Capable of Honor Read online

“Unnhunnh,” the columnist said. “Exclusive until the next phone call you make. All right, we’ll do it your way as long as it is exclusive. The minute I see something in the Post that I haven’t got first, we’ll start doing it my way. I still think a hint of friction with Beth and Orrin would intrigue—”

  “Darling, when did anyone have to HINT at friction between us and the Knoxes? It’s built in as long as he persists in thinking he has a right to be President.”

  “Yes, I know; only Ted Jason has a right to think that. Incidentally, how come you don’t run for the Senate in California instead of New York? You aren’t afraid of Cullee Hamilton, are you?”

  “Because New York is—” Patsy stopped abruptly and chuckled. “Oh, no, you don’t. None of this entrapment, now. Who said I was running from anywhere? Anyway,” she added, more tartly, “who says I’m afraid of Cullee Hamilton? He isn’t such a shoo-in, even if he runs. And who says he is? He hasn’t announced yet, has he?”

  “Nope,” the columnist agreed comfortably. “But he will.”

  “Well,” Patsy said, still tartly, “I repeat: who said I was running from anywhere?”

  “I agree I think it’s a fool idea,” the columnist told her with a deliberately infuriating indifference. “But I suppose you think if Jason money could buy California for Ted it can buy New York for you. Who knows?” She yawned elaborately into the telephone. “You may be right. Lordy, I’ve got to run to get to ‘Vagaries’ by three. Call again soon when you’ve got another hot one, O.K.?”

  “I certainly will,” Patsy said, deciding not to rise to the bait and argue. “Give my love to Dolly. Tell her I hope she isn’t planning a party for Orrin Knox the same night. That would be a coincidence.”

  “That would be a disaster,” the columnist said. “I think I can assure you right now that nobody will give a party that same night. I’m sure the Knoxes, the Munsons, the President, the copy boy, and the whole wide wonderful world will be there to honor wise little wonderful Walter.” She gave a sardonic snort. “After all, why shouldn’t we? Hasn’t he saved the nation for twenty-five long years? It’s the least we can do to show our gratitude.”

  Of all the unpleasant people, Patsy thought as she hung up on the ribald, knowing voice, that one took the cake. Honestly, that woman. First, floating that ridiculous rumor about the Senate when she, Patsy, hadn’t really even made up her mind, and then implying that she was afraid to run in her native California just because Cullee Hamilton, its most famous Negro Congressman, might try for the Senate this year. Jasons didn’t scare that easily. Jasons, in fact, didn’t scare at all. A couple of hundred millions and four generations of command running back to the Spanish occupation of California saw to that. Jasons went after what they wanted without any qualms. And got it.

  And they will this year, too, she promised the columnist. You wait and see!

  As for what the columnist—whose name was Helen-Anne Carrew, and who had herself seen them come and go in Washington’s restless tides almost as long as Walter Wonderful—thought about that distinguished gentleman. Patsy had to confess that, while disliking the tone, she could not entirely disagree with the diagnosis. There was something quite precious about Walter Dobius, as though he were handing down tablets from a golden sarcophagus in the Smithsonian. But there was also something quite powerful about him. More powerful, in fact, than about any other single commentator on the American scene.

  Regularly his solemnly portentous, more than a little pompous countenance stared out upon his countrymen from the head of his column, as if to say, “Who are you, and what makes you think you know what’s going on? Much better you should listen to me, peasants. I really know What It’s All About.”

  And such is the obliging nature of peasants that they had long ago accepted this implied self-anointment—which was much more than implied in the title of his column (“The Way It Is”) and the general tone of his writings—and concluded agreeably that indeed he did know, and that of all those writing out of Washington, the Bakers, the Drummonds, the Krocks, the Lippmanns, the Pearsons, the Restons, and the rest, Walter Wonderful was indeed the greatest of them all.

  “Did you read Walter Dobius today?” someone would chortle in Canarsie, someone would rage in Dubuque. “I do think Walter Dobius is so astute” they would tell one another in Kennebunkport, nodding sagely in L.A.

  As broad as the oceans, as high as the sky, ran the writ of Walter Dobius to tell humanity what it should do. With a heavy and often slashing turn of phrase (broken at conscientious intervals by determinedly jocular attempts at humor) and a diligent attention to his news sources, that is exactly what he did.

  Even more fundamental than his hold upon his countrymen, of course—and the thing that really made him so interesting to Jasons and Kennedys, Knoxes, and Rockefellers, and everyone else who had aspirations to power in the powerful city—was his influence with the government and his hold upon the press. The press did not quite, in Helen-Anne’s acrid phrase, go “baa-ing at his heels”—it wasn’t as obvious as that—nor did certain influential people in the State Department and elsewhere—at least openly—ask him what they should do.

  Yet there had been more than one secret meeting at “Salubria” in Leesburg in time of crisis, more than one Chief Executive and Secretary of State who had arrived by furtive helicopter in the lush Virginia countryside to stay a while, receive the Word, and then be whisked away again to the city of their torment and their power. And in news offices throughout the land his columns, a little turgid but filled with the calm certainty that he was absolutely right—for did not things very often move as he said they would, and was not his advice very often followed in the councils of the mighty?—laid down a line that was frequently echoed by editors not quite sure of themselves, local columnists casting about for a subject to fill up today’s six hundred words, national commentators needing inspiration with which to face the evening cameras, book and drama critics anxious to maintain their standing at Manhattan cocktail parties, reporters who found themselves awed and impressed by his fabulous reputation and so inclined, often quite unconsciously, to see the news and transmit it with a selection and emphasis that subtly but powerfully reflected his ideas.

  Thus Walter Wonderful was a prize indeed, and Patsy intended to see to it that the prize went to her brother in his growing campaign against Secretary of State Orrin Knox for the Presidential nomination that would presumably be left open when President Harley Hudson made good on his promise to step down at the end of the present term.

  As Walter jumped, so would many of the news media, much of the academic world, most of that complex of power and superior certainty that had its habitat in plush offices in New York and Washington and other major centers throughout the land. All of these people swore by Walter Dobius, all of them obediently thought as his columns told them they should. There was a network of attitude, non-conspiratorial but quite binding, which controlled the thinking and the reactions of this particular powerful group of interests in America. Walter Dobius nine times out of ten was the man who, in the last analysis, created that attitude if it did not exist, or strengthened it if it existed but showed signs of wavering.

  This Patsy knew, and Ted, and Orrin Knox and Harley Hudson and a number of other astute and powerful people, some not so basically friendly to the country as these. Sophisticates in politics, instinctive or self-made students of their well-meaning but sometimes rather erratic countrymen, they were all aware that if you praised the right people, backed the right causes, parroted the right phrases, indulged in the right type of automatic thinking, you could be absolutely sure of flattering news stories, favorable editorials, cordial television broadcasts, helpful reviews, friendly and encouraging references in any one of the thousand and one channels through which a public issue or personality is presented to the American people, and through them to the world.

  Thus if Walter Dobius endorsed the shrewd gray-haired gentleman known as Governor Edward Jason of California, his
friends, colleagues, and true believers by the millions would also endorse Ted. And if by some remote chance he decided to endorse the shrewd gray-haired gentleman known as Secretary of State Orrin Knox, the friends, colleagues, and true believers, though gulping and groaning and protesting a bit, would finally, obediently, fall into line behind Orrin.

  So it was that Patsy, having launched her well-laid plans in what only appeared to be an impulsive moment, again picked up the receiver, drew toward her over her enormous redwood desk a carefully prepared list of names, and began telephoning around the country. At almost the same moment, three miles across town in Southeast Washington, Helen-Anne Carrew yanked the item about the award banquet out of her typewriter and sent it along to be set in type for tomorrow’s paper, knowing as she did so that she was helping to start in motion what was, for all practical purposes, the opening gambit in Ted Jason’s formal campaign for the Presidency.

  The ways of the Jasons, the columnist told herself as she gave her mouth a hasty smear of lipstick, grabbed her purse and mink coat and hurried out of the Star’s busy newsroom, were among the damnedest curiosities in American politics. But, knowing full well the weight of Walter Wonderful, she was ready to bet a sizable amount that they would, in this instance, be more than a little effective.

  And now, the Secretary of State thought with an annoyed grimace an hour later, he supposed he would have to go ahead and announce right away instead of waiting, as he had planned, for some definite sign from the President.

  “Damn that woman, anyway,” he remarked rather absently into the telephone. At the other end of the line, in Dolly Munson’s green and gold dressing room at snow-hugged “Vagaries” standing white and secret and warm amid the softly falling drifts in Rock Creek Park, his wife chuckled.

  “Watch your language. This line may be tapped.”

  “It probably is,” Orrin Knox said. “By Patsy. What do you think I should do?” he asked with a mock solemnity. “Give Helen-Anne a statement withdrawing from the race?”

  “Helen-Anne has enough to write about for one afternoon,” Beth Knox said. “I think you’d better talk to him.”

  Her husband made a skeptical sound.

  “Ted? You don’t think I can get him to withdraw, do you?”

  “Not Ted.”

  “Walter?” The Secretary snorted. “I lost Walter the night I refused to take his advice on Terrible Terry. I was the first Secretary of State in fifteen years who had the guts to say No to Walter Dobius. You’ve observed the tone of his columns toward me ever since.”

  “Very pontifical, I’ve thought. Suitably dignified and profound, as always.”

  “And full of little knives,” the Secretary said. An acid note came into his voice as he quoted:

  “‘I think we can begin to see the basic fallacies underlying the policies of Secretary of State Orrin Knox as he attempts to apply to foreign affairs the same techniques he used in the Senate as senior Senator from Illinois. It is apparent now, it seems to me, that methods effective in that distinguished body do not always have the application elsewhere that former Senators sometimes assume. It is time, in my judgment, for the Secretary to reconsider his course. Too much is at stake for him to do otherwise, I believe.’”

  Beth laughed.

  “You have the tone, all right, but aren’t you a little harsh with the personal pronouns? I don’t think he uses ‘I’ and ‘my’ more than once in each paragraph, does he?”

  “I once counted five in two hundred words. Anyway, what difference does it make how many he uses? They all add up to nix on Knox.”

  “I repeat, watch your language,” Beth said with an alarm that wasn’t entirely in jest. “You’ll let fly with some bright line like that someday and the Jasons will pick it up and run with it. Don’t give them any more ammunition than they’ve got already.”

  “Oh, is it called ammunition?” her husband inquired. “I thought it was called money. What does Dolly think of this?”

  “Dolly is being the perfect hostess and wife of the Senate Majority Leader. She is being as bland as I am under the vigilant eye of Miss Helen-Anne. And that, my boy, is mighty bland, I can tell you. I have conveyed nothing but polite interest in Patsy’s plans.”

  “Which of course doesn’t fool Helen-Anne for a second.”

  “Not one second. I don’t really think Dolly likes what Patsy’s up to. I don’t think Bob will, either. It’s so obvious.”

  “Crude, I’d say,” the Secretary agreed. “Unless,” he gave a sudden chuckle, “we’d thought of it first, in which case it would have been shrewd and quite all right. So you think I should talk to Walter, do you? What makes you think any talk from me can change that closed mind?”

  “I’m sure he thinks exactly the same of you. It could be you’re both suffering from misconceptions a good talk could remove.”

  “You don’t believe that,” Orrin said. His tone became amused. “Walter’s misconcepts about me I’ll grant you, but surely not mine about him! But, you’re no doubt right, as always. I should talk to him. I should go on bended knee as so many of my predecessors have before me, and say to him, Walter, I should say, tell poor old stupid ignorant Orrin how to run the world, Walter. Walter, tell poor old Orrin how to do it, Walter—”

  “Not in that mood, you shouldn’t. If you can’t do better than that, you might as well write him off and forget it.”

  “He’s gone anyway,” the Secretary said, “and with him most of the press. Why shouldn’t I write them off?”

  “Now,” his wife said. “Relax, Mr. Secretary. Relax, Senator. This time, I think maybe we can agree, the stakes are rather high, right? Don’t you think you can afford a little patience, even if they haven’t been very nice to you? You really are the logical candidate this time, in spite of Ted’s ambitions—”

  “And fortune.”

  “Fortunes have been beaten before.”

  “Not lately.”

  “Well, it can be done. And if I were you—of course I’m not, and as usual, you’ll do exactly as you please—”

  “Yeah,” her husband agreed in an amused tone. “Oh, yeah. Hank,” he said, using the nickname he resorted to in moments of deepest candor, “when haven’t I followed your advice?”

  She laughed. “I haven’t got time to give you a list—the girls downstairs will get suspicious if I powder my nose much longer. Just take my word for it, I think you’d be well-advised to talk to Walter Dobius. After all, you know, he may quite conceivably have to accept you as President if the country does. It will be hard on Walter if the country goes against his advice, but who knows? He’s not dumb, and if he decides you’re going to be elected in spite of him, he may decide to get on the bandwagon. Or rather, as I expect he would rationalize it in his own mind, come to your assistance and help persuade you to do the right thing.”

  “Save me from myself,” Orrin suggested.

  “And save us from you, too. Walter has a terrific messianic complex at heart, you know. He just wants the salvation to be on his terms.”

  “Who doesn’t?” the Secretary said. “As a matter of fact, I don’t think Walter’s going to have to worry. Harley Hudson will save all of us from me.”

  At this reference to the kindly, somewhat bumbling but unexpectedly forceful and highly popular occupant of the White House, Beth Knox made a small, impatient sound. Not too impatient, for like most people she too was fond of the President, but enough to express the characteristic annoyance of would-be candidates faced with an equivocal incumbent.

  “Yes. I could rather wish he would make up his mind.”

  “I’m sure he’s made up his mind,” Orrin said. “He just isn’t telling anybody.”

  “But here it is almost April,” his wife protested. “He’s paralyzed all of you, so far this year. He’s kept a lid on you and Ted both. Nobody’s been able to do any real campaigning or run in any primaries—”

  “Frankly,” Orrin Knox said, “I am deeply grateful to the President of the Un
ited States for keeping me out of the ruts and drifts of New Hampshire. If he wanted to let his name go in there, and Wisconsin too, well and good.”

  “He didn’t say he wanted to,” Beth pointed out. “The state chairman did it without his approval. Or so it was alleged, in well-informed circles.”

  “Yes,” the Secretary said wryly. “I’ve thought before this that Harley has turned into a damned sight cleverer politician than any of us ever gave him credit for when he was Vice President. Actually, he’s made it quite painless for everybody, up to now. I’m happy to avoid as many primaries as possible, and campaigning too, as long as he makes his intentions clear before the convention.…Except that Walter is going to kick off Ted’s campaign Friday night and then I’ll have to follow suit whether I want to or not, or whether Harley wants me to or not. Damn that woman, as I said before.”

  “Maybe it’s best for everyone that Jasons rush in where more decorous souls fear to tread,” Beth remarked. “Maybe we should be grateful to Patsy. This idea of hers may be just the catalyst everybody needs. It might even smoke out Harley. Why don’t you talk to him, too?”

  “I’ve talked to Harley so many times I’m blue in the face. He’s become a master of the sidestep, combined with the fatherly soothe-down. I’d swear at times he’s my grandfather.”

  “Maybe Patsy will do it,” Beth said. “Lucille Hudson’s here and of course she’ll go right back and tell Harley. Why don’t you give her an hour or two and then drop in? I don’t believe there’s anything official going on over there tonight.”

  “I’m very skeptical it’ll do any good,” Orrin said, “Though it might. Give my love to all the girls—I suppose they’re all there?”

  “Oh, yes, Kitty Maudulayne and Celestine Barre and many others from the diplomatic crowd; a lot of Hill wives and a good many from downtown. Dolly’s done it up right for me. This means Patsy will have the whole town buzzing by tonight, which of course is just what she wanted to do when she talked to Helen-Anne.”