"No!" said Groff, suddenly hot. "What's the matter with you, Brayer?
You know this Chesbro--Starkman knows him. He's a cheap angle-shooting
county politician. Not even your own county, for God's sake! I came
up here to start a factory--maybe not a very big factory, compared to
Ford or R.C.A., but the biggest damned factory I ever tried to start;
and Chesbro was in on the ground floor ahead of me, trying to steal my
factory site for some two-bit deal of his own. You think he cares about
Hebertown? You think he's going to worry about whether the right people
get the right money, or whether the area makes a recovery from this? He
cares about Artie Chesbro, and that's all!"
"Now, hold on a minute, boy--"
"Hold on, hell! If Henry Starkman wasn't half-dead, he wouldn't let
Chesbro get away with this! What right have you got to--"
"Hold on, boy!" The old man was suddenly erect, forceful. "You don't
have to tell me what Henry likes and doesn't like. Forty-one years
we've been friends, and between us we pretty near run this town. And
you know what's been happening? Every year a couple more buildings off
the tax rolls, every year another couple thousand dollars short in
collections. Chesbro? Sure, boy. He's out for number one. But I saw
that message that went to the White House. It said a billion dollars.
God, man--do you know what any part of a billion dollars would mean to
Hebertown?"
He glared at Groff without speaking for a moment. Then he leaned back
and rubbed his eyes wearily. "A billion dollars," he said, and it was
like a prayer.
* * * * *
The little ranch house had been perfectly untouched by the flood; it
was well uphill on Sullivan Street. Representative Akslund worked
comfortably through the day in the pine-paneled den. His work consisted
mostly of conversation with Artie Chesbro while Sharon sat by and took
notes by candlelight. Agreement was reached, a statement was signed,
the old man yawned politely and shuffled off to the master bedroom.
"You release this to the network," he said from the door. "The wire
services can take it off the air. Good night."
And Sharon and Chesbro raced to the school.
"Damn it," said Chesbro peevishly. The mobile broadcasting truck was
gone. They scurried around with flashlights; Sharon found a state
trooper who thought he remembered seeing it heading down toward the
roped-off area at the foot of River Street. The houses there were
either down or abandoned, and the only permitted persons were national
guardsmen, theoretically patrolling against looters.
"Hello," said Mickey Groff. Sharon Froman jumped and turned around.
She said, projecting throatily, "Mickey! Thank heaven. It's good to see
you, Mickey. We were worried."
Artie Chesbro caught her eye and slid away. Sharon said gaily, "Hasn't
this been a day? We haven't slept ten minutes altogether since we saw
you last. Luckily I'm a writer." She lifted her briefcase with a smile.
"What's that got to do with it?"
"We writers have our little secrets," she said. She put her hand on his
shoulder, strolling him away.
"Where'd Chesbro go?"
"He'll be back," Sharon assured him. "Buy me a cup of coffee and tell
me what's been going on."
"Buying" a cup of coffee consisted of rinsing out a cup and ladling
black coffee out of the tarry stew that had been bubbling over a
gasoline flame for six hours. Groff let himself be steered and took a
sip of the coffee. It was awful, but it was coffee. He said, "I've been
helping out around here as best I could. So has Chesbro's wife, and so
has Mrs. Goudeket. And you?"
Sharon said with a quiet pride, "We've been doing our share, believe
me. We've spent the whole day with Congressman Akslund. He just went to
bed a few minutes ago."
"Alone?" Mickey Groff asked.
Sharon looked at him with cold resentment. "That's an unpleasant
remark, Groff," she said thinly. "If that's the way you intend to talk,
I'll leave you alone." She turned her back on him and walked haughtily
away.
Anyway, Artie Chesbro was already out of sight; there was no chance
that Groff could find him before he reached the mobile unit.
Poor Mickey Groff, thought Sharon with deep and sincere sympathy, he
would take it hard when he heard Chesbro had Congressman Akslund's
backing to head the Emergency Relief Committee. But he had had his
chance. He had seen her first, but he had chosen to throw in his lot
with Mrs. Goudeket and that fantastic Chesbro woman; and she had gone
over to the better man.
Poor Mickey Groff, Sharon thought comfortably. Maybe some other
time....