"Well," A.P. said without rancor, "when I discovered I'd been abandoned, I began to yell and, one by one, they began to show up."
"But who are they?" Ginny asked weakly.
"My staff," A.P. said grandly. "Variously—there's no need for names—they are my private secretary, my social secretary, my publicist, my business manager, my biographer, my Washington representative, my personal news compiler and my lawyer. You no doubt ran into my receptionist, my typist, my clerk and my dietician on your way in."
"We missed your clerk," Lester said shortly. "Just what do you and your staff think you're up to?"
"It's not what we think we're up to," A.P. said smoothly, "it's what we are up to. Already, since just this morning, I have become the financial advisor to the top ten industrialists in the nation, and the President. By evening, I expect I will also be the world's foremost news analyst, financier and political manipulator. I am even considering an offer to appear in motion pictures, though I'm inclined to regard any venture in the entertainment field as a trifle facetious for someone who expects to take over the management of the nation—and perhaps even the world."
"A dictator!" Ginny cried thinly. "He's turned into a dictator!"
"Oh, not quite yet," A.P. said. "That takes a little time—a few weeks, anyway."
"No!" Lester gasped.
"No?" A.P. enquired. "What do you mean, no?"
"You can't do this," Lester said. "It isn't right. I won't be the father of a dictator."