Free Our Children's Children by Clifford D. Simak Page A

comfortable furniture, the paintings on the wall.
    â€œYou have got it good, Grant,” he said. “I sometimes worry about that. Maybe you have it too good.”
    â€œMeaning I won’t fight. Will be afraid to dirty my hands.”
    â€œSomething like that, Grant. But I tell myself I’m wrong. Did plenty of fighting in your day. Out in the business world.” He gestured at the paintings. “Always suspicious of a man who owns a Renoir.”
    â€œHow about a drink, Senator?”
    â€œLate enough in the afternoon,” said the Senator judiciously, “for a splash of bourbon. Great drink, bourbon. American. Has character. I remember you drink scotch.”
    â€œWith you,” said Wellington, “I drink bourbon.”
    â€œYou been listening to what is happening?”
    â€œSaw some of it on TV.”
    â€œMan could stub his toe,” said the Senator, “on a thing like that. He could stub his toe real bad.”
    â€œYou mean Henderson.”
    â€œI mean everybody. Easy thing to do.”
    Wellington brought the Senator his drink, went back to the bar to pour his own. The Senator settled more deeply into the chair, fondling the glass. He took a drink, puffed out his cheeks in appreciation. “For a scotch man,” he said, “you carry a good brand.”
    â€œI took my cue from you,” said Wellington, coming back and sitting on a sofa.
    â€œI imagine the man at 1600,” said the Senator, “has a lot on his mind. Maybe more than he can handle. Terrible batch of decisions to be made. Yes, sir, a lot of them.”
    â€œI don’t envy him,” said Wellington.
    â€œMost terrible thing that can happen to a man,” said the Senator. “With election coming up next year. He’ll have that on his mind and it won’t help him any. Trouble is he has to say something, has to do something. Nobody else has to, but he has to.”
    â€œIf you are trying to say that I should say nothing or do nothing, you are succeeding very well,” said Wellington. “Never try to be subtle, Senator. You’re not very good at it.”
    â€œWell, I don’t know,” said the Senator. “You can’t come straight out and tell a man to keep his mouth shut.”
    â€œIf these people are really from the future.…”
    â€œOh, they’re from the future, all right. Where else could they come from?”
    â€œThen you can’t go wrong on them,” said Wellington. “They are our descendants. What they are doing is like a bunch of kids running home after they got hurt.”
    â€œWell, now, I don’t know,” said the Senator, “although that’s not exactly what I meant. It’s not the people; it is old Sam up there in the White House. He’s the one who’s got to do something about it and he’s bound to make mistakes and we got to watch careful to evaluate those mistakes of his. We can jump on some of them and some of them we can’t. There may be even a few things he does that we have to go along with; we can’t be too unreasonable. But the thing right now is not to commit ourselves. You know and I know there are a lot of people want that nomination next summer to run against old Sam, and I mean, if I can imagine it, that you are the one who gets it. Some of the other boys will think they see some opportunities in what the man up there does and they’ll get anxious and start shooting off their mouths and I tell you, Grant, that the people won’t remember who was first, but the one who happens to be right.”
    â€œOf course, I appreciate your concern,” said Wellington, “but it happens that you made this trip for nothing. I had no intention whatever of taking a position. I’m not sure right now there is a position one can take.”
    The Senator held out his empty glass. “If you don’t mind,” he said, “another little