“I?” said Wint. “I have nothing to say, except what I shall say to Lutcher in court presently.”
“Ah, yes, Lutcher,” Kite murmured. “Lutcher, to be sure.” And he nodded as though Lutcher were scarce worth considering, and kept silent, to force Wint into speech.
This trick of keeping silent, forcing the other man to make the advances, was a favorite with Amos Caretall. Amos had beaten V. R. Kite at the game more than once; but Wint had beaten Amos. He beat Kite, now. The older man was driven to speak first. He said, in a quick rush of words:
“You know you’re done for. Done. Skinned. Licked. Down. What have you got to say?”
Before a direct attack, Wint recovered himself. He laughed. “I should say you were wide of the mark, Kite,” he said cheerfully. “That is, if I know what you’re talking about. The mayoralty?”
“Of course. Your hide is on the fence.”
Wint shook his head. “I haven’t felt it being removed; and they say the process is painful. So I would have felt it go.”
“Don’t joke, young man. You know what I mean.”
“I know,” said Wint, “that I’m going to be elected Mayor. I know Routt is licked. If that’s what you mean.”
Kite laughed, a harsh, short, mirthless laugh. “What’s the use of bluffing? I tell you, I know.”