Routt did not again appear in public until something after noon, election day. When he came downtown then, he was as spruce as ever, his eyes clear, and his cheeks pink with health. He showed no signs of the—fatigue that the elder Chase had remarked in him.
Forthwith, men began to ask him: “Where is Wint?”
The first man that put the question was Peter Gergue. This was a big day for Peter. He had been busy, whispering and advising and suggesting and laughing a little behind the back of the elder Chase. He had been too busy getting out the votes and directing the voters to think much about Wint until Jack appeared; but the sight of Jack reminded him of Wint; and so he asked:
“Where is Wint, anyway?”
Jack looked to right and left. “I don’t know,” he said.
Gergue drawled: “It’s your job to know.”
“I know it is. But—he got away from me.”
“Got away from you?”
“Yes. Last night. I couldn’t stop him.”
Gergue frowned and ran his fingers through his back hair.