“Take a man like young Wint, Peter. Suppose he was give a job—sudden—that was right up to him. Responsibility, power, something to do that had to be done. Nobody to boss him but himself. Him and his heart. What would that do to a man like Wint, Pete?”
Gergue scratched his head—hard. He thought—hard. Amos said softly: “Don’t hurry, Pete. Think it over.” Gergue nodded; and presently he said:
“Man just like Wint—that’s what you mean?”
“Say—Wint himself.”
“It’d depend on the man.”
“Say it’s Wint.”
“Depend on whether he had any backbone—any stuff in him.”
“Has Wint got it?”
Gergue shook his head. “Ain’t sure.”
“Say he has.”