There had been a time when such an inquiry frightened Chase; because, when people asked him such a question, he knew they meant that Wint was in trouble again. But he was coming to have a certain faith in Wint; so he was puzzled by Kite’s question, and said so.
“I don’t know what you mean,” he told the little man.
Kite was surprised. “Good God! You must know. Didn’t he tell you?”
“He’s told me nothing in particular. What do you mean?”
“The young fool has given Radabaugh orders against any more liquor selling.”
Chase’s first reaction to this information was a leap of delighted pride. It was what he would have wished Wint to do; it was what he himself would have done in Wint’s place. It was a decent, strong thing to do, and Chase was glad. Kite saw this in the other man’s eyes; and he exclaimed challengingly:
“You look as though you were tickled, man. Don’t you know this thing will ruin Hardiston?”
Chase knew it would not ruin Hardiston; nevertheless he was willing to humor Kite. So he asked: “Do you know the details? Tell me about it.”
Kite laughed harshly. “You hadn’t heard of it, then. He didn’t tell you. It was Amos put him up to it, I guess, after all. But it looks as though he’d have told you, anyway.” Kite was shrewd enough in his way; he understood that Chase, as a father, must be jealous of Amos’s influence with Wint. And Chase reacted as Kite expected. His eyes clouded with hurt. Wint might have told him; should have told him. Instead, his son had laid him open to this new humiliation, the humiliation of hearing important news from a third person. And—Wint had had supper with Amos last night.
Chase struck back, in the instinct to defend himself. “You remember, I warned you Congressman Caretall would do just this.”