“I know you did, mother.”
Chase cried: “You take it almighty calmly, Wint. Isn’t there any blood in you, son? Don’t you ever get mad? Damn it, the man ought to be kicked out of town.”
Wint laughed good-naturedly. “Oh, I don’t know. He has a right to support Jack if he wants to.”
“A right? What have his rights to do with it? By God, I’d have more respect for you if you could get good and mad!”
Wint chuckled. “I’ll try to work up a fever if you like. I always want your respect, dad.”
Chase said in a softer tone: “You always have it, Wint. You’ve earned it. But it makes my blood boil to see Caretall do this to you. To my son.”
“It’s terrible,” Wint agreed whimsically; and Chase protested:
“I believe you’re laughing at me.”
Wint shook his head anxiously. “No. But I don’t see that it does any good to get excited. I’m aiming to keep my head—and my job.”
“You’re going to fight?”