The Man

Dilman had not had Wanda’s present ready for her at Christmas, and so he had given her a card, shaped and printed as a rain check, and on it he had written apologetically that her gift would be arriving any day now. It had been delivered yesterday, but he had not given it to her yet. He was saving it for the intimate holiday di

He looked forward to the small di

Then Dilman’s eyes came to rest on Sue and Nat Abrahams, side by side on the sofa, and their three youngsters at their feet, and his only regret was that they could not remain for the di

As he noticed the bulky morning newspaper on the sofa, Dilman’s mind went to the persons who were not here but had been so much a part of his life, for better, for worse, in recent months, and who were now less a part of his life, except as he read about them or heard about them. Hastily, Dilman’s mind revived news items, important, minor, of recent days.

Arthur Eaton was being boomed as the Party’s candidate in this year’s Presidential election, and his vociferous backers had entered his name in the first three state primary elections. But to the surprise of many, Governor Talley’s name had also been entered as a candidate in those primaries, and to the surprise of fewer people, Senator Hoyt Watson’s name had been resoundingly entered, too. For, although Watson had been dropped by his own state political machine, the curve of his national popularity (led by Southern liberals and independents) had risen, and the Party was now interested in testing his appeal outside the boundaries of the Mason-Dixon Line. In the Deep South, Representative Zeke Miller, basking in the afterwave of his impeachment trial publicity, was trying to organize and gain support of his idea for a powerful third political party, and there was money behind him, but it was too early to tell if there were also votes.

As for Dilman himself, the chairman of the Party, Allan Noyes, had telephoned the Oval Office repeatedly for an appointment “to talk things over”-meaning, no doubt, to find out in what ma

There were other names Dilman knew, and they were often in other sections of the morning newspaper. On the society page it had been a

Suddenly Dilman, whose eyes had strayed to the clock on the fireplace mantel, realized how late it was in the morning. Holiday or no, half of his staff were at their desks in the West Wing offices downstairs, Edna Foster among them, and Dilman knew that there were at least four or five hours of paper work for him to do, too.

He walked over to the sofa where Nat Abrahams sat, and touched his shoulder. Immediately Abrahams, still flushed with the delight he took in his family, jumped to his feet and came around to join Dilman.

“Well, Nat,” Dilman said, “I’ve got to get down to the galleys and start rowing. I’m afraid this is good-bye until sometime next year-”

“Mind if I walk you to the office, Doug?”

They found their overcoats, pulled them on, then went together into the West Hall and started for the elevator.

“Nat,” Dilman said, “we’re old friends, and you know how inarticulate I am about my deeper feelings. I’ve tried to tell you, in my way, how much I appreciate what you’ve done for me, how grateful I am to you. I don’t know what would have happened without you.”

“Nothing different would have happened.”

“I choose to believe it would not have been the same. No other attorney on earth would have understood me well enough to perceive the real indictment, and been able to invent and throw that Article V at them. Anyway, Nat, what you must know, before taking off, is how conscious I am of the sacrifice you made-”

“Enough of that, Doug. I don’t wear a halo well. I’m the bare-headed type. What sacrifice? Three unhappy years, filled with self-reproach, with that inhuman corporation? Thank God, you brought me to my senses. You saved me those wasted years, Doug. You handed them back to me. I’m the one who should be grateful to you for what you gave me.”

They reached the elevator and waited. “You know what I mean, Nat,” Dilman said. “Maybe you kept the three years, but you lost the farm, additional security, a financial cushion, because of me.”

Entering the elevator, they started down to the ground floor. “Listen to me,” Abrahams said. “I lost nothing, nothing at all. Farms? There are a hundred more, always will be, and maybe better ones. Instead of having mine in three years, I’ll have it, and all the rest, in five or six years. Doug, you have no idea how many calls I’ve had, fat offers I’ve received, since that trial. Not only corporations, but labor unions, Manhattan law firms. Some of them sound even better and more corrupting than Eagles ever was. Eventually I may accept one, if I can find one that is clean behind the ears as well as solvent. No hurry this time. I’ll sit back and let them woo me. So, you see, Doug, what you think I did for you has done as much for me. And it did something else, besides.” He gri