* * * * *

Lois rattled the handle of the stall-shower door, and I shut off the
water. "Yeah?"

"Telephone, darling."

"At _this_ hour? Who is it?"

"Sounds like Purcell."

"For Crisake!" I came out and grabbed a towel. "This is worse than one
of those Hollywood farces about honeymooners. What's he want?"

"I didn't dare ask him, he sounded so grumpy."

I kissed her. "About that nightgown ..."

"You're getting me all wet!"

* * * * *

Purcell was night Editor at the _Herald-Telegram_, a small, intense,
middle-aged, highly literate man. Years before, his wife had run off
with a reporter, leaving Purcell with an undying hatred for all
members of the profession.

His voice, over the wire, cracked like a whip. "Sam?"

"Listen, I'm off duty. You got any idea what time--"

"You're wanted at the White House. Now."

"The _White_ House? You mean--?"

"The White House. The President wants to see you."

"The _President_! Cut out the gags, will you? I'm in no--"

"I don't kid with reporters, Sam. On your way."

The phone went dead. I stood there staring stupidly at the receiver.
Lois had to shake my arm to get my attention. "What did he want?"

"The President wants to see me."

"You're joking!"

"Hunh-uh. Anybody but Pete Purcell, I'd agree." I put back the
receiver and went over to the dresser for clean underwear. "Get back
to bed, honey. I'll be home as soon as I get through running the
Government. Can you imagine! The President wants to see _me_!"

She yawned and stretched, looking like the June page on an _Esquire_
calendar. "Well, so much for my sheerest nightgown."

"Believe me, darling, if it wasn't the President--"

"I know. It would be an Indian."

I finished dressing while she sat on the bed with her knees drawn up
to her chin, watching me. I kissed her thoroughly and patted her here
and there and went downstairs. The night man in the garage under the
building put down his _Racing Form_ and dug my Plymouth out of a
welter of chrome and glass.

I drove much too fast all the way.

* * * * *

A guard at the gate looked at my press pass and used a hidden
telephone. Within not much more than seconds I was ushered into the
Press Secretary's office. The Secretary, a badly shaken man if ever
I'd seen one, had evidently been pacing the floor. He looked at me
sharply out of pale, bloodshot eyes. "Your name