Again silence fell. Then Amos said, "John, why don't you go to
Congress? Not to-day, or to-morrow, but maybe four or five years from
now."

Levine looked at Amos curiously. The two men were about the same age.
Levine's brown face had a foreign look about it, the gift of a Canadian
French grandfather. Amos was typically Yankee, with the slightly
aquiline nose, the high forehead and the thin hair, usually associated
with portraits of Daniel Webster.

"Nice question for one poor man to put to another," said Levine, with a
short laugh.

"No reason you should always be poor," replied Amos. "There's rich
land lying twenty miles north of here, owned by nothing but Indians."

Levine scratched his head.

"You could run for sheriff," said Amos, "as a starter. You're an Elk."

"By heck!" exploded John Levine. "I'll try for it. No reason why a
real estate man shouldn't go into politics as well as some of the
shyster lawyers you and I know, huh, Amos?"

Upstairs, Lydia stood in a path of moonlight pulling off her clothes
slowly and stifling her sobs for the sake of the little figure in the
bed. Having jerked herself into her nightdress, she knelt by the
bedside.

"O God," she prayed in a whisper, "don't let there be any more deaths