“You find it a hard world? Why, Kite, I think the world is a pretty good sort of a place. That’s the way it strikes me.”
“I—”
“Maybe it’s your own fault you find it hard.”
Kite brushed the suggestion away. He was obsessed with a new idea, a last hope. He said: “Wint, if you drop this, Amos and I can do a lot for you.”
“You and Amos?” Wint looked at Amos again. “How about it, Congressman?”
“‘Go it, wife; go it, b’ar,’” Amos repeated imperturbably.
“What I mean,” said Kite, “is that we can send you to the legislature, or anything.”
“Why, I’m not looking for anything,” said Wint mildly.
Kite snapped: “Every man has his price.” And when he met Wint’s level eyes, and knew he was committed, he went on hurriedly: “I know that. If politics isn’t yours, something else is. Speak out, man. What do you—”
Wint asked curiously, and without anger: “What’s the idea, Kite?”