"Oh, please do," the governor said, straight-faced. "There's nothing
wrong with that. Your father and I are perfectly willing to admit that
men are equal--but we can't admit that all men are the _same_. Use your
eyes! What you believe in is your business, but," he added, "when your
beliefs extend to setting fire to segregated public lavatories as a
protest move, which is what got you arrested, you apparently need to be
taught a lesson. Well, perhaps you've learned it. You were a help here
tonight and that counts for a lot."
Captain O'Leary said, face furrowed: "What about the warden, Governor?
They say the category system is what makes the world go round; it fits
the right man to the right job and keeps him there. But look at Warden
Schluckebier! He fell completely apart at the seams. He--"
"Turn that statement around, O'Leary."
"Turn--?"
The governor nodded. "You've got it reversed. Not the right man for the
job--the right job for the man! We've got Schluckebier on our hands,
see? He's been born; it's too late to do anything about that. He will
go to pieces in an emergency. So where do we put him?"
O'Leary stubbornly clamped his jaw, frowning.
"We put him," the governor went on gently, "where the best thing
to _do_ in a crisis is to go to pieces! Why, O'Leary, you get some
hot-headed man of action in here, and every time an inmate sneezes,
you'll have bloodshed! And there's no harm in a prison riot. Let the
poor devils work off steam. I wouldn't have bothered to get out of bed
for it--except I was worried about the hostages. So I came down to make
sure they were protected in the best possible way."