It is the kind of noise which America knows how to make; a sound of
triumph insistent and strained, having in it no beauty and no joy.
The Ex-President moves slowly across the room, bearing heavily to one
side upon his stick, to the other upon the proudly protecting arm of his
friend, Mr. Secretary Tumulty. Into the first comfortable chair that
offers he lets himself down by slow and painful degrees, lay's his stick
carefully aside, then begins very deliberately to pull off his gloves.
When that is done, only then allowing himself complete relaxation, he
sinks back in his chair, and in a voice of resigned weariness speaks_.
EX-PRES. So ... that's over!
TUMULTY. It hasn't tired you too much, I hope?
EX-PRES. Too much for what, my dear Tumulty? I've time to be tired now.
What else, except to be tired, is there left for me to do?
TUMULTY. Obey doctor's orders.
EX-PRES. He let me go.
TUMULTY (_shrewdly_). You would have gone in any case.
EX-PRES. Yes.
(_Tumulty adjusts the cushions at his back_.)
Thank you.
TUMULTY (_seating himself_). Well, Governor, now you've seen him in
place, what do you think of him?
EX-PRES. Oh, I find him--quite--what I expected him to be. I think he
means well.
TUMULTY. A new President always does.
EX-PRES. (_slowly pondering his words_). Yes ... that's true ...
"means well."
TUMULTY (_tactfully providing diversion_). The big crowd outside was
very friendly, I thought.
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