Simeon reflected. “Said I must stop—right off—Be an idiot if I did n’t.—Idiot if I did!” he muttered shortly.
“You could stop—for a while?” It was the merest suggestion.
But the man turned fiercely—the old trembling awake in him. “You don’t know! You can’t know!” He threw the words from him. “You ’ve staved off Nixon. But there are other things—worse things than Nixon—”
“I don’t know anything much worse,” said John quietly.
Simeon stared at him a minute. Then he turned it aside with a motion of his hand. He leaned forward, speaking low and fast—“The directors—two weeks off—two weeks—I must stay, I tell you!”
“Yes, sir.” It was the old tone of quiet deference and Simeon yielded to it. “Give me two weeks,” he said more quietly. “Let me meet them with a straight record—and then—”
“And then?” The watching eyes held him.
“Then I ’ll go,” he said grudgingly, “—If you make me.”
John weighed it for a minute. “Did you ask Dr. Blake about the two weeks?” he said.
Simeon fidgeted at his desk.