“In earnest, ain’t you?”
“Absolutely,” said Wint.
“Well, it never hurt any, to be in earnest. Go to it, boss.”
Hardiston talked it over that day, and wondered what Wint would do. Most people thought he would sentence Lutcher; some declared he would wait till after election, for fear of influencing the vote. Sam O’Brien laughed at this view. “Wint wasn’t ever afraid of anything,” he declared. “Why man, you make me laugh. He’ll soak Lutcher so hard Lutcher’ll need to be wrung out like a sponge.”
There were others who were loyal to Wint; and there were some few—not very vociferous except among those of like views—who were loyal to Lutcher. But for the most part, people waited. Waited for Kite to come home. This was his fight; that was understood. Lutcher was his man.
He came on the early morning train next day; and his coming was marked. Lutcher met him at the train. They came up the hill from the station together, and went to the Bazaar, and were alone there for a little while. Routt joined them presently. Routt would represent Lutcher in court, he said. But Kite laughed at that.
“It will never come to court, man,” he told Routt. “You know that.”
“I’m not so sure,” Jack objected.
“Then we’ll smash that young rip, flat as an egg,” said Kite harshly, with a gesture of his clenched fist. “But he’ll crawl, I say.”
Lutcher got up. “I’m willing to see that,” he declared amiably. “Come along and stage the show.”