Muldoon rolled his eyes up at Wint and said nothing; and Wint lifted the dog from his knees to the bed. “There, take a nap while I’m dressing,” he said. “Then we’ll be moving on.”
The dog stayed obediently on the bed; and Wint dressed, moving quietly to and fro. He did not hurry. He was possessed by an easy indolence. There seemed to be nothing in the world worth hurrying for. He was not unhappy; he whistled a little, as he dressed. But once or twice he remembered that his father had let him go without a word, and he winced at the thought. And once or twice he remembered that he had no friend now, anywhere, save Muldoon; and that was not pleasant remembering.
But for the most part, he put a good face on life. “After all, pup,” he told Muldoon, “thing’s can’t be any worse. So they’re bound to get better. And we’ll just play that hunch for all it’s worth. Why not? Eh?”
Muldoon had no objections; he wagged the stump of his tail and opened his jaws and laughed, dog-fashion, tongue hanging happily. Wint grinned at him, and sat down to tie his shoes.
Save for collar and coat, he was fully dressed when he heard through the open door the voice of some one who had come into the office of the Weaver House, downstairs. The voice was unmistakable. The newcomer was Amos; and when Wint realized this, he stood very still, and his face turned a little white. He waited without moving. There was nothing else to do.
He heard Amos and some one else coming up the stairs, guided by Mrs. Moody. “Right along here,” the old dame was saying. “Always the same room. I always give him the best. That’s the kind of a gentleman he is, when he comes to old Mother Moody. Right here, now.”
In the doorway she said: “Here’s the Congressman to see you, deary.” And she stood aside to let Amos come in. Wint saw that B. B. Beecham was with Amos, on the other’s heels. He watched them, steady enough by this time. He wondered what they had come for. To triumph? That would not be like B. B. Nor like Amos.
Amos turned and told Mrs. Moody to go. “And thank you, ma’am,” he said. She went away, a little reluctantly. She was a curious old woman; she liked to know what went on in her hostelry. But—Amos had, when he chose, a commanding tone. When she was gone, he turned and looked at Wint, head on one side, squinting good-humoredly; and he said:
“Well, Wint, how’s tricks?”
Wint hesitated; then he said: “Good morning, both of you.”