Free Decision by Allen Drury Page B

already possessed of such an outstanding reputation. He promised to cooperate with Tay in every way he could.
    It was Tay’s first direct contact with the Court, and although, in the way of Washington, nothing much came of it but paperwork, also—in the way of Washington—his personal reputation and public visibility were much enhanced. At the conclusion of their study he received a glowing letter of commendation and approval from the Chief. At Tay’s suggestion it was released to the media. The image grew.
    And it was not an empty image, either, he could tell himself with justified satisfaction. He worked hard at his new assignment, spent many hours studying the administration of justice, traveled around the country to visit most of the major federal and state courts, offered recommendations that were practical, specific and, he felt, sound. If they did not do much to break the growing logjam of an increasingly litigious nation, that was not his fault. His work was diligent, thorough, constructive, farsighted. “Somebody else will have to follow through on it,” he told Moss when he was moved up two years later to be Solicitor General, “but at least I’ve laid a good foundation.” Later he was to perform equally diligent service, and gain further public acclaim, when as Secretary of Labor he was appointed vice-chairman of the President’s Special Commission on Crime and Violence. Unlike most of his politically cautious fellow members he came out strongly against the rising tide of vigilantism, which brought him much praise from major media and much bitter condemnation from his more worried countrymen. But he felt it must be said.
    Only one thing galled him as he ascended the public ladder toward what he continued to hope would eventually be appointment to the Court, and that was Mary’s apparent growing disaffection and dissatisfaction with their life in Washington. The political melting pot throws together the multimillionairess who has come to the capital to trade her lavish parties for the chance to call the mighty by their first names and the wife of the truck driver from New Jersey who by some fluke happens to get himself elected to the House of Representatives. It blends them into a fascinating and amicable mélange of backgrounds and interests.
    The charm of this escaped Mary. She had been reared to associate with a certain class of people and that was really all she wanted to do. She was, he realized, a genuine snob; and in the extremely democratic society of the capital, where office and rank, not an individual’s background, wealth or even manners, determine whatever snobbism exists, she was never entirely at ease. She was one of the few people he had ever known who did not find Washington fascinating. At the same time she had a loud and frequently expressed horror of “going back to California and just being a farmer’s wife.” Going back to California was of course the last thing he himself intended to do, but it had inspired quite a few dramatic scenes in recent years.
    The only thing that would make her really happy, he felt, would be for him to join a top law firm in Philadelphia, buy a house on the Main Line and sink slowly into affluent desuetude as the years passed profitably, and lifelessly, by.
    This was not for him; yet he could not really conceive that this alone was enough to bring about the slowly growing separation he had sensed, fought against, and ultimately found too strong to overcome. There must be something more to it; and being an honest, generous and compassionate man who often blamed himself for others’ errors, he felt that it must be something in him that was lacking. They had been married six years when they were finally blessed with one child, Jane, on whom he gradually came to focus much of his time and emotion; Mary announced firmly that she was having no more. He had balked but she had been adamant. After a time he had come to accept it and had hoped that by giving