink, Wint. It ain’t good for you. You can’t stand it.’ So he drank, to show you he could stand it. Just as you knew he would.” Amos got up with a swiftness surprising in that slow-moving man. He said harshly: “Routt, get your hat and get out. And mind what I say. You let Wint alone.”
Some men would have sworn at Amos, some would have defied him. Routt was the sort to promise anything. He said, with an assumption of straightforward frankness: