Chapter 1
“The latest wacky rumor in this wacky city (reported one of the Washington Evening Star’s many lady columnists in Monday’s paper) is that Patsy Jason Labaiya, sister of Presidential Likely Gov. Ted Jason of California and wife of Panamanian Ambassador Felix Labaiya, will run for the U. S. Senate. Of course at the moment Patsy’s a legal resident of the Canal Zone, but her friends (‘There’s a euphemism,’ the columnist thought with a grim little smile, x-ed out ‘her friends’ and wrote in ‘those close to the Jason camp’) advise her that this doesn’t make any difference.
“They say she should follow the Golden Rule of other F.F.P.’s (First Families of Politics) in their search for power in this power-hungry town:
“Go where it is and grab it.
“Patsy may yet wind up running from New York, which would give her and Big Brother Ted the sort of continent-spanning alliance so ravenously sought by others in an earlier era.”
Well, is that a fact now, Patsy thought spitefully when she read the paper in the privacy of her Dumbarton Oaks study, where the teletypes rattled on with their afternoon budget of news about humanity’s most recent day on the road to wherever humanity was going. Is that a fact.
Recalling how the columnist had cooed at her only yesterday at the opening of the International Students Fund drive at the Shoreham, Patsy was tempted to call her right then and there and tell her what a two-faced tramp she was. This impulse, so often characteristic of the mood with which Washington’s higher-placed denizens regard one another in the uneasy relationships imposed upon them by the haphazard imperatives of politics, gave way, also characteristically, to less violent thoughts. The matter of who uses whom for what is always of paramount importance in the lovely capital, and personal antagonisms are quick to yield to more pragmatic considerations.
Patsy calmed down.
For Patsy had plans—in the cause of her brother, Patsy always had plans—and in them the lady columnist of the Star, along with many another powerful personage in the beautiful city now muffled in the last heavy snowfall of winter, was destined to play a prominent part.
In fact, she might as well start playing it right now.
“Darling,” Patsy said into the telephone a moment later, I’m so glad I could reach you. You are always so BUSY. Such an example to us idle ones!”
“Yes, Patsy dear,” the columnist said. “Did you see my item today? Is there anything in it?”
“But, darling,” Patsy protested. “You mean you printed it without KNOWING? I didn’t know you girls worked like that!”
“Us girls,” the columnist told her with a sardonic chuckle, “move in mysterious ways our wonders to perform. It is true, isn’t it?”
“I don’t know who told you—” Patsy began with a well-managed show of indignation, and then dropped it for a more confiding tone. “Oh, well, dear, you always know EVERYTHING. I do marvel at how you do it.”
“It is true, then,” the columnist persisted. Patsy laughed.
“I didn’t say so,” she pointed out. “You write what you please, but just remember I didn’t say so. Darling,” she went on, becoming more intimate, “I wanted you to be the first to know—and this IS true—about the exciting thing I’m going to do.”
“What’s that, have a baby? Better late than never, I always—”
“Now, stop,” Patsy said, not so cordially. “Really,” she added gaily, taking the opportunity thus afforded, “You can be so bitchy, darling. So REALLY bitchy. No, it’s what I’m going to do for Walter Dobius.”
“‘Walter Wonderful’?” the columnist asked, a note of genuine interest mingled with the sarcasm with which political Washington always used this famous nickname. “What are you going to do for that little— for that statesman-philosopher of the press before whom we all fall down and worship?”
“I know you don’t, darling,” Patsy said smoothly, “but he really is a statesman. He really is. Everybody reads Walter. His column is in hundreds of papers—436, to be exact, he’s just picked up the Walla Walla Union Bulletin—”
“You have been checking on him, haven’t you? O.K., I’ll grant it, everybody reads Walter. And you want him to come out for Ted, because this will influence nine-tenths of this sheeplike profession who always follow baa-ing at his heels. And so you’re going to do something for him.” She snorted. “Something quiet and modest that nobody will know about, I’ll bet, typical of the way the Jasons operate. The thing I love about your family, Patsy, is that you’re so unobtrusive. It’s so hard for the country to find out what you’re doing.”
“There you GO again,” Patsy said with a merry peal of laughter. “Naturally I don’t want to keep it quiet, darling, or I wouldn’t be talking to you, would I? I can’t think of any other earthly reason for talking to you. Can you?”
“Mmmm,” the columnist said thoughtfully. “Maybe I just shouldn’t mention the Jasons at all for a while. How would that be?”
“Don’t be silly, darling, we can’t be ignored, we’re too big, you know that perfectly well. Anyway, this is an exclusive you’re getting, you know.”
“Well, what is it?” the columnist demanded. “I have to be at ‘Vagaries’ for Dolly Munson’s party at three, and it’s going to take an hour to get there in this snow. I can’t sit here yakking forever.”
“Oh?” Patsy said sharply. “What’s Dolly up to? She didn’t invite me.”
“I should hope not,” the columnist agreed with a happy laugh. “Not to a tea for Beth Knox.”
“What we do for Walter Dobius will be ten times more important than that,” Patsy promised with a certain grimness in her tone. “Particularly with the award, and all.”
“What award?” the columnist asked, and then added thoughtfully, “That’s right, Friday is his twenty-fifth anniversary as a national columnist, isn’t it? That would make a good occasion.”
“And with the people I’m going to invite,” Patsy said with a calculated increase in excitement, “and the speeches that will be made—”
“And the publicity of it all, the sweet publicity,” the columnist said. “To say nothing of the assist for Ted. O.K., sweetie, how would this be—” and Patsy could hear her typewriter tapping as she mused along—
“‘What promises to be the biggest event of this or any other social season is shaping up for this coming weekend when the Jasons (Gov. Ted and Ambassadress Patsy, that is, America’s coming political team) throw an all-out wing-ding to honor the writing anniversary of America’s most distinguished political commentator, Walter Dobius.
“‘“Walter Wonderful,” as he was originally dubbed by Lyndon Johnson—it’s the nickname by which he is still fondly and respectfully known to political Washington—completes his 25th year of syndicated columning this Friday. That’s the night the Jasons have chosen to confer on him the Jason Foundation’s coveted biennial Good and Faithful Servant Award. ‘GAFSA’ was won two years ago by Robert A. Leffingwell, now director of the President’s commission on government streamlining.
“‘Washington is scrambling for invitations to this affair, which promises to bring together everyone from the President’—shall I say the President, Patsy?”
“You can say the President,” Patsy promised, adding to herself, He’d better come, the old fathead.
“‘—from the President to the copy boy who picks up Mr. Dobius’ column at his charming Leesburg estate and rushes it to the syndicate office in Washington to be sent out to his 436 newspapers across the country.’” The columnist paused. “How’s that copy boy touch, Patsy? Don’t say I never did anything for the Jasons. If you’re lucky he may even be colored. That would wrap it up.”
“That will do very well, thank you, darling,” Patsy said with dignity. “As a matter of fact, I had already thought of the copy boy myself. And he is colored. So there.”
“That does it. Can I spread the word at Dolly’s?”
“I’d rather you didn’t.”
“Can’t I tell them they’re all invited?” the columnist persisted with her wicked little laugh.
“I’ll let them know,” Patsy said coolly.
“Beth and Orrin Knox too?”
“I’m not ready to say anything yet about the guest list. And I don’t want a lot of speculation, either. I’ll give you plenty to write about in the next couple of days if you’ll just be patient. After all, it’s exclusive.”
“Unnhunnh,” the columnist said. “Exclusive until the next phone call you make. All right, we’ll do it your way as long as it is exclusive. The minute I see something in the Post that I haven’t got first, we’ll start doing it my way. I still think a hint of friction with Beth and Orrin would intrigue—”
“Darling, when did anyone have to HINT at friction between us and the Knoxes? It’s built in as long as he persists in thinking he has a right to be President.”
“Yes, I know; only Ted Jason has a right to think that. Incidentally, how come you don’t run for the Senate in California instead of New York? You aren’t afraid of Cullee Hamilton, are you?”
“Because New York is—” Patsy stopped abruptly and chuckled. “Oh, no, you don’t. None of this entrapment, now. Who said I was running from anywhere? Anyway,” she added, more tartly, “who says I’m afraid of Cullee Hamilton? He isn’t such a shoo-in, even if he runs. And who says he is? He hasn’t announced yet, has he?”
“Nope,” the columnist agreed comfortably. “But he will.”
“Well,” Patsy said, still tartly, “I repeat: who said I was running from anywhere?”
“I agree I think it’s a fool idea,” the columnist told her with a deliberately infuriating indifference. “But I suppose you think if Jason money could buy California for Ted it can buy New York for you. Who knows?” She yawned elaborately into the telephone. “You may be right. Lordy, I’ve got to run to get to ‘Vagaries’ by three. Call again soon when you’ve got another hot one, O.K.?”
“I certainly will,” Patsy said, deciding not to rise to the bait and argue. “Give my love to Dolly. Tell her I hope she isn’t planning a party for Orrin Knox the same night. That would be a coincidence.”
“That would be a disaster,” the columnist said. “I think I can assure you right now that nobody will give a party that same night. I’m sure the Knoxes, the Munsons, the President, the copy boy, and the whole wide wonderful world will be there to honor wise little wonderful Walter.” She gave a sardonic snort. “After all, why shouldn’t we? Hasn’t he saved the nation for twenty-five long years? It’s the least we can do to show our gratitude.”
Of all the unpleasant people, Patsy thought as she hung up on the ribald, knowing voice, that one took the cake. Honestly, that woman. First, floating that ridiculous rumor about the Senate when she, Patsy, hadn’t really even made up her mind, and then implying that she was afraid to run in her native California just because Cullee Hamilton, its most famous Negro Congressman, might try for the Senate this year. Jasons didn’t scare that easily. Jasons, in fact, didn’t scare at all. A couple of hundred millions and four generations of command running back to the Spanish occupation of California saw to that. Jasons went after what they wanted without any qualms. And got it.
And they will this year, too, she promised the columnist. You wait and see!
As for what the columnist—whose name was Helen-Anne Carrew, and who had herself seen them come and go in Washington’s restless tides almost as long as Walter Wonderful—thought about that distinguished gentleman. Patsy had to confess that, while disliking the tone, she could not entirely disagree with the diagnosis. There was something quite precious about Walter Dobius, as though he were handing down tablets from a golden sarcophagus in the Smithsonian. But there was also something quite powerful about him. More powerful, in fact, than about any other single commentator on the American scene.
Regularly his solemnly portentous, more than a little pompous countenance stared out upon his countrymen from the head of his column, as if to say, “Who are you, and what makes you think you know what’s going on? Much better you should listen to me, peasants. I really know What It’s All About.”
And such is the obliging nature of peasants that they had long ago accepted this implied self-anointment—which was much more than implied in the title of his column (“The Way It Is”) and the general tone of his writings—and concluded agreeably that indeed he did know, and that of all those writing out of Washington, the Bakers, the Drummonds, the Krocks, the Lippmanns, the Pearsons, the Restons, and the rest, Walter Wonderful was indeed the greatest of them all.
“Did you read Walter Dobius today?” someone would chortle in Canarsie, someone would rage in Dubuque. “I do think Walter Dobius is so astute” they would tell one another in Kennebunkport, nodding sagely in L.A.
As broad as the oceans, as high as the sky, ran the writ of Walter Dobius to tell humanity what it should do. With a heavy and often slashing turn of phrase (broken at conscientious intervals by determinedly jocular attempts at humor) and a diligent attention to his news sources, that is exactly what he did.
Even more fundamental than his hold upon his countrymen, of course—and the thing that really made him so interesting to Jasons and Kennedys, Knoxes, and Rockefellers, and everyone else who had aspirations to power in the powerful city—was his influence with the government and his hold upon the press. The press did not quite, in Helen-Anne’s acrid phrase, go “baa-ing at his heels”—it wasn’t as obvious as that—nor did certain influential people in the State Department and elsewhere—at least openly—ask him what they should do.
Yet there had been more than one secret meeting at “Salubria” in Leesburg in time of crisis, more than one Chief Executive and Secretary of State who had arrived by furtive helicopter in the lush Virginia countryside to stay a while, receive the Word, and then be whisked away again to the city of their torment and their power. And in news offices throughout the land his columns, a little turgid but filled with the calm certainty that he was absolutely right—for did not things very often move as he said they would, and was not his advice very often followed in the councils of the mighty?—laid down a line that was frequently echoed by editors not quite sure of themselves, local columnists casting about for a subject to fill up today’s six hundred words, national commentators needing inspiration with which to face the evening cameras, book and drama critics anxious to maintain their standing at Manhattan cocktail parties, reporters who found themselves awed and impressed by his fabulous reputation and so inclined, often quite unconsciously, to see the news and transmit it with a selection and emphasis that subtly but powerfully reflected his ideas.
Thus Walter Wonderful was a prize indeed, and Patsy intended to see to it that the prize went to her brother in his growing campaign against Secretary of State Orrin Knox for the Presidential nomination that would presumably be left open when President Harley Hudson made good on his promise to step down at the end of the present term.
As Walter jumped, so would many of the news media, much of the academic world, most of that complex of power and superior certainty that had its habitat in plush offices in New York and Washington and other major centers throughout the land. All of these people swore by Walter Dobius, all of them obediently thought as his columns told them they should. There was a network of attitude, non-conspiratorial but quite binding, which controlled the thinking and the reactions of this particular powerful group of interests in America. Walter Dobius nine times out of ten was the man who, in the last analysis, created that attitude if it did not exist, or strengthened it if it existed but showed signs of wavering.
This Patsy knew, and Ted, and Orrin Knox and Harley Hudson and a number of other astute and powerful people, some not so basically friendly to the country as these. Sophisticates in politics, instinctive or self-made students of their well-meaning but sometimes rather erratic countrymen, they were all aware that if you praised the right people, backed the right causes, parroted the right phrases, indulged in the right type of automatic thinking, you could be absolutely sure of flattering news stories, favorable editorials, cordial television broadcasts, helpful reviews, friendly and encouraging references in any one of the thousand and one channels through which a public issue or personality is presented to the American people, and through them to the world.
Thus if Walter Dobius endorsed the shrewd gray-haired gentleman known as Governor Edward Jason of California, his friends, colleagues, and true believers by the millions would also endorse Ted. And if by some remote chance he decided to endorse the shrewd gray-haired gentleman known as Secretary of State Orrin Knox, the friends, colleagues, and true believers, though gulping and groaning and protesting a bit, would finally, obediently, fall into line behind Orrin.
So it was that Patsy, having launched her well-laid plans in what only appeared to be an impulsive moment, again picked up the receiver, drew toward her over her enormous redwood desk a carefully prepared list of names, and began telephoning around the country. At almost the same moment, three miles across town in Southeast Washington, Helen-Anne Carrew yanked the item about the award banquet out of her typewriter and sent it along to be set in type for tomorrow’s paper, knowing as she did so that she was helping to start in motion what was, for all practical purposes, the opening gambit in Ted Jason’s formal campaign for the Presidency.
The ways of the Jasons, the columnist told herself as she gave her mouth a hasty smear of lipstick, grabbed her purse and mink coat and hurried out of the Star’s busy newsroom, were among the damnedest curiosities in American politics. But, knowing full well the weight of Walter Wonderful, she was ready to bet a sizable amount that they would, in this instance, be more than a little effective.
And now, the Secretary of State thought with an annoyed grimace an hour later, he supposed he would have to go ahead and announce right away instead of waiting, as he had planned, for some definite sign from the President.
“Damn that woman, anyway,” he remarked rather absently into the telephone. At the other end of the line, in Dolly Munson’s green and gold dressing room at snow-hugged “Vagaries” standing white and secret and warm amid the softly falling drifts in Rock Creek Park, his wife chuckled.
“Watch your language. This line may be tapped.”
“It probably is,” Orrin Knox said. “By Patsy. What do you think I should do?” he asked with a mock solemnity. “Give Helen-Anne a statement withdrawing from the race?”
“Helen-Anne has enough to write about for one afternoon,” Beth Knox said. “I think you’d better talk to him.”
Her husband made a skeptical sound.
“Ted? You don’t think I can get him to withdraw, do you?”
“Not Ted.”
“Walter?” The Secretary snorted. “I lost Walter the night I refused to take his advice on Terrible Terry. I was the first Secretary of State in fifteen years who had the guts to say No to Walter Dobius. You’ve observed the tone of his columns toward me ever since.”
“Very pontifical, I’ve thought. Suitably dignified and profound, as always.”
“And full of little knives,” the Secretary said. An acid note came into his voice as he quoted:
“‘I think we can begin to see the basic fallacies underlying the policies of Secretary of State Orrin Knox as he attempts to apply to foreign affairs the same techniques he used in the Senate as senior Senator from Illinois. It is apparent now, it seems to me, that methods effective in that distinguished body do not always have the application elsewhere that former Senators sometimes assume. It is time, in my judgment, for the Secretary to reconsider his course. Too much is at stake for him to do otherwise, I believe.’”
Beth laughed.
“You have the tone, all right, but aren’t you a little harsh with the personal pronouns? I don’t think he uses ‘I’ and ‘my’ more than once in each paragraph, does he?”
“I once counted five in two hundred words. Anyway, what difference does it make how many he uses? They all add up to nix on Knox.”
“I repeat, watch your language,” Beth said with an alarm that wasn’t entirely in jest. “You’ll let fly with some bright line like that someday and the Jasons will pick it up and run with it. Don’t give them any more ammunition than they’ve got already.”
“Oh, is it called ammunition?” her husband inquired. “I thought it was called money. What does Dolly think of this?”
“Dolly is being the perfect hostess and wife of the Senate Majority Leader. She is being as bland as I am under the vigilant eye of Miss Helen-Anne. And that, my boy, is mighty bland, I can tell you. I have conveyed nothing but polite interest in Patsy’s plans.”
“Which of course doesn’t fool Helen-Anne for a second.”
“Not one second. I don’t really think Dolly likes what Patsy’s up to. I don’t think Bob will, either. It’s so obvious.”
“Crude, I’d say,” the Secretary agreed. “Unless,” he gave a sudden chuckle, “we’d thought of it first, in which case it would have been shrewd and quite all right. So you think I should talk to Walter, do you? What makes you think any talk from me can change that closed mind?”
“I’m sure he thinks exactly the same of you. It could be you’re both suffering from misconceptions a good talk could remove.”
“You don’t believe that,” Orrin said. His tone became amused. “Walter’s misconcepts about me I’ll grant you, but surely not mine about him! But, you’re no doubt right, as always. I should talk to him. I should go on bended knee as so many of my predecessors have before me, and say to him, Walter, I should say, tell poor old stupid ignorant Orrin how to run the world, Walter. Walter, tell poor old Orrin how to do it, Walter—”
“Not in that mood, you shouldn’t. If you can’t do better than that, you might as well write him off and forget it.”
“He’s gone anyway,” the Secretary said, “and with him most of the press. Why shouldn’t I write them off?”
“Now,” his wife said. “Relax, Mr. Secretary. Relax, Senator. This time, I think maybe we can agree, the stakes are rather high, right? Don’t you think you can afford a little patience, even if they haven’t been very nice to you? You really are the logical candidate this time, in spite of Ted’s ambitions—”
“And fortune.”
“Fortunes have been beaten before.”
“Not lately.”
“Well, it can be done. And if I were you—of course I’m not, and as usual, you’ll do exactly as you please—”
“Yeah,” her husband agreed in an amused tone. “Oh, yeah. Hank,” he said, using the nickname he resorted to in moments of deepest candor, “when haven’t I followed your advice?”
She laughed. “I haven’t got time to give you a list—the girls downstairs will get suspicious if I powder my nose much longer. Just take my word for it, I think you’d be well-advised to talk to Walter Dobius. After all, you know, he may quite conceivably have to accept you as President if the country does. It will be hard on Walter if the country goes against his advice, but who knows? He’s not dumb, and if he decides you’re going to be elected in spite of him, he may decide to get on the bandwagon. Or rather, as I expect he would rationalize it in his own mind, come to your assistance and help persuade you to do the right thing.”
“Save me from myself,” Orrin suggested.
“And save us from you, too. Walter has a terrific messianic complex at heart, you know. He just wants the salvation to be on his terms.”
“Who doesn’t?” the Secretary said. “As a matter of fact, I don’t think Walter’s going to have to worry. Harley Hudson will save all of us from me.”
At this reference to the kindly, somewhat bumbling but unexpectedly forceful and highly popular occupant of the White House, Beth Knox made a small, impatient sound. Not too impatient, for like most people she too was fond of the President, but enough to express the characteristic annoyance of would-be candidates faced with an equivocal incumbent.
“Yes. I could rather wish he would make up his mind.”
“I’m sure he’s made up his mind,” Orrin said. “He just isn’t telling anybody.”
“But here it is almost April,” his wife protested. “He’s paralyzed all of you, so far this year. He’s kept a lid on you and Ted both. Nobody’s been able to do any real campaigning or run in any primaries—”
“Frankly,” Orrin Knox said, “I am deeply grateful to the President of the United States for keeping me out of the ruts and drifts of New Hampshire. If he wanted to let his name go in there, and Wisconsin too, well and good.”
“He didn’t say he wanted to,” Beth pointed out. “The state chairman did it without his approval. Or so it was alleged, in well-informed circles.”
“Yes,” the Secretary said wryly. “I’ve thought before this that Harley has turned into a damned sight cleverer politician than any of us ever gave him credit for when he was Vice President. Actually, he’s made it quite painless for everybody, up to now. I’m happy to avoid as many primaries as possible, and campaigning too, as long as he makes his intentions clear before the convention.…Except that Walter is going to kick off Ted’s campaign Friday night and then I’ll have to follow suit whether I want to or not, or whether Harley wants me to or not. Damn that woman, as I said before.”
“Maybe it’s best for everyone that Jasons rush in where more decorous souls fear to tread,” Beth remarked. “Maybe we should be grateful to Patsy. This idea of hers may be just the catalyst everybody needs. It might even smoke out Harley. Why don’t you talk to him, too?”
“I’ve talked to Harley so many times I’m blue in the face. He’s become a master of the sidestep, combined with the fatherly soothe-down. I’d swear at times he’s my grandfather.”
“Maybe Patsy will do it,” Beth said. “Lucille Hudson’s here and of course she’ll go right back and tell Harley. Why don’t you give her an hour or two and then drop in? I don’t believe there’s anything official going on over there tonight.”
“I’m very skeptical it’ll do any good,” Orrin said, “Though it might. Give my love to all the girls—I suppose they’re all there?”
“Oh, yes, Kitty Maudulayne and Celestine Barre and many others from the diplomatic crowd; a lot of Hill wives and a good many from downtown. Dolly’s done it up right for me. This means Patsy will have the whole town buzzing by tonight, which of course is just what she wanted to do when she talked to Helen-Anne.”
“Patsy’ll have the whole world buzzing by tonight,” the Secretary said ruefully, “which is what she wanted to do when she talked to Helen-Anne.”
“Walter, dear,” Patsy said with a careful urgency, for she knew as well as anyone how delicate you had to be with Walter, his ego was so monumental and his dignity so insecure, and altogether he was such a pompous little a—but, no, she mustn’t let herself entertain irreverent thoughts like that. Most people thought he was God.
“Walter, dear,” she said, deciding to try a rush of girlish enthusiasm, “most people think you’re GOD. That’s why you’ve simply got to do it.”
Forty miles away in Leesburg, in the study she had seen on a couple of occasions, book-lined, leather-filled, glowing snug and cozy in the dark snowy afternoon, she could hear the self-satisfied amusement: a little surprised, as people often were at Patsy, but not arguing with her thesis.
“And some think I’m the devil,” Walter Dobius said in his deliberate voice. “You have an intriguing beginning, though. What comes next? What is it that I have to do?”
“You have to let us—you have to be willing to allow us—you have to be prepared to break some of your strongest rules to permit us—”
“Patsy,” Walter Dobius said, “you’re too much. Stop this phony suspense and tell me what I’ve got to do. You know very well there’s nothing you can’t command from me. Now, out with it.”
“Well, of course we know you have all the honors in the world and couldn’t possibly want another, but—”
“If you’re going to give me GAFSA,” Walter said, “I accept. I couldn’t be more honored. When will it be?”
“Walter, you naughty boy! I’ll bet Helen-Anne has been talking to you.”
“Not lately,” Walter said, a trifle grimly. “No, I just guessed. I think you’ve made a good choice,” he added, quite without egotism, a statement of simple fact. “After Bob Leffingwell’s fiasco, the award needs to be made respectable again.”
“I think we’ll have Bob say a few words before you speak,” Patsy said coolly. “I’m not ashamed of Bob Leffingwell. Nor are you, to judge from some of your columns.”
“Oh, no,” Walter Dobius said calmly. “I still consider him our best public servant. Considerably better,” he remarked acidly, “than the gentleman who became Secretary of State in his place.”
“That’s exactly why we felt the Foundation should give you the award,” Patsy said eagerly. “To show the world that we still believe in the Right Position on things. Which you, dearest Walter, always state so effectively. Goodness!” she said with another burst of enthusiasm. “I really don’t know where the country would be without you, Walter!”
“You don’t mean that,” Walter said complacently, “but I won’t argue.”
And you do mean that, Patsy thought, so I won’t argue either. Twerp.
“Walter,” she said earnestly, “this is going to be Friday night—”
“My anniversary.”
“Yes. And Ted and I hope that you will deliver a major address. A Major Address,” she repeated, giving it the capitals. “It is a sounding board, you know, even though you do have your own in the column all the time.”
“Sometimes a different forum lends one’s thoughts an extra weight,” Walter agreed gravely. “I appreciate the opportunity. Why do you think I’m going to cancel out on the Ambassador of Thailand’s dinner Friday night? It takes a lot to make one pass up the Ambassador of Thailand!”
“Walter, you’re wicked,” Patsy told him with an admiring laugh. “Poor little Boomabakrit and Madame will have to write REAMS to Bangkok explaining why you didn’t show up. But I do think you should make a major address. Everybody will be expecting it.”
“All my addresses are major,” Walter Dobius said, again without the slightest trace of either egotism or humor. “This one, though …” His voice trailed away and it was all Patsy could do to keep from saying, “Yes?” But he came back strong and she couldn’t have been more pleased. “This one,” he said with a sudden firmness, “should put things in perspective about the election this year, once and for all.”
“No one can do it better than you can, Walter,” she said fervently. “In fact, everyone has been waiting for you to speak. People think they know where you’re going to stand, Walter, but they don’t really know. Millions and millions of people really and truly are waiting for you, Walter. Millions and millions can’t make up their minds until you explain it to them. You know you must, Walter, and this is the perfect occasion. It needs more than a column. It needs a speech.”
“I agree, it should be a speech. Supplemented by columns later, of course, all through the campaign.”
“Oh, of course. I always say you’re one of the most active campaigners in the country every four years, even though you can’t enter in directly and always have to be objective and fair.”
“I try to be,” Walter said placidly. “It isn’t always so easy, but I try to be.”
“You are,” she assured him. “You are.” A little silence fell, for this was the most difficult part of her call and she knew it must be approached carefully. Among the many other things upon which Walter prided himself was a spirit of fierce independence, going back, he always said, to his “ancestors on the bogs and moors.” They had given him, he always said, a desire to “go my own way, all men’s servant and no man’s slave.” He had actually said this, in a speech to the graduates of the Columbia School of Journalism. It had received a tremendous hand, so it must be true. Obviously it was what his worshipers wanted to hear, at any rate. Patsy began cautiously.
“Of course, Walter, dear,” she said with an offhand amusement, “some people might think it a foregone conclusion who you’ll back this year. Wouldn’t they be surprised if they were mistaken!”
“Wouldn’t they be,” Walter said. Again a silence fell. Patsy decided abruptly to plunge right ahead.
“Walter, we would really look awfully silly if you spoke at our dinner and endorsed Orrin, now, wouldn’t we?”
“You would, indeed,” he agreed blandly. “D’you think it’s a possibility?”
“Walter, you’re TEASING!” she exclaimed, aware that he never did, save in a heavy-handed, awkward, not-quite-funny and indeed rather pathetic way. Though she was sure that if anyone ever told Walter Dobius he was pathetic he would have been utterly enraged—and quite shattered, though the world would never know it. He chuckled and went on.
“Just having my little joke. You know perfectly well who I’m going to endorse, don’t you? I should think it would have been obvious long ago.”
“If you do, it will be such an ENORMOUS help to Ted. We will always be so GRATEFUL.”
“Did I say Ted?” he inquired, so calmly that a real spasm of dismay gripped Patsy’s heart for a second.
“There you go,” she said, “there you go. Oh, Walter, you must stop, now. You’ll give me a nervous breakdown if you act coy about it. I couldn’t STAND it!”
“You must remember, my dear,” he said, and she could tell he was quite serious now, for the clipped, pompous heaviness his friends and colleagues knew so well was in his voice, “that I do have some obligation to be objective and fair. These aren’t just words that one takes lightly or evades, you know. In an honorable profession, these are the stoutest guideposts. For twenty-five years I have tried to abide by them and I shall do so now.” He paused, and repeated firmly, “I shall do so now.”
“But, then—” she protested.
“I must weigh the facts and reach my judgment quite independently, Patsy. Quite independently. It’s the only way I can justify the faith the country has in me. It’s the only way I can continue to hold it. Surely you know that.”
“You don’t have to justify it,” Patsy said flatly, “and you don’t need to worry about holding it. You know that. You only have to worry about doing what is best for this nation in this election. On that basis, I do believe there can be only one answer, Walter. Isn’t that right?”
“Why doesn’t Ted come to see me?” he asked idly. “I’d like to talk to him.”
“Certainly, if that will help you decide on the obvious.”
“It isn’t that I don’t like Ted. I do like him. It may be that I like him very much. But there are factors more important than personal liking to be weighed here. I have a responsibility to judge carefully and choose carefully because, as you say, millions of people are depending upon me to help them make up their minds. I can’t take that lightly, Patsy. Some might, but I can’t.”
“I know you don’t, and that’s why it seems to me there’s only one answer.”
“Have him come talk to me,” Walter Dobius said again, and Patsy was tempted to snap, “Of course he’ll be glad to wait on you, he’s only the Governor of California.” But she didn’t say it, because she knew that Ted would wait on him, though he would record the humbling little requirement somewhere in his mind and eventually get around to evening things, as he always did.
“The dinner will be at the Statler at eight,” she said. “White tie this time, I think.”
“You are doing it up grandly. And Ted?”
“He’ll be coming into town around 3 P.M.,” she said, suppressing her annoyance. “Suppose we drive out and see you then. If the snows are gone.”
“Can’t he see me sooner? I have to go up to the UN on Tuesday to cover the Security Council debate on our threatened intervention in Terrible Terry’s Gorotoland. Things are getting very sticky over there, as you know. And then I have to speak to the American Medical Association in Cleveland on Wednesday. Which doesn’t leave me much time to get ready for your do on Friday.”
“What time will you be back on Thursday?”
“Ten A.M., weather permitting.”
“Very well,” she said in a level tone. “I think we can be there at noon.”
“Do have lunch with me,” he suggested dryly. Patsy laughed.
“Make it a good one, Walter dearest!”
“I’ll tell Arbella to give it the works. By the way,” he said in a needling tone, “have you any message you want me to give your distinguished husband when I get to the UN? Or aren’t you exchanging messages these days?”
“Felix has had to go back to Panama,” Patsy said, and could have bitten her tongue for letting herself be tricked into revealing something her husband had told her must be kept secret for the time being. Of course Walter pounced on it at once.
“Oh?” he said, a lively interest in his voice. “What’s going on down there?”
“Now, Walter,” she said hastily, “don’t start jumping to conclusions.”
“What’s he going to do, overthrow the government? I’ve been hearing some very interesting rumors from down there lately. How about it, now, Patsy?”
“No, really, Walter,” she said earnestly, “there’s nothing. Really nothing. Just something in connection with ‘Suerte’ I think—the Labaiya family estate, you know. Just a business matter.”
“Patsy,” Walter Dobius said, “I don’t think you’re leveling with me. But maybe you will on Thursday. If I accept your award on Friday. Don’t you think?”
“Possibly,” Patsy said coolly. “Well talk it over, Walter, and see.”
“And meantime,” he said, relenting, “I’ll be giving very careful thought to what I’m going to say on Friday, because this one really will be a major address. Patsy. The award deserves it, the occasion deserves it, and my hosts deserve it.”
“And the country. Don’t forget the country, Walter.”
“The country is my constant care, Patsy. I carry the country with me night and day.”
“Oh, Walter,” Patsy said, thinking. Oh, God. “You ARE wonderful.”
“One has a certain position,” Walter Dobius said. “One has an obligation to keep it up.”
***