ding, the Department of Defense accounted for 78 per
cent of expenditures--"

The Secretary of Defense growled: "Now wait a minute, Felder! We were
voted--"

The President interrupted, raging weakly: "Oh, you rascals! My father
would have known what to do with you! But don't think I can't handle it.
_Don't_ think you can hoodwink me." He punched a button ferociously; his
silly face was contorted with rage and there was a certain tension on
all the faces around the Cabinet table.

Panels slid down abruptly in the walls, revealing grim-faced Secret
Servicemen. Each Cabinet officer was covered by at least two automatic
rifles.

"Take that--that traitor away!" the President yelled. His finger pointed
at the Secretary of Defense, who slumped over the table, sobbing. Two
Secret Servicemen half-carried him from the room.

President Folsom XXIV leaned back, thrusting out his lower lip. He told
the Secretary of the Treasury: "_Get_ me the money for the Nicolaides
Collection. Do you understand? I don't care how you do it. _Get_ it." He
glared at the Secretary of Public Opinion. "Have you any comments?"

"No, Mr. President."

"All right, then." The President unbent and said plaintively: "I don't
see why you can't all be more reasonable. I'm a very reasonable man.
I don't see why I can't have a few pleasures along with my
responsibilities. Really I don't. And I'm sensitive. I don't _like_
these scenes. Very well. That's all. The Cabinet meeting is adjourned."

They rose and left silently in the order of their seniority. The
President noticed that the panels were still down and pushed the button
that raised them again and hid the granite-faced Secret Servicemen. He
took out of his pocket a late Morrison fingering-piece and turned it
over in his hand, a smile of relaxation and bliss spreading over his
face. _Such_ amusing textural contrast! _Such_ unexpected variations on
the classic sequences!

* * * * *

The Cabinet, less the Secretary of Defense, was holding a rump meeting
in an untapped corner of the White House gymnasium.

"God," the Secretary of State said, white-faced. "Poor old Willy!"

The professionally gruff Secretary of Public Opinion said: "We should
murder the bastard. I don't care what happens--"

The Director of the Budget said dryly: "We all know what would happen.
President Folsom XXV would take office. No; we've got to keep plugging
as before. Nothing short of the invi