The Congressman looked at the other with a cold, quizzical light in his eyes. “How ’bout Wint? He hold your views?”
Chase turned red as fire. “He has nothing to do with this.”
“I heard he was a wet man, personally. But I wondered if he was dry like you in theory.”
The other said stiffly: “My son has disgraced me. I have been very angry with him. But it may have been as much my fault as his. I have tried to be patient. He understands, now, that if he continues—if he does not mend his ways—I—” He stopped uncertainly.
“Reck’n you’d disown him.”
An unexpected and very human weakness showed in the countenance of the elder Chase. His features worked; he said huskily, “Well—the boy—he’s my only child, Amos.”
Amos had never liked Winthrop Chase till that moment. He was surprised at the burst of sympathy that moved him. He nodded. “You’re right, Chase. And—Wint’s a good boy, I figure.”
His tone encouraged the other. Chase leaned toward the Congressman. “Amos,” he said, “there’s a new day coming in Ohio politics.”
Amos looked puzzled. “To-morrow’s always likely to be a new day.”
“Things are changing, Amos.”