hint of the superiority which he felt toward his parent.

"Politics is all right, provided you're a good picker," he said,
with all the assurance of twenty-two, "but you fell off the wrong
side of the fence, and you're sore."

"Of course I am. Wouldn't anybody be sore?"

"These country towns always go in for the reform stuff, every so
often. If you'd listen to me and--"

His father interrupted harshly: "Now, cut that out. I don't want
to go to New York, and I won't." Peter Knight tried to look
forceful, but the expression did not fit his weak, complacent
features. He was a plump man with red cheeks rounded by habitual
good humor; his chin was short, and beneath it were other chins,
distended and sagging as if from the weight of chuckles within.
When he had succeeded in fixing a look of determination upon his
countenance the result was an artificial scowl and a palpably
false pout. Wearing such a front, he continued: "When I say 'no' I
mean it, and the subject is closed. I like Vale, I know everybody
here, and everybody knows me."

"That's why it's time to move," said Jim, with another unpleasant
curl of his lip. "As long as they didn't know you you got past.
But you'll never hold another office."

"Indeed! My record's open to inspection. I made the best sheriff
in--"