WINMX Assorted Textfiles/Ebooks.tar/Text - Compilations - The Library - Volume 02 - D to L - 350 fiction ebooks (PDF HTM(L) RTF TXT DOC).zip/Heinlein, Robert A - A Bathroom Of Her Own.txt

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FOREWORD

    You may not be old enough to remember the acute housing shortage following World War II (the subject of this story) but if you are over six but not yet old enough for the undertaker, you are aware of the current problem of getting in out of the rain. . . a problem especially acute for the young couple with one baby and for the retired old couple trying to get by on Social ôSecurityö plus savings if any. (I am not suggesting that it is easy for those between youth and old age; the present price of mortgage money constitutes rape with violence; the price tag on an honestly-constructedùif you can find oneùtwo-bedroom house makes me feel faint.)
    In 1960 in Moscow Mrs. Heinlein and I had as Intourist courier a sweet child named Ludmillaù23, unmarried, living with her father, mother, brother and sisters. She told us that her ambition in life was for her family not to have to share a bathroom with another family.
    The next aesthete who sneers at our American ôplumbing cultureö in my presence I intend to cut into small pieces and flush him down that W.C. he despises.

    Any old pol will recognize the politics in this story as the Real McCoy. Should be. Autobiographical in many details. Which details? Show me a warrant and IÆll take the Fifth.
A BATHROOM OF HER OWN


    Ever step on a top step that wasnÆt there?
    ThatÆs the way I felt when I saw my honorable opponent for the office of city councilman, third district.
    Tom Griffith had telephoned at the close of filing, to let me know my opponents. ôAlfred McNye,ö he said, ôand Francis X. Nelson.ö
    ôMcNye we can forget,ö I mused. ôHe files just for the advertising. ItÆs a three-way raceùme, this Nelson party, and the present encumbrance, Judge Jorgens. Maybe weÆll settle it in the primaries.ö Our fair city has the system laughingly called ônon-partisanö; a man can be elected in the primary by getting a clear majority.
    ôJorgens didnÆt file, Jack. The old thief isnÆt running for re-election.ö
    I let this sink in. ôTom, we might as well tear up those photostats. Do you suppose TullyÆs boys are conceding our district?ö
    ôThe machine canÆt concede the third district, not this year. It must be Nelson.ö
    ôI suppose so . . . it canÆt be McNye. What dÆyou know about him?ö
    ôNothing.ö
    ôNor I. Well, weÆll look him over tonight.ö The Civic League had called a ômeet-the-candidatesö meeting that night. I drove out to the trailer camp where I hang
my hatùthen a shower, a shave, put on my hurtinÆ shoes, and back to town. It gave me time to think.
    ItÆs not unusual for a machine to replaceùtemporarilyùa man whose record smells too ripe with a citizen of no background to be sniped at. I could visualize Nelsonùyoung, manly looking, probably a lawyer and certainly a veteran. He would be so politically naive that he would stand without hitching, or so ambitious that it would blind him to what he must do to keep the support of the machine. Either way the machine could use him.
    I got there just in time to be introduced and take a seat on the platform. I couldnÆt spot Nelson but I did see Cliff Meyers, standing with some girl. Meyers is a handyman for Boss TullyùNelson would be around close
    McNye accepted the call of the peepul in a few hundred well-worn words then the chairman introduced Nelson ôùa veteran of this war and candidate for the same officeö
    The girl standing with Meyers walked up and took the stage
    They clapped and somebody in the balcony gave a wolf whistle Instead of getting flustered, she smiled up and said, ôThank you!ö
    They clapped again and whistled and stomped She started talking IÆm not brightùI had trouble learning to wave bye-bye and never did master patty-cake. I expected her to apologize for NelsonÆs absence and identify herself as his wife or sister or something. She was into her fourth paragraph before I realized that
she was Nelson.    j Francis X. NelsonùFrances X. Nelson. I wondered
what I had done to deserve this. Female candidates are poison to run against at best; you donÆt dare use the ordinary rough-and-tumble, while she is free to use anything from a blacksnake whip to mickeys in your coffee.
    Add to that ladylike good looks, obvious intelli
gence, platform poiseùand a veteran. I couldnÆt have lived that wrong. I tried to catch Tohi GriffithÆs eye to share my misery, but he was looking at her and the lunk was lapping it up.
    NelsonùMiss Nelsonùwas going to town on housing. ôYou promised him that when he got out of that foxhole nothing would be too good for him. And what did he get? A shack in shanty-town, the sofa in his inlawsÆ parlor, a garage with no plumbing. If I am elected I shall make it my first concernùö
    You couldnÆt argue against it. Like good roads, good weather, and the American Home, everybody is for veteransÆ housing.
    When the meeting broke up, I snagged Tom and we rounded up the leaders of the Third District Association and adjourned to the home of one of the members. ôLook, folks,ö I told them, ôwhen we caucused and I agreed to run, our purpose was to take a bite out of the machine by kicking out Jorgens. Well, the situation has changed. ItÆs not too late for me to forfeit the filing fee. How about it?ö
    Mrs. HolmesùMrs. Bixby Holmes, as fine an old warhorse as ever swung a gavelùlooked amazed. ôWhatÆs gotten into you, Jack? Getting rid of Jorgens is only half of it. We have to put in men we can depend on. For this district, youÆre it.ö
I shook my head. ôI didnÆt want to be the candidate; I wanted to manage. We should have had a veterôThereÆs nothing wrong with your war record,ö pi~it
in Dick Blair.
    ôMaybe not, but itÆs useless politically. We needed a veteran.ö I had shuffled papers in the legal section of the Manhattan projectùin civilian clothes. Dick Blair, a paratrooper and Purple Heart, had been my choice. But Dick had begged off, and who is to tell a combat veteran that he has got to make further sacrifice for the dear peepul?
    ôI abided by the will of the group, because Jorgens
was not a veteran either. Now look at the damn thingùWhat makes you think I can beat her? SheÆs got political sex-appeal.ö
    ôSheÆs got more than political sex-appealöùthis from Tom.
    When Dr. Potter spoke we listened; heÆs the old head in our group. ôThatÆs the wrong tack, Jack. It does not matter whether you win.ö
    ôI donÆt believe in lost causes, Doctor.ö
    ôI do. And so will you, someday. If Miss Nelson is TullyÆs choice to succeed Jorgens, then we must oppose her.ö
    ôShe is with the machine, isnÆt she?ö asked Mrs. Holmes.
    ôSure she is,ö Tom told her. ôDidnÆt you see that Cliff Meyers had her in tow? SheÆs a stoogeùthe Stooge with the Light Brown Hair.ö
    I insisted on a vote; they were all against me. ôOkay,ö I agreed, ôif you can take it, I can. This means a tougher campaign. We thought the dirt we had on Jorgens was enough; now weÆve got to dig.ö
    ôDonÆt fret, Jack,ö Mrs. Holmes soothed me. ôWeÆll dig. IÆll take charge of the precinct work.ö
    ôI thought your daughter in Denver was having a baby?ö
    ôSo she is. IÆll stick.ö
    I ducked out soon after, feeling much better, not because I thought I could win, but because of Mrs. Holmes and Dr. Potter and more like them. The team spirit you get in a campaign is pretty swell; I was feeling it again and recovering my pre-War zip.
    Before the War our community was in good shape. We had kicked out the local machine, tightened up civil service, sent a police lieutenant to jail, and had put the bidding for contracts on an honest-to-goodness competitive basisùnot by praying on Sunday, either, but by volunteer efforts of private citizens willing to get out and punch doorbells.
    Then the War came along and everything came unstuck.
    Naturally, the people who can be depended on for the in-and-out-of-season grind of volunteer politics are also the ones who took the War the most seriously. From Pearl Harbor to Hiroshima they had no time for politics. ItÆs a wonder the city hail wasnÆt stolen during the Warùbolted to its foundations, I guess.
    On my way home I stopped at a drive-in for a hamburger and some thought. Another car squeezed in close beside me. I glanced up, then blinked my eyes. ôWell, IÆll beùMiss Nelson! Who let you out alone?ö
    She jerked her head around, ready to bristle, then turned on the vote-getter. ôYou startled me. YouÆre Mr. Ross, arenÆt you?ö
    ôYour future councilman,ö I agreed. ôYou startled me. HowÆs the politicking? WhereÆs Cliff Meyers? Dump him down a sewer?ö
    She giggled. ôPoor Mr. Meyers! I said goodnight to him at my door, then came over here. I was hungry.ö
    ôThatÆs no way to win elections. Why didnÆt you invite him in and scramble some eggs?ö
    ôWell, I just didnÆt wantùI mean I wanted a chance to think. You wonÆt tell on me?ö She gave me the yougreat-big-strong-man look.
    ôIÆm the enemyùremember? But I wonÆt. Shall I go away, too?ö
    ôNo, donÆt. Since you are going to be my councilman, I ought to get acquainted. Why are you so sure you will beat me, Mr. Ross?ö
    ôJack Rossùyour friend and mine. Have a cigar. IÆm not at all sure I can beat you. With your natural advantages and TullyÆs gang behind you I should æa stood in bed.
    Her eyes went narrow; the vote-getter smile was gone. ôWhat do you mean?ö she said slowly. ôIÆm an independent candidate.ö
    It was my cue to crawl, but I passed. ôYou expect
me to swallow that? With Cliff Meyers at your elbowùö The car hop interrupted us; we placed our orders and I resumed. She cut in.
    ôI do want to be alone,ö she snapped and started to close her window.
    I reached out and placed a hand on the glass. ôJust a moment. This is politics; you are judged by the company you keep. You show up at your first meeting and Cliff Meyers has you under his wing.ö
    ôWhatÆs wrong with that? Mr. Meyers is a perfect gentleman.ö
    ôAnd heÆs good to his mother. HeÆs a man with no visible means of support, who does chores for Boss Tully. I thought what everybody thought, that the boss had sent him to chaperone a green candidate.ö
    ôItÆs not true!ö
    ôNo? YouÆre caught in the jam cupboard. WhatÆs your story?ö
    She bit her lip. ôI donÆt have to explain anything to you.
    ôNo. But if you wonÆt, the circumstances speak for themselves.ö She didnÆt answer. We sat there, ignoring each other, while we ate. When she switched on the ignition, I said, ôIÆm going to tail you home.ö
    ôItÆs not necessary, thank you.ö
    ôThis town is a rough place since the War. A young woman should not be out alone at night. Even Cliff Meyers is better than nobody.ö
    ôThatÆs why I let themù Do as you see fit!ö I had to skim red lights, but I kept close behind her. I expected her to rush inside and slam the door, but she was waiting by the curb. ôThank you for seeing me home, Mr. Ross.ö
    ôQuite all right.ö I went upon her front porch with her and said goodnight.
    ôMr. RossùI shouldnÆt care what you think, but IÆm not with Boss Tully. IÆm independent.ö I waited. Presently she said, ôYou donÆt believe me.ö The big, beautiful eyes were shiny with tears.
    ôI didnÆt say soùbut IÆm waiting for you to explain.ö
    ôBut what is there to explain?ö
    ôPlenty.ö I sat down on the porch swing. ôCome here, and tell papa. Why did you decide to run for office?ö
    ôWell . . . ô She sat down beside me; I caught a disturbing whiff of perfume. ôIt started because I couldnÆt find an apartment. No, it didnÆtùit was farther back, out in the South Pacific. I could stand the insects and the heat. Even the idiotic way the Army does things didnÆt fret me much. But we had to queue up to use the wash basins. There was even a time when baths were rationed. I hated it. I used to lie on my cot at night, awake in the heat, and dream about a bathroom of my own. A bathroom of my own! A deep tub of water and time to soak. Shampoos and manicures and big, fluffy towels! I wanted to lock myself in and live there. Then I got out of the Armyùö
    ôYes?ö
    She shrugged. ôThe only apartment I could find carried a bonus bigger than my discharge pay, and I couldnÆt afford it anyhow.ö
    ôWhatÆs wrong with your own home?ö
    ôThis? This is my auntÆs home. Seven in the family and I make eightùone bathroom. IÆm lucky to brush my teeth. And I share a three-quarters bed with my eight-year-old cousin.ö
    ôI see. But that doesnÆt tell why you are running for office.ö
    ôYes, it does. Uncle Sam was here one night and I was boiling over about the housing shortage and what I would like to do to Congress. He said I ought to be in politics; I said IÆd welcome the chance. He phoned the next day and asked how would I like to run for his seat? I saidùö
    ôUncle SamùSam Jorgens!ö
    ôYes. HeÆs not my uncle, but IÆve known him since I was little. I was scared, but he said not to worry, he
would help me out and advise me. So I did and thatÆs all there is to it. You see now?ö
    I saw all right. The political acumen of an Easter bunnyùexcept that the bunny rabbit was likely to lick the socks off me. ôOkay,ö I told her, ôbut housing isnÆt the only issue. How about the gas company franchise, for example and the sewage disposal plant? And the tax rate? What airport deal do you favor? Do you think we ought to ease up on zoning and how about the freeways?ö
    ôIÆm going after housing. Those issues can wait.ö
    I snorted. ôThey wonÆt let you wait. While youÆre riding your hobbyhorse, the boys will steal the public blindùagain.ö
    ôHobbyhorse! Mister Smarty-Britches, getting a house is the most important thing in the world to the man who hasnÆt one. You wouldnÆt be so smug if you were in that fix.ö
    ôKeep your shirt on. Me, IÆm sleeping in a leaky trailer. IÆm strong for plenty of housingùbut how do you propose to get it?ö
    ôHow? DonÆt be silly. IÆll back the measures that push it.ö
    ôSuch as? Do you think the city ought to get into the building business? Or should it be strictly private enterprise? Should we sell bonds and finance new homes? Limit it to veterans, or will you help me, too? Heads of families only, or are you going to cut yourself in on it? How about pre-fabrication? Can we do everything you want to do under a building code that was written in 1911?ö I paused for breath. ôWell?ö
    ôYouÆre being nasty, Jack.ö
    ôI sure am. But thatÆs not half of it. IÆll challenge you to debate on everything from dog licenses to patent paving materials. A nice, clean campaign and may the best man winùproviding his name is Ross.ö
    ôI wonÆt accept.ö
    ôYouÆll wish you had, before weÆre through. My boys
and girls will be at all your meetings, asking embarrassing questions.ö
    She looked at me. ôOf all the dirty politics!ö
    ôYouÆre a candidate, kid; youÆre supposed to know the answers.ö
    She looked upset. ôI told Uncle Sam,ö she said, half to herself, ôthat I didnÆt know enough about such things, but he saidùö
    ôGo on, Frances. What did he say?ö
    She shook her head. ôIÆve told you too much already.
    ôIÆll tell you. You were not to worry your pretty head, because he would be there to tell you how to vote. That was it, wasnÆt it?ö
    ôWell, not in so many words. He saidùö
    ôBut it amounted to that. And he brought Meyers around and said Meyers would show you the ropes. You didnÆt want to cause trouble, so you did what Meyers told you to do. Right?ö
    ôYouÆve got the nastiest way of putting things.ö
    ôThatÆs not all. You honestly think you are independent. But you do what Sam Jorgens tells you and Sam Jorgensùyour sweet old Uncle SamùwonÆt change his socks without Boss TullyÆs permission.ö
    ôI donÆt believe it!ö
    ôCheck it. Ask some of the newspaper boys. Sniff around.ö
    ôI shall.ö
    ôGood. YouÆll learn about the birds and the bees.ö I stood up. ôIÆve worn out my welcome. See you at the barricades, comrade.ö
    I was halfway to the street when she called me back. ôJack!ö
    ôYes, Frances?ö I went back up on the porch. ôIÆm going to find out what connection, if any, Tully has with Uncle Sam, but, nevertheless and notwithstanding, IÆm an independent. If IÆve been led around by the nose, I wonÆt be for long.ö
    ôGood girl!ö
    ôThatÆs not all. IÆm going to give you the fight of your life, whip the pants off you, and wipe that know-it-all look off your face!ö
    ôBravo! ThatÆs the spirit, kid. WeÆll have fun.ö
    ôThanks. Well, goodnight.ö
    ôJust a second.ö I put an arm around her shoulders. She leaned away from me warily. ôTell me, darling:
who writes your speeches?ö
    I got kicked in the shins, then the screen door was between us. ôGoodnight, Mr. Ross!ö
    ôOne more thingùyour middle name, it canÆt be æXavier.Æ What does the X stand for?ö
    ôXanthippeùwant to make something of it?ö The door slammed.
    I was too busy the following month to worry about Frances Nelson. Ever been a candidate? It is like getting married and having your appendix out, while going over Niagara Falls in a barrel. One or more meetings every evening, breakfast clubs on Saturdays and Sundays, a Kiwanis, Rotary, or Lions, or Chamber of Commerce lunch to hit at noon, an occasional appearance in court, endless correspondence, phone calls, conferences, and, to top it off, as many hours of doorbell pushing as I could force into each day.
    It was a grass-roots campaign, the best sort, but strenuous. Mrs. Holmes, by scraping the barrel, rounded up volunteers to cover three-quarters of the precincts; the rest were my problem. I couldnÆt cover them all, but I could durn well try.
    And every day there was the problem of money. Even with a volunteer, unpaid organization, politics costs moneyùprinting, postage, hall rental, telephone bills, and there is gasoline and lunch money for people who canÆt carry their own expenses. A dollar here and a dollar there and soon sr.~i are three thousand bucks in the red.
    It is hard to tell how a campaign is going; you tend to kid each other. We made a mid-stream spot checkù
phone calls, a reply post-card poll, ayid a doorbell sampling. And Tom and I and Mrs. Holmes got out and sniffed the air. All one day I bought gasoline here, a cola there, and a pack of cigarettes somewhere else, talking politics as I did so, and never offering my name. By the time I met Tom and Mrs. Holmes at her home I felt that I knew my chances.
    We got our estimates together and looked them over. Mine read: ôRoss 45%; Nelson 55%; McNye a trace.ö TomÆs was: ôfifty-fifty, against us.ö Mrs. Holmes had written, ôA dull campaign, a light vote, and a trend against us.ö The computed results of the formal polls read; Ross 43%, Nelson 52%, McNye 5%ùprobable error plus-or-minus 9%.
    I looked around. ôShall we cut our losses, or go on gallantly to defeat?ö
    ôWe arenÆt licked yet,ö Tom pointed out.
    ôNo, but weÆre going to be. All we offer is the assumption that IÆm better qualified than the little girl with the big eyesùa notion in which Joe Public is colossally uninterested. How about it, Mrs. Holmes? Can you make it up in the precincts?ö
    She faced me. ôJack, to be frank, itÆs all uphill. IÆm working the old faithfuls too hard and I canÆt seem to stir out any new blood.ö
    ôWe need excitement,ö Tom complained. ôLetÆs throw some mud.ö
    ôAt what?ö I asked. ôWant to accuse her of passing notes in school, or shall we say she sneaked out after taps when she was a WAC? SheÆs got no record.ö
    ôWell, tackle her on housing. YouÆve let her hog the best issue.ö
    I shook my head. ôIf I knew the answers, I wouldnÆt be living in a trailer. I wonÆt make phony promises. IÆve drawn up three bills, one to support the Federal Act, one to revise the building code, and one for a bond election for housing projectsùthat last one is a hot potato. None of them are much good. This housing shortage will be with us for years.ö
    Tom said, ôJack, you shouldnÆt run for office. You donÆt have the fine, free optimism that makes a good public figure.ö
    I grunted. ôThatÆs what I told you birds. IÆm the manager type. A candidate who manages himself gets a split personality.ö
    Mrs. Holmes knit her brows. ôJackùyou know more about housing than she does. LetÆs hold a rally and debate it.ö
    ôOkay with meùI just work here. I once threatened to make her debate everything from streetcars to taxes. How about it, Torn?ö
    ôAnything to make some noise.ö
    I phoned at once. ôIs this the Stooge with the Light Brown Hair?ö
    ôThat must be Jack Ross. Hello, Nasty. HowÆs the baby-kissing?ö
    ôSticky. Remember I promised to debate the issues with you? How about 8 p.m. Wednesday the 15th?ö
    She said, ôHold the lineùö I could hear a muffled rumble, then she said, ôJack? You tend to your campaign; IÆll tend to mine.ö
    ôBetter accept, kid. WeÆll challenge you publicly. Is Miss Nelson afraid to face the issues, quote and unquote.ö
    ôGoodbye, Jack.ö
    ôUncle Sam wonÆt let you, will he?ö The phone clicked in my ear.
    We went ahead anyway. I sold some war bonds and ordered a special edition of the Civic League News, with a Ross-for-Councilman front page, as a throwaway to announce the rallyùprizes, entertainment, movies, and a super-colossal, gigantic debate between Ross in this corner and Nelson in that. We piled the bundles of papers in Mrs. HolmesÆ garage late Sunday night. Mrs. Holmes phoned about seven-thirty the next morningùöJack,ö she yipped, ôcome over right away!ö
    ôOn my way. WhatÆs wrong?ö
    ôEverything. Wait till you get here.ö When I did, she led me out to her garage; someone had broken in and had slit open our precious bundlesùthen had poured dirty motor oil on them.
    Tom showed up while we were looking at the mess. ôPixies everywhere,ö he observed. ôIÆll call the Commercial Press.ö
    ôDonÆt bother,ö I said bitterly. ôWe canÆt pay for another run.ö But he went in anyhow. The kids who were to do the distributing started to show up; we paid them and sent them home. Tom came out. ôToo late,ö he announced. ôWe would have to start from scratchù no time and too expensive.ö
    I nodded and went in the house. I had a call to make myself. ôHello,ö I snapped, ôis this Miss Nelson, the Independent Candidate?ö
    ôThis is Frances Nelson. Is this Jack Ross?ö
    ôYes. You were expecting me to call, I see.ö
    ôNo, I knew your sweet voice. To what do I owe the honor?ö
    ôIÆd like to show you how well your boys have been campaigning.
    ôJust a momentù IÆve an appointment at ten; I can spare the time until then. What do you mean; how my boys have been campaigning?ö
    ôYouÆll find out.ö I hung up.
    I refused to talk until she had seen the sabotage. She stared. ôItÆs a filthy, nasty trick, Jackùbut why show it to me?ö
    ôWho else?ö
    ôButù Look, Jack, I donÆt know who did this, but it has nothing to do with me.ö She looked around at us. ôYouÆve got to believe me!ö Suddenly she looked relieved. ôI know! It wasnÆt me, so it must have been McNye.ö
    Tom grunted. I said gently, ôLook, darling, McNye is nobody. HeÆs a seventeenth-rater who files to get his name in print. He wouldnÆt use sabotage because heÆs not out to win. It has to be youùwait!ùnot you per-
sonally, but the machine. This is what you get into when you accept the backing of wrong æuns.ö
    ôBut youÆre wrong! YouÆre wrong! IÆm not backed by the machine.ö
    ôSo? Who runs your campaign? Who pays your bills?ö
    She shook her head. ôA committee takes care of those things. My job is to show up at meetings and speak.ö
    ôWhere did the committee come from? Did the stork bring it?ö
    ôDonÆt be ridiculous. ItÆs the Third District HomeOwnersÆ League. They endorsed me and set up a campaign committee for me.ö
    IÆm no judge of character, but she was telling the truth, as she saw it. ôEver hear of a dummy organization, kid? Your only connection with this Home-OwnersÆ League is Sam Jorgens . . . isnÆt it?ö
    ôWhy, noùthat isù Yes, I suppose so.ö
    ôAnd I told you Jorgens was a tame dog for Boss Tully.ö
    ôYes, but I checked on that, Jack. Uncle Sam explained the whole thing. Tully used to support him, but they broke because Uncle Sam wouldnÆt take the machineÆs orders. ItÆs not his fault that the machine used to back him.ö
    ôAnd you believed him.ö
    ôNo, I made him prove it. You said to check with the newspapersùUncle Sam had me talk with the editor of the Herald.ö Tom snorted.
    ôHe means,ö I told her, ôthat the Herald is part of the machine. I meant talk to reporters. Most of them are honest and all of them know the score. But I canÆt see how you could be so green. I know youÆve been away, but didnÆt you read the papers before the War?ö
    It developed that, what with school and the War, she hadnÆt been around town much since she was fifteen. Mrs. Holmes broke in, ôWhy, sheÆs not eligible, Jack! She doesnÆt have the residence requirements.ö
    I shook my head. ôAs a lawyer, I assure you she does. Those things donÆt break residenceùparticularly as she enlisted here. How about making us all some coffee, Mrs. Holmes?ö
    Mrs. Holmes bristled; I could see that she did not want to fraternize with the enemy, but I took her arm and led her into the house, whispering as I went. ôDonÆt be hard on the kid, Molly. You and I made mistakes while we were learning the ropes. Remember Smythe?ö
    Smythe was as fine a stuffed shirt as ever took a bribeùwe had given him our heartsÆ blood. Mrs. Holmes looked sheepish and relaxed. We chatted about the heat and presidential possibilities, then Frances said, ôIÆm conceding nothing, Jackùbut IÆm going to pay for those papers.ö
    ôSkip it,ö I said. ôIÆd rather bang TullyÆs heads together. But see hereùyouÆve got an hour yet; I want to show you something.ö
    ôWant me along, Jack?ö Tom suggested, looking at Frances.
    ôIf you like. Thanks for the coffee, Mrs. HolmesùIÆll be back to clean up the mess.ö We drove to Dr. PotterÆs office and got the photostats we had on Jorgens out of his safe. We didnÆt say anything; I just arranged the exhibits in logical order. Frances didnÆt talk either, but her face got whiter and whiter. At last she said, ôWill you take me home now, Mr. Ross?ö
    We bumped along for the next three weeks, chasing votes all day, licking stamps and stenciling autobumper signs late at night and never getting enough sleep. Presently we noticed a curious factùMcNye was coming up. First it was billboards and throwaways, next was publicityùand then we began to get reports from the field of precinct work for McNye.
    We couldnÆt have been more puzzled if the Republican Party had nominated Norman Thomas. We made another spot check. Mrs. Holmes and Dr. Potter and I went over the results. Ross and Nelson, neck and
neckùa loss for Nelson; McNye a strong third and coming up fast. ôWhat do you think, Mrs. Holmes?ö
    ôThe same you do. Tully has dumped Nelson and bought up McNye.ö
    Potter agreed. ôItÆll be you and McNye in the runoff. Nelson is coasting on early support from the machine. SheÆll fizzle.ö
    Tom had come in while we were talking. ôIÆm not sure,ö he said. ôTully needs a win in the primary, or, if that fails, a run-off between the girl and McNye. WeÆve got an organization, she hasnÆt.ö
    ôTully canÆt count on me running third. In fact, IÆll beat out Frances for second place at the very worst.ö
    Tom looked quizzical. ôSeen tonightÆs Herald, Jack?ö
    ôNo. Have they discovered IÆm a secret drinker?ö
    ôWorse than that.ö He chucked us the paper.
ôCLAIM ROSS INELIGIBLE COUNCILMANIC RACEö it read; there was a 3-col cut of my trailer, with me in the door. The story pointed out that a city father must have lived two years in the city and six months in his district. The trailer camp was outside the city limits.
    Dr. Potter looked worried. ôCan they disqualify you, Jack?ö
    ôThey wonÆt take it to court,ö I told him. ôIÆm legal as baseball. Residence isnÆt geographical location; itÆs a matter of intentùyour home is where you intend to return when youÆre away. IÆm registered at the flat I had before the War, but I turned it over to my partner when I went to Washington. My junk is still in it, but heÆs got a wife and twins. Hence the trailer, a temporary exigency of no legal effect.ö
    ôHmmm . . . how about the political effect?ö
    ôThatÆs another matter.ö
    ôYou betcha it is,ö agreed Tom. ôHow about it, Mrs. Holmes?ö
    She looked worried. ôTom is right. ItÆs tailor-made for a word-of-mouth campaign combined with unfa
vorable publicity. Why vote for a man who doesnÆt even live in your district?ùthat sort of thing.ö
    I nodded. ôWell, itÆs too late to back out, but, letÆs face it, folksù WeÆve wasted our nickel.ö
    For once they did not argue. Instead Potter said, ôWhat sort of person is Miss Nelson? Could we possibly back her in the finals?ö
    ôSheÆs a good kid,ö I assured him. ôShe got taken in and hated to admit it, but sheÆs better than McNye.ö
    ôIÆll say she is,ö agreed Tom.
    ôSheÆs a lady,ö stated Mrs. Holmes.
    ôBut,ö I objected, ôwe canÆt elect her in the finals. We canÆt pin anything on McNye and sheÆs too green to stand up to what the machine can do to her in a long campaign. Tully knows what heÆs doing.ö
    ôIÆm afraid youÆre right,ö Potter agreed. ôJack,ö said Tom, ôI take it you think weÆre licked now.
    ôAsk Mrs. Holmes.ö
    Mrs. Holmes said, ôI hate to say so, and IÆm not quitting, but it would take a miracle to put Jack on the final ballot.ö
    ôOkay,ö said Tom, ôletÆs quit being boy scouts and have some fun the rest of the campaign. I donÆt like the way Boss Tully campaigns. WeÆve played fair; what weÆve gotten in return is shenanigans.ö
    ôWhat do you want to do?ö
    He explained. Presently I nodded and said, ôIÆm all for itùand a wrinkle of my own. ItÆll be fun, and it just might work.ö
    ôWell, call her up then!ö
    I got Frances Nelson on the phone. ôJack Ross, Frances. HavenÆt seen you around much, sweetheart. HowÆs the campaign?ö
    She sounded tired. ôOh, thatù What campaign, Jack?ö
    ôDid you withdraw? I havenÆt seen any announcement.ö
    ôIt wasnÆt necessary. I had a show-down with
Jorgens and after that my campaign just disappeared. The committee vanished away. Look, Jack, IÆd like to see youùto apologize.ö
    ôForget it, I want to see you, too. IÆll pick you up.ö We laid it on the line. ôIÆm dropping out of the race, Frances. We want to throw our organizational support to youùprovided.ö
    She stared. ôBut you canÆt, Jack. IÆm going to vote for you.ö
    ôHuh? Never mind, you wonÆt get a chance to.ö I showed her the Herald story. ôItÆs a phony, but it licks me anyhow. I should have played up my homeless condition but, like a dope, I let them do it. ItÆs too late nowùwhen a candidate has to explain things heÆs back on his heels and ready for the knockout. I was a fifty-fifty squeeze at best; this tips the balance.ö
    She was staring at the picture, bug-eyed, knuckles pressed to her mouth. ôJackù Oh, dear! IÆve gone and done it again.ö
    ôDone what?ö
    ôGot you into this mess. I told Sam Jorgens all about our first talk, including how you had to camp out in a trailer. Iùö
    I brushed it aside. ôNo matter. They would have stumbled on it anyhow. See hereùweÆre going to take you on. We might even elect you.ö

ôBut I donÆt want the job, Jack. I want you to have
it.
    ôToo late, Frances. But we want to beat that spare tire, McNye. The machine is still using you, to beat me in the primary by splitting the non-machine vote; then theyÆll settle your hash. IÆve got a gimmick for that. But firstùyou call yourself an independent. Well, you arenÆt now.ö
    ôWhat do you mean? I wonÆt be anything else.ö
    ôThey gave women the vote! Look, darling, a candidate can be unbossed, but not independent. Independence is an adolescent notion. To merit support you
have to commit yourselfùand there goes your independence.
    ôBut Iù Oh, politics is a rotten business!ö
    ôYou make me tired! Politics is just as clean-or as dirtyùas the people who practice it. The people who say itÆs dirty are too lazy to do their part in it.ö She dropped her face into her hands. I took her by the shoulders, and shook her. ôNow you listen to me. IÆm going over our program, point by point. If you agree with it and commit yourself, youÆre our candidate. Right?ö
    ôYes, Jack.ö It was just a whisper.
    We ran through it. There was no trouble, it was sane and sensible, likely to appeal to anyone with no ax to grind. The points she did not understand we let lay over. She liked especially my housing bills and began to perk up and sound like a candidate.
    ôOkay,ö I said finally. ôHereÆs the gimmick. IÆll get my name off the ballot so that the race will be over in the primary. ItÆs too late to do it myself, but theyÆve played into my hands. ItÆll be a court order, for ineligibility through non-residence.ö
    Dr. Potter looked up sharply. ôCome again, son? I thought you said your legal position was secure.ö
    I grinned. ôIt isùif I fight. But I wonÆt. HereÆs the gagùwe bring a citizenÆs suit through a couple of dummies. The court orders me to show cause. I default. Court has no option but to order my name stricken from the ballot. One, two, three.ö
    Tom cheered. I bowed. ôNow Dr. Potter is your new campaign chairman. You go on as before, going where you are sent and speaking your piece. Oh, yesùIÆm going to give you some homework on other issues than housing. As for Tom and meùweÆre the special effects department. Just forget us.ö
    Three days later I was off the ballot. Tom handled it so that it looked like McNye and Tully. Mrs. Holmes had the delicate job of convincing our precinct work-
ers that Frances was our new white hope. Dr. Potter and Dick Blair got Frances endorsed by the Civic Leagueùthe League would endorse a giant panda against a Tully man. And Dick Blair worked up a veteransÆ division.
    Leaving Tom and me free for fun and games.
    First we got a glamor pic of Frances, one that made her look like Liberty Enlightening the World, with great sorrowful eyes and a noble forehead, and had it blown up for billboardsù6-sheets; 24-sheets look like too much dough.
    We got a ôgoodö picture of McNye, tooùgood for us. Like thisùyou send two photographers to a meeting where your man is to speak. One hits him with a flash bulb; the second does also, right away, before the victim can recover from his reflex. Then you throw the first pic away. We got a picture which showed McNye as pop-eyed, open-mouthed, and idioticùa Kallikak studying to be a Jukes. It was so good we had to tone it down. Then I went up state and got some printing done, very privately.
    We waited until the last few days, then got busy. First we put snipe sheets on our own billboards, right across FrancesÆ beautiful puss so that those eyes looked appealingly at you over the paster. ôVOTE FOR McNYEö they read. Two nights later it was quarter cards, this time with his lovely picture: VOTE
FOR McNYEùA WOMANÆS PLACE IS IN THE HOME. We stuck them up on private property, too.
    Tom and I drove around the next day admiring our handiwork. ôItÆs beautiful,ö Tom said dreamily. ôJack, do you suppose there is any way we could get the Communist Party to endorse McNye?ö
    ôI donÆt see how,ö I admitted, ôbut if it doesnÆt cost too much IÆve still got a couple of war bonds.ö
    He shook his head. ôIt canÆt work, but itÆs a lovely thought.ö
    We saved our double-whammie for the day before election. It was expensiveùbut wait. We hired some
skid-row characters on Saturday, through connections Tom has, and specified that they must show up with two-day beards on Monday. We fed each one a sandwich loaded with garlic, gave him literature and instructionsùring the doorbell, blow his breath in the victimÆs face, and hand her a handbill, saying abruptly, ôHereÆs how you vote, lady!ö The handbill said, ôVOTE FOR McNYEö and had his special picture. It had the rest of TullyÆs slate too, and some choice quotes of McNyeÆs best double talk. Around the edge it said ô100% AmericanùlOO% American.ö
    We pushed the stumblebums through an average of four precincts apiece, concentrating on the better neighborhoods.
    That night there was an old-fashioned torchlight paradeùMrs. HolmesÆ show, and the wind-up of the proper campaign. It started off with an elephant and donkey (Heaven knows where she borrowed the elephant!) The elephant carried signs: IÆM FOR FRANCES; the donkey, SO AM I. There was a kidÆs band, flambeaux carried by our weary volunteers, and a platoon of WAC and WAVE veterans marching ahead of the car that carried Frances. She looked scared and lovely.
    Tom and I watched it, then got to work. No sleep that nightù More pasters. Windshield size this time, 3öxlOö, with glue on the printed side. I suppose half the cars in town have no garages, housing being what it is. We covered every block in the district before dawn, Tom driving and me on the right with a pail of water, a sponge, and stickers. He would pull alongside a car; I would slap a sticker on the windshield where it would stare the driver in the faceùand have to be scraped off. They read: VOTE FOR McNYEùKEEP AMERICA PURE.
    We figured it would help to remind people to vote. I voted myself when the polls opened, then fell into bed.
    I pulled myself together in time to get to the party at the headquartersùan empty building we had borrowed for the last month of the campaign. I hadnÆt given a thought to poll watchers or an honest countù that was Mrs. HolmesÆ babyùbut I didnÆt want to miss the returns.
    One election party is like anotherùthe same friendly drunks, the same silent huddle around the radio, the same taut feeling. I helped myself to some beer and potato chips and joined the huddle.
    ôAnything yet,ö I asked Mrs. Holmes. ôWhereÆs Frances?ö
    ôNot yet. I made her lie down.ö
    ôBetter get her out here. The candidate has to be seen. When people work for a pat on the back, youÆve got to give æem the pat.ö
    But Frances showed up about then, and went through the candidate routineùfriendly, gracious, thanking people, etc. I began to think about running her for Congress.
    Tom showed up, bleary-eyed, as the first returns came in. All McNye. Frances heard them and her smile slipped. Dr. Potter went over to her and said, ôItÆs not importantùthe machineÆs precincts are usually first to report.ö She plastered her smile back on.
    McNye piled up a big lead. Then our efforts began to showùNelson was pulling up. By 10:30 it was neck and neck. After a while it began to look as if we had elected a councilman.
    Around midnight McNye got on the air and conceded.

    So IÆm a councilmanÆs field secretary now. I sit outside the rail when the council meets; when I scratch my right ear, Councilman Nelson votes ôyesö; if I scratch my left ear, she votes ônoöùusually.
    Marry her? Me? Tom married her. TheyÆre building a house, one bedroom and two bathrooms. When they can get the fixtures, that is.