TUMULTY (with swelling-bosom). Governor, that was a great answer!
EX-PRES. Easily said, Tumulty. But is it true? (But Tumulty's breast is such a platform for the generous emotions that he does not really care whether it is true or not. And therein, between himself and his hero, lies the difference. Grasping his fallen leader forcefully by the hand and murmuring his adieux in a voice of nobly controlled emotion, he obeys the waiting eye of the Gracious Presence, and goes. And as she sees him serenely to the door, the Ex-President looks ruefully at his painfully oversqueezed hand, and begins rubbing it softly. Even the touch of a friend sometimes hurts.)
(The door closes: the two are alone. She who-must-be-obeyed stands looking at him with a benevolent eye.)