The Secretary stopped fiddling with the harness and watched the President's face. On the worn features he read first puzzlement, then incredulity, then a flash of sheer amazement.
"Good heavens!" said the President. "They'd—they'd have to admit a defeat, I suppose...."
"But can they?" Blake leaned forward and slammed his fist upon the tabletop. "Can the Communist mentality ever admit that it's been bested?"
"I—I guess not. At least, they never do," said the President. "But this—" he wagged a forefinger at the stuffed thing on the table—"this certainly won't upset them. I mean, after all...." He looked from one to the other for agreement and found none. "But, gentlemen, it's nothing but a stuffed bear!"
"It won't upset them?" queried Blake slowly. "Are you sure?"
"Of course I'm sure. They'll find the bear, wherever it lands, and they'll—well, they'll know it's a gag and just laugh at us."
"How will they know?" Blake persisted.
"Well, they'll be pretty well certain!" the President said scathingly: "I mean a stuffed toy—"
"Would they give up on something of which they were 'pretty well' certain?"