'But I don't want to go to Ganymede,' protested Senator Sherman Brown. 'I hate space travel.
Always get sick.'
Izzy Newman almost strangled in exasperation.
'Listen, senator,' he pleaded, 'don't be a damn fool all your life. We're running you for president two years from now and you need them Martian votes. You can pick up plenty of them by going out to Ganymede and dedicating this battle monument. You can say some nice things about the Martians and then, quick, before the Earth boys get mad at you, you can say something nice about the Earth. And then you can praise the bravery of the men who fought in the battle and then, just to quiet down the pacifists, praise the forty years of peace we've had. And if you do that you'll make everybody happy and everyone will think you are on their side. You'll get a lot of votes.'
'But I don't want to go,' protested the senator. 'I won't go. You can't bulldoze me.'
Izzy spread his hands.
'Listen, senator,' he said. 'I'm your manager, ain't I? Have I ever done anything but good for you?
Didn't I take you out of a one-horse county seat and make you one of the biggest men of your day?'
'Well,' said the senator, 'I have done well by myself, if I do say so. And part of the credit goes to you. I hate to go to Ganymede. But if you think I should make — '
'Fine,' said Izzy, rubbing his hands together. I'll fix it all up for you. I'll give the newspaper boys some interviews. I'll have the best ghost writer fix you up a speech. We'll get a half million votes out of this trip.'