“Why, of course, if you say so, I’ll keep away from him.”
“See that you do,” said Amos. “Now—good night.”
When the door closed behind Routt, Amos stood for a minute in the hall, thinking. “Now I wonder,” he asked himself. “Will he do it? Was he scared enough to keep hands off? I wonder, now.”
Routt, half a block away, was grinning without mirth. “Damn him,” he said to himself. “Him and Wint too. I’ll....”
He wondered just what he had best do; and before he reached home, he had decided to go and see V. R. Kite.
Congressman Caretall and Agnes took the noon train, next day. Wint went with them to the station, and Amos had a last word for him.
“Don’t you get the idea I’ve left you on your own, Wint,” he said. “You’ll need help. Things’ll come up. When they do, don’t you try to stand on your own feet. Just write me—or telegraph. And I’ll come, or tell you what to do.
“You’ll run into trouble. Don’t you try to fight it alone. Just you call on me.”
Then the train pulled out. Wint watched it go; and when it rounded the curve and disappeared beyond the electric-light plant, he grinned.
“Run to you when I need help, will I, Amos?” he asked good-naturedly, under his breath. “I guess not. You’ve left me alone. And I’m going to stand on my own hind legs. On my own two feet, by God!”