The Secretary relaxed. "You can do that in the department anytime you wish. Visit the conservations, then, when you are tired of traipsing around, you can come back and write up a report or two." The Secretary cleared his throat. "Just for the records, of course." Brandon sighed. "Of course. Just for the records." He brushed back his thick, black hair and sat down. Damn it. Why couldn't they leave him alone? That was all he wanted, to be left alone. He was sick of all this. They knew he wasn't fitted to be a clerk in any of the departments. Yet they wasted his time offering him important positions, as if the title would persuade him. Why? "We could outlaw your doll-making," the Secretary said casually. Brandon shrugged his shoulders. "Harmonics did that with my music writing, remember! I didn't always do hand-carving." The Secretary remembered. He had had an indirect hand in that. It had been thought that if Brandon was suddenly without income he might easily be persuaded to accept a position. They hadn't counted on Brandon's resourcefulness, nor his stubborness. The thin man leaned back in his chair, looked again at the doll thing resting in one hand. The man was clever; there was a life-like quality to the doll. Brandon was an artist and it would be a shame to take him out of circulation. Yet what could he do? The President had insisted on the visit again this year, knowing full well that Brandon would turn down the offer. Suddenly, the Secretary felt sorry for Brandon. The man was breaking down and didn't realize it. His face was drawn and pale. He looked dog-tired. "Won't you change your mind, Brandon?" the Secretary asked softly. "With Interior you will have an opportunity to get out into the sunlight. It will be a healthy life visiting the many conservations we have situated around the country; it will agree with you, I'm sure." Brandon sighed. "I'm afraid, Mr. Secretary, that we are both wasting our time. I have a tremendous amount of paper work to finish before midnight tonight and I am tired. I also have a few more interviews before I can get at it." Brandon got up, "So if you don't mind--" The thin man looked at Brandon searchingly. "Won't you reconsider?" "I'm afraid not," Brandon answered. The Secretary paused at the door. "See you next year, then!" "Next year," Brandon answered flatly. * * * * * The Secretary of Interior hardly spoke to the young man waiting by his vehicle. He wanted to get away from there as soon as possible. These yearly visits to Brandon always upset him, made him feel like a cad. It would be days before he shook the unwanted feeling. "How did it go?" the young man asked eagerly.