J. Edgar Hoover was diffident. "Er … Mrs. Miller has been informed of her husband's … demise. An honorable one," he hastened to add, "and is receiving a comfortable pension, paid from the Bureau's special funds."
"How much?" I wanted to know.
He shifted uncomfortably. "Well … a hundred a month."
I looked at the President. "Bought any butter lately?"
The President strangled a cough. "Have you, Mr. Hoover, bought any butter lately?"
J. Edgar Hoover couldn't say anything. It wasn't his fault.
I flicked a glance at General Hayes. "How much does it cost the Army for an antiaircraft gun?" I looked at one of the admirals. "And how much goes down the drain when you launch a battleship? Or even a PT boat?"
The President took over. "Rest assured, Mr. Miller. Your wife's pension is quadrupled, effective immediately." He swung his chair to face Hoover; "Cash will be transferred tomorrow to the Bureau from the State Department's special fund. You'll see to that?" to the Old Man. So that was what he did for a living. That State Department is a good lifetime job, I understand.
* * * * *
That took a load from my mind, but not all. I spoke to Hoover directly.