"Mr. Hoover concedes that both possible places have inherent advantages and disadvantages," the President went on. "He feels, however, that protection should be provided by a staff specially trained in law-enforcement and counter-espionage." So where did that leave me? I didn't say it quite that way, but I put across the idea. The President frowned a bit at nothing. "I'm informed you haven't been too ... comfortable." I gulped. Might as well be hung for a sheep. If the Boss likes you, the Help must. "I'm sorry, Mr. President, but it isn't much fun being shifted around pillar and post." He nodded slowly. "Quite understandable, under the circumstances. That, we'll try to eliminate as much as we can. You can see, Pete," and he flashed that famous wide grin, "it will be in the national interest to see that you are always in the finest physical and mental condition. Crudely expressed, perhaps, but the truth, nevertheless." I like people to tell me the truth. He could see that. He's like that, himself. On his job, you have to be like that. "Now, Pete; let's get down to cases. Have you any ideas, any preferences, any suggestions?" He took a gold pencil out of his breast pocket and it began to twirl. I had an idea, all right. "Why not just let me go back home? I'll keep my mouth shut, I won't blow any fuses or raise any hell, if you'll excuse the expression." Someone coughed. The President turned his head out of the circle of light. "Yes, Mr. Hoover?" J. Edgar Hoover was diffident. "Er ... Mrs. Miller has been informed of her husband's ... demise. An honorable one," he hastened to add, "and is receiving a comfortable pension, paid from the Bureau's special funds." "How much?" I wanted to know. He shifted uncomfortably. "Well ... a hundred a month." I looked at the President. "Bought any butter lately?" The President strangled a cough. "Have you, Mr. Hoover, bought any butter lately?" J. Edgar Hoover couldn't say anything. It wasn't his fault. I flicked a glance at General Hayes. "How much does it cost the Army for an antiaircraft gun?" I looked at one of the admirals. "And how much goes down the drain when you launch a battleship? Or even a PT boat?" The President took over. "Rest assured, Mr. Miller. Your wife's pension is quadrupled, effective immediately." He swung his chair to face Hoover; "Cash will be transferred tomorrow to the Bureau from the State Department's special fund. You'll see to that?" to the Old Man. So that was what he did for a living. That State Department is a good lifetime job, I understand. * * * * * That took a load from my mind, but not all. I spoke to Hoover directly. "How is my ... widow?" As tense and as bad as I felt just then, I was sorry for him. "Quite well, Mr. Miller. Quite well, considering. It came as a blow to her, naturally--" "What about the house?" I asked him. "Is she keeping up the payments?"