“Well,” he said, “what are they?”
Wint had been dreading what his father would say; he had been afraid of anger, of abuse. He was immensely relieved at the older man’s tone.
“Simply this,” he said. “He put me where I am. That was tough on you; but I think it has been good for me. It’s a strange thing to have the feeling that you can give men orders which they must obey; and that you have a—a sort of control over them. Dad, do you realize that I have to send men to jail every little while? It’s a pretty serious thing to send a man to jail, when you know you ought to be in jail yourself, in a way. I’ve done some thinking about it; so you see, it’s been good for me. It never hurts a man to think.
“The whole thing is, Amos has done me a good turn, sir. I can’t help feeling grateful to him. Can’t help feeling he’s been a good friend to me. And—I want to be friends with him. And I want you to know there’s no disloyalty to you in this friendship.”
Chase considered for a little; then he said quietly: “You know, Amos played false with me. Deceived me—deliberately. And tricked me.”
“I know it,” said Wint. “It was politics; and in a way, it was dirty politics. But—he’s been square with me.”
“I’m not sure,” said Chase, “that the whole business has not turned out pretty well, for you. For your sake, I’m not sorry.” His voice stirred and quickened. “But by Heaven, Wint, Amos is no friend of mine! And some day I mean to break him.”
Wint said: “That’s all right. It’s a fair game between you. But I don’t want you to think I’m taking sides with him.”
“What are you going to do?” Chase asked.
“I thought of meeting his train,” Wint told him. “And—he asked me to have supper with them to-night, to talk things over. I thought I would.”