He had to admit that he didn't know. The President told him to finish the payments, pay for the house. Over and above the pension? Over and above the pension. And I was to get a regular monthly report on how she was getting along. "Excuse me, Mr. President. I'd rather not get a regular monthly report, or any word at all, unless she--unless anything happens to her." "No report at all, Pete?" That surprised, him, and he eyed me over the top of his bifocals. "She's still young, Mr. President," I said, "and she's just as pretty as the day we got married. I don't think I'd want to know if ... she got married again." The quiet was thick enough to slice. If they talked about Helen any more I was going to throw something. The President saw how I felt. "Now, Mr. Miller--Pete. Let's get back to business. You were saying--?" Yes, I had an idea. "Put me on an island somewhere, the further away the better. I wouldn't like being around things without being able to be in the middle. Better put me where I can't weaken, where I can't sneak out a window or swim back." Everyone was listening. "Keep the uniforms away from me, out of sight." The Brass didn't like that, but they heard me out. "Feed me a case of beer once in a while and a few magazines and some books and right boys to play euchre. I guess that's all I want." The gold pencil turned over and over. "That isn't very much, Pete." "That's all. If I'm going to do the Army's and the Navy's work they can leave me alone till they need me. If I can't live my life the way I want, it makes no difference what I do. My own fault is that all my family lived to be eighty, and so will I. Is that what you wanted to know?" The gold pencil rolled off the table. "Yes, yes, Pete. That's what I wanted to know." I tried once more. "There isn't any way I can just go home?" A slow shake of his head, and finality was in his voice. "I'm afraid there isn't any way." And that was that. The President stood up in dismissal, and we all rose nervously. He held out his hand. "Sorry, Pete. Perhaps some day...." I shook his hand limply and the Old Man was at my elbow to steer me out. Together we paced back through the dark hall, together we stepped quietly out into the black Washington night. Our footsteps echoed softly past the buildings of the past and the future. The car was waiting; Stein, the driver. The heavy door slammed, and the tires hissed me from the pavement. The Old Man's voice was gentle. "You behaved well, Peter." "Yeh." "I was afraid, for a moment, that you were going to kick over the traces. The President is a very important man." "Yeh." "You are, too. Right now, probably the most important man in the world. You took it very well." "Yeh." "Is that all you have to say?" I looked out the window. "Yeh," and he fell quiet.