“I think it important not to cement Amos Caretall’s hold on this county, and this town.”
Wint said angrily: “Forget Amos. Forget he exists. I’m asking a flat question. Why don’t you answer it?”
Mrs. Chase interposed: “Don’t you talk to your father so, Wint. Don’t you do it. He knows best what’s good for you, and for Hardiston, and for everybody. You know he—”
“Is whisky good for Ote Runns?” Wint demanded.
“Well, I guess it doesn’t do him any hurt. It’s not as if he had a wife and children, Wint, you know. You ought to do what your father says. He—”
Wint faced the older man. “Well,” he asked, “what is it you say I should do, dad? In plain language. Just what do you claim I ought to do?”
“Refuse to let Amos Caretall make you his tool,” Chase said steadily.
“Let Hardiston wallow in booze?”
“That’s beside the point. Amos is the point.”
Wint got up swiftly. “Amos is not the point,” he said. “Hardiston’s the point. Hardiston’s the point, and I’m the point, too. If whisky is good for Hardiston, the town ought to have it. If lawbreaking is good for Hardiston, the lawbreaking ought to be permitted to go on. But if it’s right and decent to keep the law, then I’m right. And if it’s right to leave booze alone, then I’m right. And if I think what I’m doing is right, I ought to go on with it; and if I think it’s wrong, I ought to drop it. Amos has nothing to do with it. Anyway, a bad man doing good things is a good man. If Amos were doing this, the fact that he’s a crook wouldn’t make it crooked. The whole thing works the other way. If Amos is doing this, and it’s a good thing to do, then so far as this is concerned, Amos is a good man.”