CHAPTER II

A BRIGHTER CHAPTER

The crowded events of the evening before had wearied Wint more than he knew; his sleep was dreamless and profound, and he might not have waked till midday if it had not been for Muldoon. The dog slept beside Wint’s bed; but at the first glint of day, it became restless; and when the sun rose, Muldoon got up and walked stiffly across to the open window and propped his feet on the sill and looked out. The slight sound of his nails on the bare floor disturbed Wint, and he turned in his sleep; and Muldoon came back to the bed to see what was the matter. Wint’s arm was hanging over the side of the bed, and Muldoon licked his master’s hand. Which woke Wint effectually enough.

He opened his eyes, and at first he could not remember where he was. The dingy room.... He stared up at the cracked and broken ceiling. At one place, a patch of plaster had fallen, leaving the laths bare. It took Wint some little time to recognize his surroundings. But at last he remembered. He sat up on the edge of the bed, rumpling Muldoon’s ears with his right hand, and looked around.

The room contained, besides the bed, a chair and a wardrobe. His clothes were on the chair. The sagging doors of the wardrobe hung open. There was nothing inside the decrepit thing. His eyes wandered toward the mantel. The cracked old mirror still hung there. His eyes fell to the floor, and he marked the charred place near the hearth, burned there that night of his election when at sight of his own image in the mirror he had smashed the lamp in a fury of shame. He remembered that night, now, and he smiled a little whimsically. It seemed his fortunes were always to be bound up with this dingy room.

Muldoon, disturbed by Wint’s long silence, looked up at his master, and barked, under his breath, uneasily. Wint took the dog’s head in both his hands and shook it gently back and forth. “What’s the matter, pup?” he asked affectionately. “What’s on your mind? What are you fussing about, anyhow? What have you got to fuss about, I’d like to know? Come.”

Muldoon twisted himself free, and he snarled. It was a part of the game. Then he flung himself forward and pinned Wint’s right hand and held it, growling. Wint took him by the scruff of the neck and lifted the dog into his lap; and Muldoon’s solid body accommodated itself to Wint’s knees and he lay there, perfectly contented.

“You stuck around, didn’t you, boy?” Wint asked, his voice a little wistful. “The rest of them didn’t give a hoot for Wint; but you stuck around. Eh? The rest of them didn’t care. ‘Get out. Good enough for him.’ That’s what they’d say. But not you, eh, Muldoon? You stuck. Even Jack Routt. Even Jack came only to offer me booze. And the rest of them didn’t come at all. Only you, pup. You and I, now. But we’ll show them some things. Eh?”

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.”

Amos nodded. B. B. said: “Good morning.”

Wint looked around at the sparse furnishings of the room. “You’ve caught me early,” he said. “I’m not dressed yet.” And he added: “I can’t offer you both a chair, because there’s only one chair.”

“Me,” said Amos, “I’ll sit on the bed. B. B., sit down.”

Wint remained on his feet. “Well,” he asked, a challenge in his voice, “what’s on your mind?”

Amos leaned back against the wall and began to fill his pipe. “Nothing much, Wint,” he said slowly. “We come down here principally to shake you by the hand. Don’t let me forget t’ do it, before I go.”

His tone was friendly and reassuring. Wint wondered just what he meant. He smiled a little, and said: “All right.”

“Thought you might be glad to see your friends,” Amos added; and Wint said, with lips a little white:

“I would be.”

“Well,” Amos told him. “Here’s two of us.”

Wint looked at the Congressman; and he looked at B. B. B. B. said quietly: “That was a fine thing you did last night, Wint.”

Wint flushed, as though he were ashamed of what he had done. “I don’t understand this,” he said, a little impatiently. “What do you want? Out with it!”

Amos said: “Want to help you, any way we can.”

Wint’s eyes narrowed, and he flung out a hand. “You’re too darned mysterious, Amos.”

Amos lighted his pipe. “Well, Wint, I don’t aim to be,” he declared. “I’m talking straight as I know. B. B. and me are on your side; that’s all. We’re taking orders from you. We do anything you say.”

Wint laughed, a sudden, harsh laugh. “I’ve heard they give a condemned man anything he wants--the last morning,” he exclaimed.

Amos nodded. “Yes, I’ve heard tell o’ that. But what’s that got to do with this?”

“Plain enough, I should think.”

“You don’t count yourself a condemned man; now, do you?”

“I should think so.”

Amos shook his head doubtfully. “And here I thought you said last night you didn’t aim to quit.”

“I don’t. But I’ll be snowed under--now. Of course.”

“Well,” said Amos, “that may be so. I ain’t sure. Gergue will know, time he’s talked around a spell. Prob’ly you are--are beat. But I’ve seen men beat before that turned out pretty strong in the end.” He added slowly: “Anyway, licked or unlicked, I’m on your side, Wint. And always was.”

Wint stared at him with a curious, threatening light in his eyes. “What’s the idea? You turned me down cold, in public. Now you come whining around....”

“I’m not whining, Wint,” said Amos cheerfully. “Do you think I’m whining, B. B.?”

B. B. smiled. “Congressman Caretall has his own methods, Wint. I know he seemed to be against you; but I also know that he’s been secretly working for you, that every vote he can swing will go to you. He’s been passing that word around for a week.”

Wint hesitated, looking from one to the other. “I never caught you in a lie, B. B.,” he said.

“It’s true enough,” the editor told him. “You see--” He looked at Amos, then went on: “You see, your father has no use for Amos. And Amos knew it. He also knew your father could do a good deal to help you win this election. But--Chase would not be on your side so long as Amos was with you. Do you see?”

“I see that much,” said Wint. He was thinking hard.

“But your father has been working for you since Amos pretended to have turned against you. Hasn’t he?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t suppose you ever thought of that,” B. B. suggested; and Wint drew his hand across his eyes, and looked at Amos, and asked huskily:

“Is it true, Amos?”

Amos grinned; and he said: “I’m like you. I never knowed B. B. to tell a lie.”

“But why didn’t you tell me?”

“You can’t keep a secret, Wint. You’re too damned honest. Maybe you’re too honest for politics. I don’t know. Anyhow, I couldn’t let on to you without your father seeing it in your eye.”

Wint said, grinning a little shakily: “It hurt me a good deal, just the same.”

“I guess you’ll outgrow that.”

“I suppose so.”

He said nothing more for a minute; and Amos puffed at his pipe, and B. B. studied Wint, smiling a little at the young man’s confusion. Wint was flushed; and he was happier than he had ever expected to be again. These two were true friends, at least. Not all the world had turned its back on him. He crossed abruptly and gripped their hands.

“Why, that’s all right,” said Amos, marking how Wint was moved. “If you hadn’t run away last night, before we could move, I’d have told you then. I tried to find you, after. But no one seemed to know.”

Wint nodded. “I just walked blindly, for a while. I could not go home. This was the first place I thought of.”

Amos blew a cloud of smoke. “Well, that’s all right.”

“How did you find out I was here, now?” Wint asked. “Just guess? Or what?”

“Jack Routt is--spreading the word,” Amos explained. There was a suggestion of something hidden behind his simple statement.

“Routt? Yes, he was here last night,” Wint agreed.

“Yes, he said he was.” Wint caught the implication in the Congressman’s tone, and he asked:

“What’s the matter? What does Routt say?”

“Well, as a matter of fact, he says you were down here last night, stewed to the eyes and getting steweder all the time.”

Wint’s eyes narrowed; then he laughed. “Oh, he says that?”

“Says it frequent and generous.”

“He came down last night and suggested that I drown my sorrows,” Wint explained. “I--” He hesitated. “You see, Jack and I--I’ve always counted him my best friend. But I seemed to see through him last night. I--don’t count him my friend any more.”

“We-ell,” Amos drawled, “I can’t say as I blame you for that. I’ll say he don’t talk friendly about you.”

Wint, flushing, asked quickly: “You don’t believe what he’s saying?”

Amos shook his head. “I know a hangover when I see one; and I know when I don’t.”

Wint nodded. “I’m not starting in again on the booze at this stage of the game.”

“No; I’d guess not.”

Wint sat down beside Amos on the tumbled bed. “Now, Amos, let’s get down to tacks. I said last night I was going to stick; and I meant it. I mean it all the more, now, with you to back me. The thing is--”

Amos turned his head toward the door. “Some one coming,” he said; and Wint heard steps on the stair, and Mrs. Moody’s cheerful harangue. He got up quickly. His father stood in the doorway.

In the long moment of silence that followed the appearance of the elder Chase, Wint put his whole heart into the effort to read his father’s face. Was there anger there? Or shame? Or bitter reproach? Reason enough, in all conscience, for any one of these emotions. He stared deep into his father’s eyes.

The elder Chase came into the room, one stiff step; and he looked at Wint, and at B. B., and at Amos. His lips twitched a little at sight of Amos, then set firmly together again. That was all.

Wint moved toward him a little. “Dad....” he said huskily.

His father’s eyes searched Wint’s. The older man’s voice was shaking. He said slowly: “Routt is telling Hardiston you are drunk, down here.”

Wint nodded. “Yes; I’d heard.”

“I heard him telling men this thing.”

Wint said nothing; the older man’s face lighted fiercely. “I knew he lied, Wint. I knew he lied.”

Wint flushed with the sudden rush of happiness within him. He looked from his father to Amos. “Dad,” he said, “there’s one thing. I know my friends now.”

“Routt is no friend.”

“I know.”

“I always told you.”

“Yes.”

“He....”

Wint laughed softly. “Forget Jack Routt, dad. I’ve other friends. Amos, here.”

Chase’s face hardened; he said, without expression, “Amos?”

“He and B. B. came to me when I thought I hadn’t a friend in the world. You and Amos have got to make it up, dad. You’ve got to. Please.”

The older man hesitated; then he turned to Amos. “All right,” he said. “I ... Wint’s friends are mine.”

Amos got up from the bed and took the offered hand; and he smiled shrewdly. “I did play you dirty, Chase,” he confessed. “I admit it. But doing it--I played a good trick on your son. Didn’t I now?”

Chase said slowly: “Yes.”

“Wouldn’t you rather have him as he stands?” Amos asked. “Wouldn’t you rather have him as he stands--than the way he was a year ago?”

“Yes. God knows.”

Amos said slowly: “When you’re sorest at me--just give me credit for that.”

Chase exclaimed swiftly: “It doesn’t matter. It’s past. Done. All I want is--my boy. You, Wint.”

Wint was beginning to believe all was right with the world. He said slowly: “Even--after last night, dad? Hetty....”

“Yes,” said his father.

“Mother?” Wint asked. “She’ll.... Is she unhappy?”

“Why did you go away from us, Wint?” his father asked huskily. “Why did you run away?”

“I thought you wouldn’t want me at home.”

“We always want you.”

B. B. caught Amos Caretall’s eye; and he nodded slightly; and Amos understood. He said: “We’ll be moving, Wint. See you uptown, by and by.”

“Yes, I’ll be up,” Wint said.

“So long, Chase.”

“Good-by,” Chase told him quietly. Amos and B. B. went out, and along the hall, and down the stair. Wint and his father were left alone. For a little while they did not speak; then Chase said gently:

“Come home to your mother, Wint.”

Wint asked: “Even--knowing this, what happened last night? You want me in spite of it?”

“Yes.”

“In spite of--what I’ve done?”

Chase threw up his hand; he cried: “Damn it, yes. What do we care? Whatever you do....” His voice broke huskily. “You’re always our son!”

Wint could not move for a moment; he was choking. At last he laughed, happily enough; and he touched his father’s shoulder with one hand.

“Wait till I put on my collar,” he said. “I’ll come along.”

Muldoon, as though in his dog mind he understood, began to prance and bark about his master as Wint prepared to leave the Moody hostelry behind him. Wint was as happy as the dog. He knew his friends, now. Knew the loyal ones. And his father, and his mother.... They loved him.

All was well with the world.