Kite waved his clenched fists above his head. He fought for words. Amos seemed not to notice this.
“He’s a good man, a churchly man,” he mused.
Kite exploded. “Damn hypocrite!”
Amos looked across at the other in surprise. “Hypocrite? How’s that?”
Kite became fluent. “Take the liquor question. He preaches dry—talks dry—and drinks like a fish. And his son is a common toper.”
Amos shook his head. “We-ell, a man’s private life ain’t nothing to do with his political principles. Lots of cases like that. If a man thinks right, and performs his office, I reckon that’s all you can ask. Out of office hours—he’s allowed to do what he wants.”
“He’ll ruin Hardiston,” Kite declared. “Ruin it.” He whirled toward the other. “Your fault, too, Amos. If you’d put up a man against him, instead of a fish like Jim Hollow....”
“I figured Jim would do. He always tried to do the right thing,” Amos protested; and Kite dismissed the protest with a grunt.
“The town don’t want Chase,” he declared vehemently, “but they can’t take Hollow.”
“We-ell,” said Amos thoughtfully, “what’s going to be done about it?”