He broke off as a knock sounded on the door. He hastily tore the wrapper off another glass and splashed it full of ice and bourbon. The adjutant padded to the door and opened it. The governor, a stout, florid man in a gray sports coat, came in and sat stiffly on the edge of the bed. The secretary handed him the drink and he gulped half of it before speaking.
"No smoke, boys," he said finally. "She give it to me just like she does to the papers. We got to go to the moon, or make the Russians do it, and bring that poor, dear, sweet, trusting, cuddly little dog back to Earth again."
"How about her kid out on the coast?" the adjutant asked.
"She spit in my eye, Sam. Said she was just as brave to be a martyr as the dogs they string up. Why, she even told me about another boy of hers, living in sin with a black woman down in Cuba, and dared me to give that to the papers too."
"She sounds tough as she looks."
"She's tougher," the governor groaned. "Like blue granite. I felt like I was back in the third grade." He handed his empty glass to the secretary.
"What did you finally do?" the secretary asked.
"What the hell could I do? I want that U.D.D. vote, it must be a whopper. I wagged my tail and barked for her and said I had an idea."
"And now I got to think up the idea," the secretary said, still holding the empty glass.
"No, I thought it up on my way back," the governor said. "I'm going to fly to Washington this afternoon."