The hours passed in a perfectly orderly manner, like school children at a fire drill—one, two, three, four—without pushing or jostling—five, six, seven, eight—(don’t you think history is much more interesting in the form of a simple “Outline” like this than spun out in the common manner?)—nine, ten—! At eleven o’clock the door of the President’s study was burst open by the order of the Vice President, Rebecca Crabtree, now, by a sudden and mysterious stroke of Fate, herself become the President of the United States.
For John Quincy Epstein was dead.
How or just when he died will never be known. Always a cold, forbidding (not to say prohibiting) man, his body when found was still cold—if anything colder; his watch which should have marked the exact moment of his demise, was ticking merrily, so the exact moment will forever remain unrecorded.
But Santa Claus still lives and will live forever!
On the massive gold-inlaid-with-ivory desk (a Christmas gift from the United Department Stores of America), lay a paper, inscribed, and signed in the President’s handwriting, and sealed with his official seal.
It was the presidential veto of the Hundredth Amendment; and by virtue of a clause in Amendment Thirty-three “no Constitutional Amendment vetoed by the President shall ever be resubmitted to the country nor any fraction thereof—”
Santa Claus will live forever! Hurray for Santa Claus!
