Cannon said. "Hecouldn't keep the governor's office, in spite of the great job he'ddone."
"That's right. He's just not a politician, Jim. He doesn't have the ...the personality, the flash, whatever it is that it takes to get a manelected by the people. I've got it; you sure as hell have it; Fisherdoesn't."
"That's why I've got Horvin working for us," said Senator Cannon."Whether I need him or not may be a point of argument. Whether MatthewFisher needs him or not is a rhetorical question."
Governor Spanding lit a cigarette in silence while he stared at thequasi-riot that was still coming to the screen from Convention Hall.Then he said: "You've been thinking of Matt Fisher all along, then."
"Not Patagonia," said the senator. "Tibet."
"I'll shut up if you want me to, Jim."
"No. Go ahead."
"All right. Jim, I trust your judgment. I've got no designs on the VicePresidency myself, and you know it. I like to feel that, if I had, you'dgive me a crack at it. No, don't answer that, Jim; just let me talk.
"What I'm trying to say is that there are a lot of good men in the partywho'd make fine VP's; men who've given their all to get you thenomination, and who'll work even harder to see that you're elected. Whypass them up in favor of a virtual unknown like Matt Fisher?"
Senator Cannon didn't say anything. He knew that Spanding didn't want ananswer yet.
"The trouble with Fisher," Spanding went on, "is that he ... well, he'stoo autocratic. He pulls decisions out of midair. He--" Spanding paused,apparently searching for a way to express himself. Senator Cannon saidnothing; he waited expectantly.
"Take a look at the Bossard Decision," Spanding said. "Fisher wasAttorney General for his state at the time.
"Bossard was the Mayor of Waynesville--twelve thousand and somethingpopulation, I forget now. Fisher didn't even know Bossard. But when thebig graft scandal came up there in Waynesville, Fisher wouldn'tprosecute. He didn't actually refuse, but he hemmed and hawed around forfive months before he really started the State's machinery to moving. Bythat time, Bossard had managed to get enough influence behind him sothat he could beat the rap.
"When the case came to trial in the State Supreme Court, Matt Fishertold the Court that it was apparent that Mayor Bossard was the victim ofthe local district attorney and the chief of police of Waynesville. Inspite of the evidence against him, Bossard was acquitted." Spanding tooka breath to say something more, but Senator James Cannon interruptedhim.
"Not 'acquitted', Harry. 'Exonerated'. Bossard never even should havecome to trial," the senator said. "He was a popular, buddy-buddy sort ofguy who managed to get himself involved as an unwitting figurehead.Bossard simply wasn't--and isn't--very bright. But he was a friendly,outgoing, warm sort of man who was able to get elected through theauspices of the local city machine. Remember Jimmy Walker?"
Spanding nodded. "Yes, but--"
"Same thing," Cannon cut in. "Bossard was innocent, as far as anycriminal intent was concerned, but he was too easy on his so-calledfriends. He--"
"Oh, _crud_, Jim!" the governor interrupted vehemently. "That's the samewhitewash that Matthew Fisher gave him! The evidence would haveconvicted Bossard if Fisher hadn't given him time to cover up!"
* * * * *
Senator James Cannon suddenly became angry. He jammed his own cigarettebutt into the ash tray, turned toward Spanding, and snapped: "Harry,just for the sake of argument, let's suppose that Bossard wasn'tactually guilty. Let's suppose that the Constitution of the UnitedStates is really true--that a man isn't guilty until he's proven guilty.
"Just _suppose_"--his voice and expression became suddenly acid--"thatBossard was _not_ guilty. Try that, huh? Pretend, somewhere in your ownlittle mind, that a mere accusation--no matter what theevidence--doesn't prove anything! Let's just make a little game betweenthe two of us that the ideal of Equality Under the Law means what itsays. Want to play?"
"Well, yes, but--"
"O.K.," Cannon went on angrily. "O.K. Then let's suppose that Bossardreally _was_ stupid. He could have been framed easily, couldn't he? Hecould have been set up as a patsy, couldn't he? _Couldn't he?_"
"Well, sure, but--"
"Sure! Then go on and suppose that the prosecuting attorney had senseenough to see that Bossard _had_ been framed. Suppose further that theprosecutor was enough of a human being to know that Bossard either hadto be convicted or completely exonerated. What would he do?"
Governor Spanding carefully put his cigarette into the nearest ash tray."If that were the case, I'd _completely_ exonerate him. I wouldn't leaveit hanging. Matt Fisher didn't do anything but make sure that Bossardcouldn't be legally convicted; he didn't prove that Bossard wasinnocent."
"And what was the result, as far as Bossard was concerned?" the senatorasked.
Spanding looked around at the senator, staring Cannon straight in theface. "The result was that Bossard was left hanging, Jim. If I go alongwith you and assume that Bossard was innocent, then Fisher fouled upjust as badly as he would have if he'd fluffed the prosecution of aguilty man. Either a man is guilty, or he's innocent. If, according toyour theory, the prosecutor knows he's innocent, then he shouldexonerate the innocent man! If not, he should do his best to convict!"
"He should?" snapped Cannon. "He _should_? Harry, you're letting youridealism run away with you! If Bossard were guilty, he should have beenconvicted--sure! But if he were innocent, should he be exonerated?Should he be allowed to run again for office? Should the people beallowed to think that he was lily-white? Should they be allowed tore-elect a nitwit who'd do the same thing again because he was toostupid to see that he was being used?
"No!" He didn't let the governor time to speak; he went on: "MatthewFisher set it up perfectly. He exonerated Bossard enough to allow theex-mayor to continue in private life without any question. _But_--thereremained just enough question to keep him out of public office for therest of his life. Was that wrong, Harry? Was it?"
Spanding looked blankly at the senator for a moment, then his expressionslowly changed to one of grudging admiration. "Well ... if you put itthat way ... yeah. I mean, no; it wasn't wrong. It was the only way toplay it." He dropped his cigarette into a nearby ash tray. "O.K., Jim;you win. I'll back Fisher all the way."
"Thanks, Harry," Cannon said. "Now, if we--"
Congressman Matson came back into the room, saying, "I got 'em, Jim.Five or ten minutes, they'll be here. Which one of 'em is it going tobe?"
"Matt Fisher, if we can come to an agreement," Cannon said, watchingMatson's face closely.
Matson chewed at his cigar for a moment, then nodded. "He'll do. Notmuch political personality, but, hell, he's only running for Veep. Wecan get him through." He took the cigar out of his mouth. "How do youwant to run it?"
"I'll talk to Fisher in my bedroom. You and Harry hold the others inhere with the usual chitchat. Tell 'em I'm thinking over the choice ofmy running mate, but don't tell 'em I've made up my mind yet. If MattFisher doesn't want it, we can tell the others that Matt and I weresimply talking over the possibilities. I don't want anyone to think he'ssecond choice. Got it?"
Matson nodded. "Whatever you say, Jim."
* * * * *
That year, late August was a real blisterer along the eastern coast ofthe United States. The great megalopolis that sprawled from Boston toBaltimore in utter scorn of state boundaries sweltered in the kind ofatmosphere that is usually only found in the pressing rooms of largetailor shops. Consolidated Edison, New York's Own Power Company, waschurning out multimegawatts that served to air condition nearly everyenclosed place on the island of Manhattan--which served only to make theopen streets even hotter. The power plants in the Bronx, west Brooklyn,and east Queens were busily converting hydrogen into helium and energy,and the energy was being used to convert humid air at ninety-sixFahrenheit into dry air at seventy-one Fahrenheit. The subways werecrowded with people who had no intention of going anywhere inparticular; they just wanted t
o retreat from the hot streets to theair-conditioned bowels of the city.
But the heat that can be measured by thermometers was not the kind thatwas causing two groups of men in two hotels, only a few blocks apart onthe East Side of New York's Midtown, to break out in sweat, bothfigurative and literal.
One group was ensconced in the Presidential Suite