Hank said to the fright, "There wouldn't be a nice bar around would
there?"
"Down the street three blocks and to your left is Dirty Dick's." She
added scornfully, "All the tourists go there."
"Then we shouldn't make an exception," Hank said. "Miss Moore, my
arm."
* * * * *
On the way over she said, "Are you excited about going to the Soviet
Union?"
"I wouldn't say excited. Curious, though."
"You don't sound very sympathetic to them."
"To Russia?" Hank said. "Why should I be? Personally, I believe in
democracy."
"So do I," she said, her voice clipped. "I think we ought to try it
some day."
"Come again?"
"So far as I can see, we pay lip service to democracy, that's about
all."
Hank grinned inwardly. He'd already figured that during this tour he'd
be thrown into contact with characters running in shade from gentle
pink to flaming red. His position demanded that he remain
inconspicuous, as _average_ an American tourist as possible. Flaring
political arguments weren't going to help this, but, on the other hand
to avoid them entirely would be apt to make him more conspicuous than
ever.
"How do you mean?" he said now.
"We have two political parties in our country without an iota of
difference between them. Every four years they present candidates and
give us a choice. What difference does it make which one of the two we
choose if they both stand for the same thing? This is democracy?"
Hank said mildly, "Well, it's better than sticking up just one
candidate and saying, which one of this one do you choose? Look, let's
steer clear of politics and religion, eh? Otherwise this'll never turn
out to be a beautiful friendship."
Charity Moore's face portrayed resignation.