It is merely a matter
of how you give them.
EX-PRES. You see, Tumulty--it's all a matter of "how."
THE PRESENCE. There's someone waiting to speak to you on the 'phone: wants
to know how you are. I thought I would come and see first.
EX-PRES. Who is it?
THE PRESENCE (_indicating the receiver_). He's there.
(_The Ex-President reaches out his hand, and Tumulty from an adjoining
table gives him the instrument. As he listens, they stand watching
him._)
EX-PRES. Oh, yes.... That's very kind of him.... Please will you tell the
President, with my best thanks, that I am greatly enjoying my holiday....
Thank you.... Good-bye.
(_He gives the instrument back to the waiting Tumulty._)
TUMULTY (_with swelling-bosom_). Governor, that was a great answer!
EX-PRES. Easily said, Tumulty. But is it true?
(_But Tumulty's breast is such a platform for the generous emotions that
he does not really care whether it is true or not. And therein, between
himself and his hero, lies the difference. Grasping his fallen leader
forcefully by the hand and murmuring his adieux in a voice of nobly
controlled emotion, he obeys the waiting eye of the Gracious Presence, and
goes. And as she sees him serenely to the door, the Ex-President looks
ruefully at his painfully oversqueezed hand, and begins rubbing it softly.
Even the touch of a friend sometimes hurts._)
(_The door closes: the two are alone. She who-must-be-obeyed stands
looking at him with a benevolent eye_.
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