by Allen Drury
“Walter’s hysterical. I’ve known him to write some strange things, but this one takes the cake. I think he’s gone mad.”
“Obviously he thinks the same about you. And, as I say, there are some who are going to agree with him. A great many, I suspect, before it’s over. Over there.”
“How could we have done anything else?” the Secretary demanded. “How could we—”
“I’m not arguing,” Senator Munson said, “I’m not arguing. I was there last night. I voted for it. I’m just philosophizing on the great gap that exists between what a situation actually is and the picture of it that people like Walter can create in the public mind if they have sufficient distribution. I sometimes think there ought to be a law.”
“There is. The First Amendment. They all go screaming behind it when you try to challenge their version of things.”
“Walter’s a special case, though. He doesn’t only fight through his column now. He’s become too big a wheel in the Washington world for small potatoes like that. He’s called me this morning. Guess what he wants.”
“A resolution opposing it,” the Secretary said.
“Exactly.”
“He is mad.”
“I reminded him that in twenty-five years of columning here he had never yet seen a Congress fail to support a President in an international crisis. He said this might be different. He sounded as though he really thought so, too. Very grim is Walter Wonderful on this bright sunny day. What’s this Dolly tells me about him going to receive the Jasons’ Good and Faithful Servant Award Friday night?”
“So I hear from Helen-Anne. Don’t worry, you’ll be invited. Quite inadvertently events seem to have played right into his hands as far as timing’s concerned. By Friday he should be really wound up and ready to let go with both barrels.”
“I suppose Patsy set the whole thing up so he could come out for Ted,” Senator Munson said.
“Apparently. Now he’ll be in even better shape to do so. Unless Ted supports the President.”
“How could he? Wouldn’t that be supporting you, too?”
“Oh, some people might be broad-minded enough. Or patriotic enough. Or honorable enough. Or some other old-fashioned concept like that. I doubt if Ted will curb his ambitions at this moment, though. If Walter really does represent a major segment of the population, it seems like a bandwagon tailor-made for Ted.”
“The neo-neo isolationists?” Bob Munson suggested. “How many contortions poor Walter and his friends have had to make in recent years!”
“I feel deeply for them,” Orrin Knox remarked. “It’s touching to watch Walter, in foreign affairs, stand on his head, rub his stomach, wiggle his ears, peddle a bicycle, and do push-ups, all at once and the same time.”
“Nominating Ted is going to hurt you, though. You know that.”
“Certainly. I don’t minimize it. However, that’s still assuming that Harley won’t run again. I don’t see how he can avoid it, now. Ted isn’t the only one who has things tailor-made.”
“Oh, I expect this will die down in a week or two, don’t you?” Bob Munson asked. “I doubt if it will take any longer than that to get things settled. You’ll still be in the running.”
“I’m not so sure,” Orrin said gloomily. “Who can say how long a crisis is going to last nowadays? We may be in there for years if things don’t fall just right. I don’t think Peking and Moscow are going to let stability be restored without a contest, do you? As usual, they’ve got too much stake in chaos.”
“It’s a devilish place for them to supply,” Senator Munson remarked.
“Us, too. But that isn’t going to stop anything. Nor do I see why it should. ‘Sending American boys to die many thousands of miles from home,’ Walter says. Well, isn’t that too bad. He sang a different tune with Hitler.”
“He always sings a different tune with people he doesn’t like.”
“Except when he’s afraid of them. Unless you assume that Walter Dobius and his crowd are Communists, which strikes me as ridiculous in spite of what some wild-eyed people say, then the only logical explanation of their erratic positions over the years is that they’re so afraid of war that they are willing to bow down to anyone who appears to threaten it.”
Bob Munson chuckled.
“I believe they would prefer the word ‘negotiate’ to the words ‘bow down.’ It amounts to the same thing, but ‘negotiate’ smells better. Maybe you’re right. It’s always baffled me, I must say. Well, you want a resolution, then. Have you talked to Bill?”
“The Speaker of the House isn’t in yet, so his office just informed me. Rather primly.”
“Must be a new girl. I’m ready to go, over here. I’ll have Tom August introduce the resolution as chairman of the Foreign Relations Committee, right after the opening this noon.”
“I’m sure the Speaker will go along, too,” Orrin said. “Thanks, old pal. When are we going to get together for something social?”
“The Jason Foundation dinner Friday night appears to be the first opportunity,” Senator Munson said solemnly. “I’m sure we’re all going to be there, aren’t you?”
“I don’t know,” Orrin said thoughtfully.
“Have you talked to Harley,” Senator Munson asked, “and has he seen Walter’s column?”
“Yes and yes. Our mild-mannered old friend is not so mild-mannered this morning.”
“I’d advise you both to keep calm and prepare for a savage lashing from the press. This is one of those many times in recent years when all of America’s finest minds are going to be telling the world that the worst thing in it is America. And those who got her into this.”
“It seemed the only thing consistent with honor.”
“Not honor as they see it.”
“Thank God I don’t wear their glasses,” the Secretary of State remarked. “Keep me advised on the resolution.”
“Same thing. Keep me advised on the candidacy.”
“I want to talk to you about that one of these days soon.”
“No point until Harley decides, is there?”
“He’s got to say something soon. The time for drift is ending, particularly with Gorotoland on the griddle. I imagine it won’t be long, particularly after Friday night.”
“You don’t think Walter will show his usual restrained and dignified statesmanship, then,” Bob Munson suggested.
“Usual restrained and dignified fiddlesticks. He’ll be raving.”
“The whole thing is such fun,” Senator Munson said gently. “Give my love to Beth.”
“Likewise Dolly. Keep in touch.”
The Speaker, when the Secretary reached him ten minutes later, was equally cooperative on the resolution, equally intrigued by the public hullaballoo.
“Should have thought of the resolution when we were all together at the White House last night. Don’t know why we didn’t, Orrin. Must have been too many other things on our minds. When you going to announce for President?”
“You think I should, when I’m a monstrous midwife to a third world war?”
The Speaker chuckled.
“Yes, I see where friend Walter got a little heated this morning. I expect he’ll carry a good many with him, too. Scare you?”
“No, it doesn’t scare me. The only thing I worry about is that it may scare some of the people who want to be for me.”
“You can’t include me there,” the Speaker said with the comfortable assurance that was his from years of unassailable power and control over his unruly branch of the Congress. “Told you a year ago at the time young Brigham Anderson died that I’d be for you, and I am. Folks like Walter been trying to scare me for forty years. They never have.”
“Thank you, Bill,” the Secretary said with a genuine gratitude. “You’re one big plus I have on my side, anyway. You don’t know how much it means.”
“First, though,” the Speaker said, “we’ve got to blast Harley loose. He may not want to blast, Orrin.”
“
I’m quite happy either way. Honestly I am. Bill. I think you know me well enough to know that.”
“I know, I know, but still. He ought to let us know.”
“How much damage is Walter going to do in this Gorotoland business?”
“Quite a lot, I think,” the Speaker said gravely. “He called me this morning early, you know. Wants the House to pass a resolution opposing it.”
“He’s an egomaniac.”
“He isn’t modest, that’s true enough. However, we’ll pass your resolution, all right, and plenty to spare. But it won’t stop some of ’em making a hellish row.”
“Will Jawbone Swarthman introduce it for us?”
“Now, there’s an example,” the Speaker said regretfully. “Much as I love Jawbone—and I do, you know, I’ve known him since he was a little tad coming up here when his grandfather was in the House from South Carolina—he can be as slippery and stubborn as one of those Carolina mules sometimes. I’m afraid this may be one of ’em.”
“It’s going to look a little odd if the chairman of the House Foreign Affairs Committee won’t back the Administration in a crisis like this.”
“Oh, I’m working on him,” the Speaker said. “Don’t worry about that. But he’s pretty riled up. Tends to agree with Walter Dobius, I’m afraid, that we shouldn’t send American boys thousands of miles from home. At least,”—the Speaker chuckled—“not to meddle in any colored folks’ family quarrel, as Jawbone puts it.”
“Jawbone isn’t a fool,” the Secretary said sharply. “He knows perfectly well this is another pitched battle with the Communists. Why didn’t he speak up last night at the White House if he had all these qualms? He voted for it then.”
“That’s what I mean when I say slippery,” the Speaker said. “Jawbone’s doing a lot of thinking about the folks back home these days. Now that Seab Cooley’s dead, God rest his soul, that South Carolina Senate seat’s up for grabs, and Jawbone has ambitions, you know. Plenty of ’em.”
Orrin made an impatient sound.
“What on earth does he want to go to the Senate for? He’s got fifty times more influence as chairman of House Foreign Affairs than he’ll ever have as a member of the Senate. What does he want it for?”
“He’s never really been comfortable with foreign affairs,” the Speaker said. “Jawbone would much rather have been chairman of Agriculture, worrying about all the cotton and taters on the old plantation back home. Plus the fact, Orrin”—the Speaker gave a wry little chortle—“plus the fact, much as I hate to admit it and you must never quote me, that for a lot of people, an awful lot of people, the title of United States Senator somehow means more than the title of United States Representative. They just like to have it.”
“And for that Jawbone is going to give up Foreign Affairs and betray his own Administration when it needs him? I’ll talk to Jawbone!”
“Now, Orrin, now, Orrin. Easy does it. You can talk to Jawbone, but you let me do some talking first. I think we can ease him around, but it may take a little time.”
“This resolution ought to go through at once if it’s going to do any good.”
“It may just not,” the Speaker said. “Better brace yourself, if you and the President are counting on it. It may just not. The folks who agree with Walter can’t stop it, but they can slow it down some. Particularly when it’s all involved with the presidential election. That makes everything extra touchy.”
“Are you going to the dinner for Walter Friday night?”
“Patsy called and invited me last night just as I was leaving for the White House. I told her I didn’t know whether I’d be in town, but if so, I might. Be interesting to hear what he has to say. Also be interesting,” he added dryly, “to hear what Ted’s going to say about this Gorotoland business. I expect he’s being asked.”
“I’m awaiting a blast any minute. Or he may just be clever enough to keep still. We’ll see.”
“I’ll bet he’s under plenty of pressure to speak out,” the Speaker said with a chuckle.
“I feel for him,” Orrin said, realizing he had said the same thing to Bob Munson about Walter, and realizing that it came from the same commingling of impatience and contempt for those who could not see their country’s best course as clearly as he could. Or, as he reminded himself with the saving grace that kept Orrin Knox from being insufferable, as clearly as he thought he could.
“Darling,” Patsy Labaiya was saying at that very moment from the house in Dumbarton Oaks, “you know we’re counting on you to introduce Walter Friday night. Why don’t you call Ted right now—collect, of course—and consult with him about it? Then you can also tell him that Walter and all his friends back here do hope that he’s going to issue a strong statement condemning this latest insanity by the President and Orrin Knox in Gorotoland. Could you do that, darling?”
Downtown in the marvelous gingerbread structure known as the Executive Offices Building, or, more historically and affectionately, as “Old State,” the director of the President’s Commission on Administrative Reform swung around in his chair and stared across West Executive Avenue at the White House. It was gleaming so brightly in the sun that Robert A. Leffingwell felt he could touch it if he reached out a hand. The snow was melting fast on the roof; as he looked, a large section slid off and doused a couple of photographers emerging from the press room. He could almost hear their shouted profanities as they jumped back. It lent an amusement to his voice that Patsy was quick to notice.
“Well, I’ll tell you,” he said. “I might or I might not, at this point. I don’t just know yet.”
“Don’t know?” Patsy demanded in some dismay. “Well, it isn’t any laughing matter, I can tell you that.”
“I’m not laughing at you,” Bob Leffingwell said. “I just saw a couple of friends of mine get socked by the snow over at the White House. It melted and fell down on them. Anyway, why ask me to talk to Ted? He’s your brother. You two are still speaking, aren’t you?”
“He knows what I think, we don’t have to communicate on a thing like this. It’s important that other people talk to him, though.”
“It might be important for him to stay out of it for a day or two,” Bob Leffingwell suggested. “He can’t be hurt by keeping his mouth shut, but he might be if he kept it open.”
“I don’t agree. I think it’s imperative that he say something right now while things are at their peak.”
“Do you think that this is their peak? I have a feeling we ain’t seen nothin’ yet.”
“Even more reason why he should speak out,” Patsy said firmly. “And you, too, I might add, especially if you’re going to be associated with him in the campaign. Have you read Walter’s column?”
“Yes, I read it.”
“Well, then,” she said triumphantly. “You agree with it, don’t you?”
There was a thoughtful pause and she repeated in some alarm, “You do agree, don’t you?”
“I told you, I just don’t know,” Bob Leffingwell said slowly. “I thought Walter was a little extreme. In fact, I thought he sounded hysterical. It didn’t really sound like Walter at all. He’s usually so calm and judicious.”
“This time he obviously feels very, very deeply. He obviously feels this is THE END.”
“Even so,” Bob Leffingwell said in an unimpressed voice, “I thought he went overboard. Quite amazingly so, for Walter. I wonder if he’s losing his touch?”
“He is not losing his touch,” Patsy said sharply. “He is just simply frightfully concerned about this insane act by the President and Orrin, that’s all. Aren’t you?” she demanded in a challenging tone. “Don’t tell me YOU’VE gone over to the enemy. That would be the day!”
“Of course I’m frightfully concerned,” Bob Leffingwell said with a show of annoyance rare for one normally so suave and self-possessed. “Don’t be a fool. Everyone’s frightfully concerned, and I’ll thank you not to impugn my intelligence or integrity.”
“I’m sorry, darling,�
�� Patsy said hastily. “I just got carried away. But, REALLY, now, you aren’t going to side with Orrin and the President on this, are you? It would be so DREADFUL to have you on the other side. I did so want you,” she added forlornly, “to introduce Walter Friday night. It would have made it so perfect for Ted.”
“I didn’t say I wouldn’t introduce Walter. I just said it’s a situation that requires some thought and some restraint. I don’t know if I want to associate myself with everything he says if he’s going to be as rabid as he was in that column this morning.”
“I still don’t think it was rabid,” Patsy said stubbornly, “but if you do, I suppose I can’t change you. But honestly, you don’t want to be with Orrin and the President, do you? It’s one of those issues that narrows down to just where does a man stand. You’ve got to make a choice, you know. You can’t just sit out the campaign.”
“Is Ted going to fight the campaign on this issue? That would be interesting.”
“He may be forced to. It may be one of those things a candidate can’t avoid, you know. Especially with the enemy taking the other position.”
“Who is this enemy you keep talking about?” Bob Leffingwell asked with some amusement. “If you mean nice old Harley and volatile old Orrin, that seems a slightly fierce way to talk about them.”
“I think that’s the kindest tone I’ve heard you use about Orrin since he—since a year ago,” Patsy said. “You really AREN’T going over to him, are you, darling?”
“I doubt it very much,” Bob Leffingwell said in a voice that was suddenly quite crisp as they both remembered the way in which Orrin, then senior Senator from Illinois, had blocked his nomination to be Secretary of State. “Even so,” he said, less arbitrarily, “I think it is easy—dangerously easy—to oversimplify a situation like the present one. I think it is a time to be reasonable and mature in our judgments of it.”
“Darling,” Patsy said in a wistful tone, “you don’t sound liberal at all, any more. You sound just like a REACTIONARY. Don’t you think Orrin and the President have oversimplified? Don’t you think they should have been reasonable and mature? Don’t you think what they’ve done is dangerous?”
