“Yes,” said the senator. “The executioner.”
“I called you,” said Gibbs, “to talk about the election.”
“What election?”
“The one here in North America. The one you’re running in. Remember?”
“I am an old man,” said the senator, “and I’m about to die. I’m not interested in elections.”
Gibbs practically chattered. “But you have to be. What’s the matter with you, senator? You have to do something. Make some speeches, make a statement, come home and stump the country. The party can’t do it all alone. You have to do some of it yourself.”
“I will do something,” declared the senator. “Yes, I think that finally I’ll do something.”
He hung up and walked to the writing desk, snapped on the light. He got paper out of a drawer and took a pen out of his pocket.
The telephone went insane and he paid it no attention. It rang on and on and finally Otto came and answered.
“New York calling, sir,” he said.