“Well, Amos, we’re licked.”
Amos turned his head and studied Gergue. “Do tell!” he exclaimed at last.
Gergue nodded. “Hollow ain’t got any more chance of being Mayor than—than young Wint Chase has.”
This seemed to startle Amos. He opened his mouth to speak, hesitated, closed it again, then asked: “Young Wint! What makes you say that?”
“We-ell—no more chance than I got, then,” Gergue amended.
The Congressman seemed satisfied with the amendment. He wagged his head as though deploring the situation, then asked: “Why? What’s Jim done?”
Gergue looked at Amos reproachfully. “We-ell, you know Jim.”
“Always does the right thing, don’t he?”
“They ain’t no votes in that.”
The two considered this truism for a time in thoughtful silence. In this interval, Gergue produced and filled and lighted a pipe in a manner painfully like that of Amos. Every detail—pipe, plug, knife, priming—was the same. Amos watched him with interest, and when Gergue had finished with the rites, Amos asked: