“Perhaps three to one on the main things,” I said, allowing this to penetrate, aware that his quick mind would study all the possibilities and arrive at a position so subtle and unexpected as to be of use to me if I, in turn, were quick enough to seize my opportunity. At the airport, a detachment of airborne troops were drawn up before a festooned reviewing stand. Near by the Marine Band played incongruous marches while in the center of the stand, surrounded by cameras and dignitaries, stood the smiling President of the United States. 2 The next day while I was examining the various accounts of the last ceremony, the chief editor came into my office, his face blazing with excitement: “Iris Mortimer!” was all he could say. “Iris? Where?” “Dallas.” He exploded the name in exhalation; then he told me: word had come from our office there that Iris had, a few hours before, denounced Paul for having ignored Cave’s last wishes to be embalmed and that, as a result of this and other infidelities to Cavesword, she, as ranking director and with the full concurrence of the Chief Resident of Dallas, was calling a Council of Residents to be held the following week at Dallas to determine the future course of the Establishment. I almost laughed aloud with pleasure. I had not believed she would show such vigor and daring. I had feared that she might choose to vanish into obscurity, her life ended with Cave ... even at my most optimistic, I had not dreamed she would act with such realism, exploiting a rivalry between Paul and the Chief Resident of Dallas, the premier member of the Council of Residents, a group that, until now, had existed for purely ceremonial reasons, exerting no influence upon the administration of the Establishment which, while Cave lived, was by Paul directed. Now with one stroke Iris had undermined Paul by going directly to the Establishment. I moved swiftly. The _Journal_ was at that moment going to press. I scribbled a brief announcement of the coming Council of Residents, naming Iris as Cave’s spiritual heir and custodian of the Establishment. By telephone, I ordered a box to be cut out of the first page. I had not acted a moment too soon for a few minutes after my telephone call to the compositor, Paul came to my office, furious. He slammed the door behind him. We were alone for the first time in weeks. “You knew this was going to happen.” “I wish I had.” He paced the floor quickly, eyes shining. “I’ve sent out an order countermanding Iris. I’ve also removed the Resident at Dallas. I’m still in charge of the Establishment. I control the funds and I’ve told every damned Resident in this country that if he goes to Dallas I’ll cut off his Center without a penny.”