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  “You’re overstating, Brad,” Dr. Holt said, “You’re still an important man, you’re still involved in party affairs, you make speeches, there isn’t the week goes by you aren’t interviewed by the press at least once. Think about the trouble I’ve had getting you to cut down on your activities. You aren’t exactly vegetating out here, Brad.”

  “But I am. All of this stuff is makework, it doesn’t matter a damn. I want to be back in action. I don’t mean run for the Presidency again, though I’d have Grover Cleveland if I wanted a precedent there, but I do mean back in the arena. Back to my first elected position, Congressman from Pennsylvania. I was good at that job once before, there’s no reason I couldn’t be good at it again.”

  Doubtfully, Orr said, “Well, there’s no question but that you’d win, Brad, I think even old George would vote for you himself. But I’m not sure it’s proper.”

  Doctor Holt said, “I’m sure it isn’t. Brad, you haven’t lost your eloquence either, I do understand your feelings and I grant you what you’ve been doing the last few years isn’t as vital or as interesting as the Presidency, and it’s a hell of a position for an active man to be in. But whether you like it or not you are a former President of these United States, and that means certain avenues are closed to you.”

  “Why?” Lockridge asked him.

  “Because of the dignity of your former position. If you went from President to Congressman, you wouldn’t elevate the position of Congressman; you’d degrade the position of President.”

  Lockridge nodded, smiling, and turned to Robert to say, “Well, Robert? What did John Quincy Adams have to say to that?”

  Now Robert understood what his purpose was here today. It wasn’t advice Lockridge wanted from him, it was support. He wanted John Quincy Adams to fight his battle for him, through Robert.

  He grinned, acknowledging Lockridge’s strategy, and said, “He said that no person could be degraded by serving the people as a representative in Congress. Or even as a selectman of his town.”

  Dr. Holt said, “When was all this? Eighteen something?”

  Robert told him, “1830 till 1848.”

  Lockridge said, “Joe, what’s your real objection? Health? I’m more likely to have a stroke from exasperation sitting around here than from being down in Washington. Age? George Meecham is older than I am, and John Quincy Adams was an active member of the House when he died at the age of eighty-one. As for prestige, if I’m worthy of respect I’m worthy of it anywhere, even in the House of Representatives.”

  “It isn’t prestige I’m talking about,” the doctor said. “It’s power and influence. Whatever you may think of your position now, Brad, it’s still more than that of a lowly member of the House.”

  “But I wouldn’t be a lowly member of the House, would I? I’d be Bradford Lockridge in the House.”

  “That wouldn’t matter,” Dr. Holt told him. “If you chose the position of Congressman from Pennsylvania, the political community would have to treat you as the Congressman from Pennsylvania. The whole world would. You’d end up reducing your power and influence from that of ex-President to that of Congressman. And no matter what you say, your power and influence at this moment are greater than that of all but a handful of Congressmen, and they’re the chairmen of the key committees.”

  Lockridge frowned. “I’d have less voice? I don’t believe it.”

  “You would,” the doctor insisted.

  Lockridge turned to Robert again, saying, “Robert, correct me if I’m wrong. Historians generally agree, do they not, that John Quincy Adams’ eighteen years in Congress after his Presidency was the most productive part of his career?”

  “Well, he had a troubled Presidency—”

  “As did I,” Lockridge reminded him, a slight twist to his smile.

  Robert nodded, and said, “It was his House career where he made his biggest contributions, that’s true. In his battle against the gag rules, for instance.”

  “It won’t work,” Dr. Holt said. “I know you think now that any activity would be better than none, but I don’t believe you’re right. The House is a worthy place, but it’s small time, Brad, and you aren’t a small-time man. You’d chafe there a lot harder than you chafe here.”

  Lockridge looked uncertain for a second, but then he smiled and shook his head, saying, “Some is better than none, Joe.”

  “It’s well over a year before there’s another election,” the doctor said. “I ask you not to have a closed mind on this, Brad. Think it over very carefully.”

  “Oh, I will, Joe, believe me. That’s what this lunch is all about, to get some more ideas on the subject.” He looked over at Orr. “What about you, Len? What do you think?”

  “Well, I don’t know,” Orr said painfully. He obviously had no desire to disagree with the great Bradford Lockridge, but he just as obviously had reservations, “Maybe it is a small pond for you, Brad,” he said. The nickname sounded awkward when he said it. “Maybe you are too big for it.”

  Lockridge said, “I don’t believe I am, Len. But even if it worked out that way, and two years later I decided not to stand for re-election, we shouldn’t have any trouble getting one of our own people to take my place.”

  Orr looked more pained than ever. “I suppose not,” he said.

  Lockridge studied him with growing impatience, and said, “What is it, Len? What’s stuck in your throat?”

  “It’s nothing, Brad, only—” Orr’s face screwed with agony, and no more words came out.

  “Only what,” Lockridge said.

  “People,” Orr said slowly, “might not see it right, that’s all.”

  “I don’t follow you. People might not see what right?”

  “You wanting to be Congressman. They’re liable to say, Bradford Lockridge is a big important man, what does he want to piddle around with one little Congressional district for? They might think you were just having fun a little bit, not really serious about it.”

  “Well, they’d find out after I was elected, wouldn’t they?” A steel edge had suddenly come into Lockridge’s voice; he hadn’t liked what Orr just said. Looking at him, Robert wondered why that objection had gotten to him. It wasn’t likely to be an accurate estimate of Lockridge’s intentions, he hadn’t been talking like a dilettante. Maybe it was just that while he didn’t mind people thinking he was too old or not dignified enough or too big a fish for the pond, he did mind if they thought he wasn’t serious.

  Orr, meanwhile, was back-pedaling at top speed. “Oh, sure, Brad,” he was saying. “They’d find it out quick enough. It’s just before election I’m talking about, before you had a chance to show you really meant it.”

  Lockridge’s stern expression altered to an equally stern smile. “You think I might not get elected?”

  “Oh, no, you’d get elected, no question of that. But I have no doubt there’d be some dirty pool played on the other side of the fence. If I was running George Meecham’s campaign, I know just the kind of whispers I’d get started up. It wouldn’t do any good, my man would go down to defeat just the same, but it wouldn’t help you any.”

  “It wouldn’t help you nationally either,” Dr. Holt said. “A lot of the newspaper and magazine people that used to be after your scalp still have the same jobs and they’d just love to get in a couple licks at you for old time’s sake. You so much as run for dogcatcher, they’ll make a national race out of it.”

  “I’ve been in rough campaigns before,” Lockridge said. “I would even say I’ve been in a couple of campaigns that got dirty. On both sides. Now, why should the idea frighten me at this stage?”

  “It’s just another consideration,” Dr. Holt said.

  “All right,” Lockridge said. “You’re against the idea. Len’s scared to death of it.” He turned to Robert. “What about you?”

  “Uh,” Robert said. The idea, still strange, didn’t seem quite as impossible as when Evelyn Canby had first told him about it. The historical precedent, the undeni
able fact that Bradford Lockridge was still a hearty active man, the additional fact of his boredom in his enforced retirement, all tended to make the suggestion seem more rational than he’d thought. But enough so? Didn’t he still have qualms, all of those mentioned by the doctor and Orr, plus some vague undefined feeling of wrongness inside his head that he couldn’t quite put a name to? There was something unstated, or unacknowledged, or unconsidered about this plan of Lockridge’s, but Robert’s feeling about it was too tentative and unfocused for him to be able to describe it even to himself, much less articulate it to Lockridge.

  The older man was still watching him, and now he pushed slightly, saying, “Well?”

  “I don’t know,” Robert said. “I’m sorry, I’d like to be able to give you a straight yes or no, this is the way I feel, but I just don’t know. I think both sides are right, I just don’t know which side is righter.”

  Lockridge smiled. “I’m righter,” he said. “I think you’ll see that.”

  “Could be,” Robert said.

  iv

  SHE CAME OUT OF the woods beside the road, riding a tall chestnut with skittish eyes, and waved to Robert that she wanted him to stop. She’d emerged well ahead of the Jaguar, but her horse was plainly nervous about the growling car just the same. His hoofs made small panicky movements on the gravel, like trapped mice not knowing which way to run.

  Robert stopped, and switched off the engine. In the abrupt silence, the trees seemed to bulge upward for just a few seconds, only to snap back at the first bird call.

  Evelyn heeled her mount, which was calmer now that the noise had stopped and so walked gracefully over to stand beside the car. Robert looked up at her, she so high astride the horse, he so low folded into the car, and grinned: “Another dominating female.”

  She wasn’t interested in jokes. “Did he talk about it?” she asked. She looked worried, almost angry.

  It was now nearly four-thirty, and Robert was the last guest to leave. He wondered how long she’d been lurking on horseback in the woods beside the road, like some distaff highwayman, disappointed first by Leonard Orr, who had departed immediately after lunch, and later by Dr. Holt, who had left around three. But she was too concerned, Robert couldn’t feel right considering her comic, so he answered soberly, saying, “At the end of lunch. He threw it open for discussion.”

  “Did you all talk him out of it? What did Len Orr say?”

  “Evelyn, I’m getting a crick in my neck looking up at you there. Can you leave Trigger tied to a handy redskin and come sit in the car?”

  She was reluctant, and dallied for a minute, frowning toward the hidden house. At first he thought her reluctance was because of him for some reason, but then he understood it was a part of the urgency she was feeling. She would feel better mounted, ready to dash off to the house on a rescue mission at the first call.

  But that was silly, and she knew it. Abruptly she smiled and said, “Of course. I’m sorry.” And gracefully dismounted. She left the reins trailing, and came around to sit in the car. “Now,” she said.

  “Well,” Robert said. “Everybody was against it, the doctor most and me least.”

  “You least?”

  “Maybe I simply take a more historical view, I don’t know. But it isn’t as totally crazy an idea as it seems at first. There is a prece—”

  “I didn’t say it was crazy. I know Bradford’s bored, I know the strain of retirement and all the rest of it. But I also know he shouldn’t do this, he shouldn’t even think of doing it.”

  Robert half-turned in the seat, his left forearm on the steering wheel, and said, “Why not?”

  She stared at him in disbelief. “Why not?”

  “Just for curiosity’s sake,” he said. “I heard the arguments for and against at lunch, and I came away less sure than when I arrived. You’re absolutely one hundred percent sure, so tell me why.”

  She studied him for a minute in silence, and he wasn’t sure whether she was trying to work out the best way to answer him or was still merely stunned by his having asked the question. Finally she nodded, and faced front, looking out through the windshield as she said, “You’ve driven through Eustace. Have you ever noticed the movie house?”

  “I may have, I’m not sure.”

  “It’s a small brick building with a little square marquee. It’s called The Eustace. A couple of days ago I was in town, and I noticed a sign in the cashier’s window. Cashier Wanted. You know, for just a minute I was tempted to go in and take that job.” She turned her head again to look at him with level eyes. “I’m serious. I can give you all the arguments for it, too. It would ease my boredom, it would give me something to do. I’d get out of the house, and I’d see the movies, which I never seem to get around to doing. I don’t need the money, of course, Bradford gives me whatever I need, but I don’t really have any spending money of my own, and it would be a nice feeling to have a few dollars every week that I’d earned all by myself. And I’d get to meet a lot of local people that I don’t know, maybe make new friends. Most of my friends are hundreds of miles away, I can’t just drop in on them.” She smiled crookedly, and said, “Think I should take the job?”

  “I see the parallel, of course,” Robert said, “but I don’t know what to tell you about that job any more than I know what to think about Bradford Lockridge running for Congress. I suppose there are arguments against your going to work as a cashier in a movie house, but—” He stopped, and grinned, and said, “Just describing the job, for instance, and looking at you, that’s one argument right there, isn’t it? The job’s beneath you.”

  “Isn’t that snobbish?” she asked him. “What would John Quincy Adams say about a girl who thought she was too good to be a cashier in a movie house?”

  “It isn’t snobbery,” he insisted. “I know you’re being sardonic, but it really isn’t snobbery. You have a specific kind of background and intelligence and education and sophistication, and you’d just be in the wrong place if you took that job. You’d demean yourself.”

  “Wouldn’t John Quincy Adams say that no one could demean themselves by doing an honest day’s work for an honest day’s pay?”

  Robert grinned. “Something like that, I suppose he would. So the point you’re making is that Bradford Lockridge would demean himself by running for Congressman. Not exactly the same as demeaning the Presidency.”

  “No, that isn’t the point. That’s perfectly true, Bradford can’t really hurt the prestige of the Presidency, he can only hurt his own reputation, but that isn’t the point.”

  “Then I don’t get it,” Robert said.

  She turned more completely to face him, shifting her legs, and her right knee bumped his, and she became briefly—but totally—flustered. She regained control in only a second or two, but it was long enough for Robert to become aware that she was aware of him, and he suddenly became aware in the same way of her, and a touch of awkwardness encompassed them, like a sudden knot in a smooth plank.

  “The point,” she said, but she’d lost the thread of her thought, and just sat there frowning and looking uncomfortable and irritated with herself.

  Robert had to help her. “It wasn’t,” he said, “that he’d be demeaning himself. Or that you’d be demeaning yourself if you took the job.”

  “That’s right,” she said, back on the track again. “The point is, if I am who you say I am and who I think I am, I wouldn’t want that job. Oh, all right, if I think of myself as being in a dead-end here, I’m bored and frustrated and so on, then I might have a moment of weakness and think, wouldn’t it be nice if I could take that movie cashier job? Or run for Congress. Or whatever. But I won’t consider it seriously, not for more than a minute or two. I might go on for months wishing I could take the job, but after the first thirty seconds I would know forever that I couldn’t. And if I didn’t know it, I think that would mean—”

  She stopped all at once, and her expression became pained. Her eyes faltered, tried to keep looking at him
, and failed. She kept her body facing him, but turned her head away and looked out through the windshield again. The westward lying clouds had moved somewhat closer in the course of the day, and the westward sliding sun was just in the process of sinking down behind them, which changed the aspect of the day—making it less cheery, switching it to a minor key—without lessening the heat.

  Robert waited, but she said nothing, didn’t move, so finally he asked, “What would it mean?”

  She turned again to look at him. “You don’t know me very well,” she said, “but I think you know me enough. What if I hadn’t told you about the cashier job, and next week or next month you heard that I had taken it? What would you think of me?”

  He grinned uncomfortably and said, “Less, to be frank.”

  “I mean specifically.”

  “Specifically?” He shrugged, and looked out the windshield himself, frowning at the stretch of gravel road ahead of them. “That you’d gone a little flaky, I suppose.”

  There was silence. She didn’t say anything.

  He turned and frowned at her. “Is that what you mean? You think Bradford Lockridge has gone flaky? Senility?”

  “No,” she said. “I hope to God not. I think he’s talked himself into a way of looking at things, that’s all. If he has time, and if he’s argued with by enough people he respects, this thing won’t last, all of a sudden he’ll get his perspective back and he’ll see there’s nothing wrong with being a Congressman unless you’re Bradford Lockridge. Because that’s what he’s forgotten, isn’t it? And that’s the point. All those other reasons I gave you for my wanting the cashier job are so much hot air. I don’t want to earn my own pin money, I don’t want to see movies in Eustace, I don’t want to meet the local townspeople by selling them movie tickets, and if I’m bored and lonely that job isn’t going to do anything about it. Don’t you see the only reason I’d want that job?”