Wheelan was squatting, studying the bottom shelves of his aunt's refrigerator. He looked into an opened tin of smoked oysters, then decided against making a sandwich. He opened a can of beer and sat down at the white-topped table. This was the night his aunt went out to Balderstone's. Wheelan shivered. They even had special buses running out there.
The doorbell rang, or rather chimed a tune that had been a favorite of his aunt's during prohibition. Karen Wylie was standing on the front porch in a big tan coat. "Hi," she said. "Busy?"
"Pretty much."
She glanced at his hand. "Can I have a beer?"
Wheelan moved back so she could enter.
After he'd taken her coat and brought her a beer Karen said, "What are you up to now?"
"Well, I sent letters to both our local papers, but they haven't been printed. I suppose you know about my trying to hand out leaflets last week. Then I tried to rent a soundtruck, but Neff says I need a permit for that, too." He sat down on his aunt's chintz-covered sofa. "Now I'm doing a mail campaign."
"Why don't you give up?" Karen watched him with an anxious expression. "What good are you doing?"
"I think that every citizen has a right to act as he chooses. I mean, when an evil exists it's the individual's right to try to combat it."
"With leaflets?"