Preserve and Protect by Allen Drury

it,” she said slowly, and he could visualize the characteristic little frown of concentration. “It wasn’t so good from mine.”
    “Why not?” he asked, and because he was afraid of sounding plaintive, sounded sharp. “I’m sorry,” he said instantly. “I didn’t mean to sound impatient. I’m—still under a lot of strain, I guess.”
    “That’s all right, I understand. I meant that it seemed a little—self-serving, maybe. But then, I suppose any such statement has to, of course.”
    “Didn’t Orrin’s?” he asked, again sharp; and this time he did not apologize.
    “Oh, yes,” she agreed. “I’m not arguing that.”
    “What would you have me do?” he demanded. “Not run?”
    “I don’t think you have a choice in the world.”
    “All right, then.”
    “Either from a political standpoint or a family one.”
    “What do you mean by that?” he inquired, making it lighter. “My fatal Jason blood?”
    “Your fatal Jason compulsion to take top prize if you possibly can.”
    “Do you think it’s just for the prize?” And again, to his annoyance, his voice trembled a little. He didn’t want to sound supplicant, but he knew he was. “Don’t you think I have any ideals and principles about it?”
    But at this there was dead silence from “Vistazo” and he knew exactly what she was saying to him: Ideals and principles after the things you did and condoned at the convention? And suddenly he was overwhelmed by this himself, and for several seconds was silent also, buffeted by a hundred unhappy thoughts. Finally, because he must, he spoke.
    “Ceil—” he said tentatively. “Do you think I’m really as—as awful—as—as I have seemed to be?”
    “Do you want an honest answer?”
    “I know I always get one from you,” he said, attempting a little laugh that didn’t really come off.
    “Yes,” she said, and sighed. “I suppose you do. That’s probably the trouble.”
    “No trouble. I just want to know if I am.”
    “Well—” she sighed again. “What am I supposed to say to that? I think you did things you shouldn’t have done. I think you permitted things to be done in your name that shouldn’t have been done. I didn’t approve of them. So I left. I haven’t changed my mind about them. They still disturb me, very much. I think what you ought to do now is stay out of it. Orrin has a right to it. The convention decided for the President and Orrin, let Orrin have it. He’s the logical choice of the opinion that really, I think, represents a majority of the country. Why should you revive all the bitterness and hatred now? Haven’t we had enough of it in the last couple of months? Aren’t you satisfied?”
    He was silent for a moment while all sorts of angrily defensive things came to mind and were rejected. Finally he spoke, more quietly than he had thought he could.
    “That isn’t really very fair. I haven’t been ‘satisfied’ with the bitterness. It’s been an inevitable accompaniment of the kind of commitment Harley and Orrin made for us overseas. These adventures aren’t popular, you know. People are bitter about Panama and Gorotoland. It seems to them to be the Korea-Vietnam pattern all over again. Inevitably it gets into politics. I can’t help it if those who are bitter want me in the White House. They have to have some hope that things will improve. I can’t turn my back on them when they believe in me.”
    “It’s marvelous,” she said in a musing tone that robbed it somewhat of hurt, “how the Jasons can always rationalize what they want to do. As I see it, the convention reached a decision. The bitter people have lost. Why don’t you encourage them to accept it and join ranks with the rest? Why keep trying to split the country apart? Who does it help, except those who hate America?”
    “Ceil,” he said quietly, “now you’re not being rational. I’m not ‘trying to split the country apart.’ It is split apart. I’m trying to heal it