"Well, old man," I answered. "You know me."
"Yes," he said. "But there isn't anybody else I can turn to."
"Then we understand each other," I agreed. He looked both resentful and puzzled.
"No, I never did understand you," he disagreed. "I suppose it's all those billions that act as shock insulation for you. You never had to plan, and scheme, and stand alert indefinitely like a terrier at a rat hole waiting for opportunity to stick out its nose so you could pounce on it. So I don't see how you can appreciate my problem now."
"I might try," I said humbly.
"This job," he said. "It's not much, and I know it. But it was a start. The department doesn't expect anything from me but patience. It's not so much ability, you know, just a matter of who can hang on the longest without getting into trouble. I've been hanging on, and keeping out of trouble."
"But you're in trouble now."
"I will be when your aunt fails to put mother hubbards on the natives."
"She won't fail," I said confidently.
"And when she storms into the State Department with fire in her eye and starts turning things upside down, it'll be my fault—somehow," he said miserably.