One chair against the fireplace, a book hastily thrown down beside it, SEXTRA SPECIAL, Cartoons by Kulp. Great book for soul-searching Senators. Things were all out of focus after the sudden change from the cold, but now Dan was beginning to see. One book, one chair, but two half-filled sherry glasses at the sideboard-- "Can't wait, Dwight, I have to get back to the city, but I couldn't find you down there, and they didn't know when you were coming back. I just wanted to let you know that I put you to all that trouble for nothing--we don't need the Hearing date in December, after all." Wariness suddenly in McKenzie's eyes. "Well! Nice of you to think of it, Dan--but it wasn't really any trouble. No trouble at all. December 15th is fine, as a matter of fact, better than the February date would have been. Give the Committee a chance to collect itself during the Holidays, ha, ha." "Well, it now seems that it _wouldn't_ be so good for me, Dwight. I'd much prefer it to be changed back to the February date." "Well, now." Pause. "Dan, we _have_ to settle these things sooner or later, you know. I don't know whether we can do that now--" "Don't know! Why not?" The moose-hunter licked both lips, couldn't keep his eyes on Dan's eyes, focused on his nose instead,--as if the nose were _really_ the important part of the conversation. "It isn't just me that makes these decisions, Dan. Other people have to be consulted. It's pretty late to catch them now, you know. It might be pretty hard to do that--" No more smiles from Dan. "Now look--you make the calendar, and you can change it." Face getting red, getting angry--careful, Dan, those two sherry glasses, watch what you say--"I want it changed back. And I've got to know right now." "But you told me you'd be all ready to roll by December 15th--" To hell with caution--he _had_ to have time. "Look, there's no reason you can't do it if you want to, Dwight. I'd consider it a personal favor--I repeat, a very large personal favor--if you'd make the arrangements. I won't forget it--" What did the swine want, an arm off at the roots? "Sorry," said a voice from the rear door of the room. Walter Rinehart walked across to the sideboard. "You don't mind if I finish this, Dwight?" A deep breath from McKenzie, like a sigh of relief. "Go right ahead, Walt. Sherry, Dan?" "No, I don't think so." It was Walter, all right. Tall, upright, dignified Walter, fine shock of wavy hair that was white as the snow outside. Young-old lines on his face. Some men looked finer after rejuvenation, much finer than before. There had been a chilly look about Walter Rinehart's eyes before his first Retread. Not now. A fine man, like somebody's dear old grandfather. Just give him a chunk of wood to whittle and a jack-blade to whittle it with-- But inside, the mind was the same. Inside, no changes. Author of the Rinehart Criteria, the royal road to a self-perpetuating "immortal elite." * * * * *