Some readers will accuse us of injecting
politics into the magazine with this story; we
submit the idea transcends party preferences!
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy
February 1956
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
It was quite late when the Press Secretary asked for an audience.
He was one of the very few who made direct contact—a trusted friend ofthe President as well as an able buffer between the chief executive andthe fourth estate.
The President said, "Why certainly—if it's that important. Come rightup."
As the line went dead, the President put down the phone and picked upthe western story anthology he had been reading. He thumbed the pagespensively, then laid that down too and sat back in his chair. He closedhis eyes.
So darn seldom he got a chance to read anymore; or to do anything elsefor that matter except play a little golf once in a while and spend therest of the time trying to stem the world's mad dash to destruction.
He smiled gently, his tired eyes still closed. He estimated it wouldtake the Press Secretary a good ten minutes to get to the White House.Good. The President had come to a point where he savored every preciousmoment of solitude.
He let his mind drift—first to the state of the world. It wasn't sobad, really. Not in comparison. After all, a cold war was better thana hot one. And even the cold war was softening up a little. Enoughto—the President's smile deepened.
Enough to quit.
That was his big secret. He hadn't told them yet. In deference topolitical strategy, responsibility to the party, and that sort ofthing, he'd held his peace. But his decision had been made. He wouldnot run again. A man, he told himself, is entitled to a few blessedyears as his own master; a time when he ceases to be a slave of duty.Why just think! To grab the clubs and shoot eighteen without havingto make "arrangements"! To go out and catch a couple of fish withoutthe Secret Service plotting the course, calling the tune, following,grim-faced in his wake.
The President's smile deepened. It was all so darned crazy! You go outto get a little relaxation—to catch a fish. But before you arrive thestream has to be stocked so thick you can almost walk on the beautiesbecause if the President failed to catch a trout in one of theirmountain streams, the state involved gets a black eye and might lose afew thousand tourists that year. He wondered idly if they gave the fisha pep talk when they tossed them in.
But that sort of thing would be finished, soon. He was going to quit.He was going to tell them—
"Mr. President."
He jerked erect, blinked, and gave the Press Secretary his famoussmile—half-apologetic now. "Sorry. I was napping I guess. Didn't hearyou. Sit down—sit down."
The Press Secretary did as instructed and the President was struckby the tight, stricken look on his gray face. "Good Lord, Jim! Whathappened? You look as though somebody just dropped a bomb on New YorkCity." He could afford to speak lightly because he knew any news ofgrave import would not come through the Press Secretary.
The latter appeared to have difficulty with his reply. With thePresident's eye upon him—sharp but friendly—he floundered for amoment, then said, "I might as well give it to you straight, Mr.President. Then we can go on from there."
"An excellent idea."
"All right—here goes. A man contacted me and requests that you come tothe top of Mount Ranier for a conference."
The President couldn't find any words