“There has been a certain matter,” said Alexander Gibbs, “which has been quite a problem for the party for a long time now. We had hoped that matters would so arrange themselves that we wouldn’t need to call it to your attention, senator. But the executive committee held a meeting in New York the other night and it seemed to be the consensus that we communicate it to you.”
It’s bad, thought the senator, even worse than I thought it might be—for Gibbs is talking in his best double-crossing manner.
The senator gave them no help. He sat quietly in his chair and held the whiskey glass in a steady hand and did not ask what it was all about, acting as if he didn’t really care.
Gibbs floundered slightly. “It’s a rather personal matter, senator,” he said.
“It’s this life continuation business,” blurted Andrew Scott.
They sat in shocked silence, all three of them, for Scott should not have said it in that way. In politics, one is not blunt and forthright, but devious and slick.
“I see,” the senator said finally. “The party thinks the voters would like it better if I were a normal man who would die a normal death.”
Gibbs smoothed his face of shocked surprise.
“The common people resent men living beyond their normal time,” he said. “Especially—”
“Especially,” said the senator, “those who have done nothing to deserve it.”