"That's right," Charley agreed. "And I wanted to ask him, too, about how he got up and walked after all those years in bed." "You're looking for a story?" asked the doctor.
"No," said Charley, "I'm not looking for a story."
"You're a newspaperman."
"I came for a story," Charley told him. "But not any more. Right now I'm . . . well, I'm sort of scared."
"So am I."
"If what I'm thinking is right, it's too big to be a story."
"I hope," said Doc, "that both of us are wrong."
"He's hell bent," Charley went on, "to bring peace to the world. He's asked me about it a dozen times in a dozen different ways. I've told him I don't know, and I don't think there's anyone who does."
"That's the trouble. If he'd just stick to things like that lost plane out in Utah and the hound dog down in Kentucky, it might be all right!"
"Did he tell you about those things, Doc?"