* * * * *
Brandon got up and walked to the window and looked out at the setting
sun. It was hard to define; there were some things words couldn't
explain. All the offers had been good ones. But a man had to have some
rule, some yardstick to guide him. Brandon had his. He wanted to
be useful, that wasn't too much to ask. Life was too short to waste
laboring in a position he wasn't fitted for. If he took Interior's
offer all that would be ended. He would be caught in a web which
allowed no escape.
Brandon turned. "I'm afraid, Mr. Secretary, that you don't understand
my position. It isn't that I feel above being employed by the
President. I have all the respect in the world for him and his office.
I have nothing but respect for you...."
"Then what is it, Brandon?"
"I don't think I would be happy taking orders from some one else."
"We all have a boss, Brandon."
"I haven't."
The Secretary grinned. "You can head your own department. The President
and myself will be the only ones you will have to answer to, I promise."
"That's what I mean," Brandon answered softly.
The Secretary felt his face flush. "You _are_ insinuating that you are
above working for the President, Mr. Brandon!" he said stiffly.
"You're twisting words." Brandon's voice was determined. "It's just
that I like to work alone. I like to put my hat on and go, whenever,
and wherever I please."
The Secretary shook his head "Brandon! I happen to know that you
haven't been off this estate, this property of yours, in the past five
years."
"That doesn't alter a thing. I can go, anytime I please. I have no
reason to leave now. But when I do, I won't feel obligated, I won't
have to ask permission."
The Secretary relaxed. "You can do that in the department anytime you
wish. Visit the conservations, then, when you are tired of traipsing
around, you can come back and write up a report or two." The Secretary
cleared his throat. "Just for the records, of course."
Brandon sighed. "Of course. Just for the records." He brushed back
his thick, black hair and sat down. Damn it. Why couldn't they leave
him alone? That was all he wanted, to be left alone. He was sick of
all this. They knew he wasn't fitted to be a clerk in any of the
departments. Yet they wasted his time offering him important positions,
as if the title would persuade him. Why?
"We could outlaw your doll-making," the Secretary said casually.
Brandon shrugged his shoulders. "Harmonics did that with my music
writing, remember! I didn't always do hand-carving."
The Secretary remembered. He had had an indirect hand in that. It had
been thought that if Brandon was suddenly without income he might
easily be persuaded to accept a position. They hadn't counted on
Brandon's resourcefulness, nor his stubborness.
The thin man leaned back in his chair, looked again at the doll thing
resting in one hand. The man was clever; there was a life-like quality
to the doll. Brandon was an artist and it would be a shame to take him
out of circulation. Yet what could he do? The President had insisted on
the visit again this year, knowing full well that Brandon would turn
down the offer.
Suddenly, the Secretary felt sorry for Brandon. The man was breaking
down and didn't realize it. His face was drawn and pale. He looked
dog-tired.
"Won't you change your mind, Brandon?" the Secretary asked softly.
"With Interior you will have an opportunity to get out into the
sunlight. It will be a healthy life visiting the many conservations we
have situated around the country; it will agree with you, I'm sure."
Brandon sighed. "I'm afraid, Mr. Secretary, that we are both wasting
our time. I have a tremendous amount of paper work to finish before
midnight tonight and I am tired. I also have a few more interviews
before I can get at it." Brandon got up, "So if you don't mind--"