Irving Wallace - The Man

The telephone behind him buzzed, and Dilman sat up, lowered the volume of the television set, and spun around to the console.

“Yes?”

The voice was Miss Foster’s. “Mr. President, I’m sorry, but there’s a new policeman at the north gate who insists on speaking to you directly. He says there is someone at the gate who claims to be a relative of yours and wants to see you. He wouldn’t tell me more.”

“A relative?”

“I told him you couldn’t be-”

“One moment, Miss Foster.” On impulse, he said, “Connect me with the gate.”

He waited, wondering.

A troubled male voice came on. “Mr. President-”

“Yes-yes-”

“I know I’m not supposed to disturb you, but the person insisted I contact you directly. I know there are crackpots and impostors every day, at least a half dozen daily coming around like this, but this one, she showed me an old beat-up snapshot of you, a photograph from her purse, signed by you, and she-”

“She?” said Dilman slowly.

“A young lady, Mr. President. She claims to be your daughter. I wouldn’t give her the time of day, you understand, because-how should I put it?-she looks white to me-but the newspapers did say you-you have a daughter like that-still, the identification cards in her wallet say her name is Dawson, Linda Dawson, which doesn’t make sense, except she says you might recognize that name even though it’s not her real name, but I thought I ought to-”

“What does she give for her real name?”

“She says her name is Mindy-yes, that’s right-Mindy Dilman, like it’s supposed to be, and she says for me to tell the President she’s better now, and she’s been away too long-”

For the first time in weeks, Dilman felt a real smile ease the muscles of his face.

“Mister,” Dilman interrupted, “I have an idea that young lady is neither a crackpot nor an impostor. You show her right in. You tell Mindy-her father is waiting for her. Now, hurry up! Don’t leave her standing around!”

In the paneled and book-lined library of their early English house in Georgetown, at ten minutes to eleven in the morning, Arthur Eaton and Kay Varney Eaton sat side by side on the couch, concentrating their attention upon Zeke Miller, who was gesticulating on the television screen as he approached the end of his closing address on behalf of the House managers before the United States Senate.

“And so, honorable senators,” Miller was saying, “since the able manager of the defense has chosen to bolster his concluding remarks with words borrowed from the impeachment proceedings of 1868, I feel that I can do no less upon behalf of the House indictment. Let me close my remarks in support of Article IV by referring to the wisdom of Representative Butler, as shown in the remarks made by him on that other historic occasion, and conclude by addressing to you the further remarks made by Representative Bingham before the Senate at that same trial.

“The words of Representative Butler, applicable to Article IV, are these: “This, then, is the plain and inevitable issue before the Senate and the American public-Has the President, under the Constitution, the more than kingly prerogative at will to remove from office and suspend from office indefinitely, all executive officers of the United States, either civil, military, or naval, at any and all times, and fill the vacancies with creatures of his own appointment, for his own purposes, without any restraint whatever, or possibility of restraint by the Senate or by Congress through laws duly enacted? The House of Representatives, in behalf of the people, joins this issue by affirming that the exercise of such powers is a high misdemeanor in office… Whoever, therefore, votes “not guilty” on these Articles votes to enchain our free institutions, and to prostrate them at the feet of any man who, being President, may choose to control them.’ Senators, remember this, remember and do not forget a word of history’s warning, when you consider your vote on Article IV charged against President Dilman.

“And remember, too, the considered wisdom of Representative Bingham in that other time, and remember and do not forget his patriotic beseeching when you stand up to be counted for all time in your judgment of one and all of the Articles of Impeachment. He said then, and I say now, ‘I ask you to consider that we stand this day pleading for the violated majesty of the law, by the graves of half a million of martyred hero-patriots, who made death beautiful by the sacrifice of themselves for their country, the Constitution and the laws, and who, by their sublime example, have taught us that all must obey the law; that none are above the law, that no man lives for himself alone, but each for all; that some must die that the state may live; that the citizen is at best but for today, while the Commonwealth is for all time; and that position, however high, patronage, however powerful, cannot be permitted to shelter crime to the peril of the republic.’

“Glorious words, these, which once ennobled this hallowed Chamber. They are timeless, yet were I to make them entirely pertinent to our cause today, I would paraphrase what that House manager had to say-let not the graves of thousands of martyred hero-patriots, sons of the mothers of America, be dug tomorrow and in days to come in the remote and distant jungles of primitive Africa to satisfy the whims of one ill-motivated, incompetent, intemperate, impermanent President-by-accident. Better that one man figuratively die so that the thousands who share our blood, and the state itself, to which we pledge our blood, shall survive and live. Gentlemen of the Senate-”

The library door had opened, and Governor Talley stuck his head in. “Arthur, the press is ready and assembled.”

“Wayne,” Kay Eaton said, “do you mind switching off the set?” As Talley hastily obeyed her, she turned to her husband. “That wretched Miller of yours is clever, no question. If I had any doubts, they’re gone. What do I wear when you’re sworn in, Arthur?”

Eaton had been cheerful, but a frown crossed his brow. “Don’t talk like that, Kay. Don’t let anyone hear you talk like that… Ready, Wayne? Come on, Kay. Let’s make it sweet and simple, and get them to the sandwiches and drinks.”

Eaton left the library and strode quickly into the packed living room, followed by his wife and his colleague. There were more than one hundred correspondents waiting, and many applauded as he waved jovially and took a position before the built-in bar, maneuvering his wife to one side of him, and drawing Talley to the other side.

“Hold it for some pictures!” a photographer yelled.

As the shutters clicked and bulbs exploded, Talley called out, “Remember the caption-‘T. C.’s Team Together Again!’ ”

More applause greeted this, and then, as reporters roughed the photographers to the sides of the room, Arthur Eaton held up his hand.

“First,” he said, “an apology for these cramped quarters. I’m afraid this is a do-it-yourself press conference, but since I’ve been locked out of the Department of State, it’s the best I can offer you!”

Eaton beamed at the laughter and cheers, and then he quieted the roomful of reporters, and his demeanor became serious.

“I have tried to avoid any communication with my friends of the press until the momentous matter before the bar of the Senate is settled today,” he said. “However, I have been so widely and persistently solicited by many of you to make some comment that I have, with reluctance, consented. Perhaps, after all, a few brief remarks are in order.”

“Hear! Hear!” someone shouted.

Again Eaton held up his hands for silence. Then, in his well-modulated voice, he resumed.