Wint laughed. “All right. You wait and see.”
Nevertheless, he could not deny to himself that Routt’s move troubled him. Not for its effect on his candidacy, but for the light in which it showed Routt himself. For all his loyalty, Wint thought it was unworthy. Thought Routt was hurting himself and sullying himself. He met Jack uptown that night, and told him so in a friendly way. “Do as you like,” he said. “But I think it hurts you more than it does me,” he suggested.
Routt laughed, and asked: “It’s not getting under your skin, is it? I told you I’d give you a run.”
“Pshaw, no. Say anything you like about me. But it doesn’t get you any votes.”
“You’ll know better than that on the eighth of November,” Jack told him; and Wint smiled and let it go at that. After all, it was Routt’s own concern.
But if Wint took Routt’s tactics equably, Hardiston did not. Hardiston folk love politics. The great American game is the breath in their nostrils. They have an expert’s appreciation of the tactical value of this move and that; and they are keen spectators at such a battle as Routt and Wint were staging.
Wint would have liked to consult with Amos at this time; but it happened that Amos was out of town. He had gone to Columbus for a day or two. In lieu of Amos, Wint went to Peter Gergue, and asked Gergue how things looked to him. Gergue fumbled in his back hair in the thoughtful way he had and said he guessed Routt was making a lively fight of it, anyway.
“Do you think he’s making votes?” Wint asked.
“We-ell,” said Peter, “you can’t always tell what folks will do. I’d say he’s persuading every enemy you’ve got to vote against you.”
Wint said: “They would, anyway.”