ALL OF THE KING’S MEN
The bus station was jammed full at the Washington D C area terminal of the Greyhound station. There were the usual course of vagrants pushing each other around on the somewhat dusty and grimy floor and an occasional fight would break out over a dope deal gone bad or a loud argument that would - ensue as perhaps the police had been engaged in hammering and busting the wrong guy.
Pister had assumed that the room was full of persons just like him who had left their previous lives and their homes and had come to the nation’s Capitol in search of fame and fortune, and who had their fling with fantasy and afterwards, cold unrelenting reality had set in. This reality had made its presence felt with a bone chilling effect. Now staring the dispirited and broken adventurer in the face was cold naked facts.
This brutal unforgiving reality had demanded that they now had to leave their shattered dreams behind . It was a bitter pill. Many perhaps had found that they were now having to stare frankly at the world’s cold and austere bottom line. It was not unlike revelers going to Vegas in a limousine and a tuxedo and later having to leave with their sole possessions contained in a thin wallet and they would be wearing a
t-shirt and riding a bicycle.
The seats themselves at this bus station came at a premium and one had had to be careful when he left to go to the necessary room that he could reclaim his seat or find another place to sit when he returned. Half of the people didn’t have a ticket anyhow. They were just trying to hide from the cold for awhile. This little exercise presented its own problems as one could consider that if he left his seat completely empty, it of course could be legally taken while he was gone. One could see that there were no shortages of hungry looking covetous beings that would grab either his seat or his typewriter in an instant.
Pister could see their beady and coveting eyes staring at his typewriter and trying to gauge its worth. He felt no illusions about trusting in the best instincts of mankind and hoping to leave it to claim his seat. The prudent course of action then would seem to simply keep his possessions with him .
Pister mulled over this critical situation and decided on this one best choice among his options.. Although he presented a peculiar image trying to go to the necessary room toting a huge typewriter, it seemed the only logical thing to do. Somehow he didn’t feel too secure about leaving his trusty typewriter , “Doomsday” to fend for itself at the tender mercy of his counterparts and fellow travelers.
When he had returned and headed for the seat that he had occupied, he found that it was taken by a huge fellow who had the appearance of maybe being a sailor. He was a tough looking fellow with a thick beard a dingy white t-shirt. The shirt was cut off at the shoulders revealing huge tattooed biceps. He was wearing a white squared blocked hat with a fish hook attached to the sides .
This fellow was not too friendly looking . The heavy red and black outlined tattoo across his massive biceps displayed an image of a large red heart pierced by an arrow that had the words “Born To Kill” emblazoned in the center. He had a dark hairy chest and huge arms the size of ham hocks and these arms were crossed and he was glaring at Pister as if to say “So Fellow? What you gonna do???”
Pister declined the possible confrontation and instead he had located a coke crate that some vagrant had vacated near the door and then Pister assumed a position on it with his arms laid across the top of “Doomsday” and he was staring at the floor and mulling over the events of the past few days and wondering about his choice of places to go. He was deep in thought and was only occasionally disturbed by a vagrant trying to bum a cigarette or someone trying to purchase a joint or something.
He had relatives in Montana. He wasn’t sure that he would want to go back and revisit his poor old aunt. He could recall that he had not parted company on his last visit with the most loving of social amenities and he was not sure that relations could warrant another visit. He was thinking that maybe he could just slip out into the countryside and disappear for awhile. Maybe get a job as a cowboy riding horses on some remote ranch. He could envy the lifestyle of maybe becoming a monk and living high up in the Himalayas .
He was deep in thought with his arms hanging across his typewriter and had scarcely noticed the two figures that were standing beside him. He was just getting ready to announce that he didn’t have a cigarette or any dope when he recognized Secretary general Sir Leeper and Deputy Secretary General CIA Director Sir Toddson .
It was the secretary general who did the talking ‘We want you to come back Pister. Mr.Wong has told us all about the incident and we have talked to the president. No one is blaming you. We feel that we cannot replace you on our staff. We have a problem that demands all of our attention and we want you to continue working with us”.
“ Will you come back?”
Pister nodded his agreement and handed the secreatary general his typewriter Pister assumed that he was right. They had been through a lot together and there were still national problems that needed solving. He decided he would not be the one to quit until the job had been done. They agreed after they had returned to the White House to hold a meeting in the special security chambers of the CIA.
The meeting room being held in the vaulted chambers of the CIA held all of the staff of the president's administration. The meeting was being chaired by secretary general Sir Leeper. Deputary secreatary Sir Toddson was sitting close to the front and at his right hand .
. Rounding out the list of impressive the nation financial mogo E. F. Hutton , Also present was secretary Val, the surgeon general and head of the famous and fabulous Mayo clinic.
Professor Pister took his position along side these persons .
The secretary general stood poised and ready to assist the CIA Director sir Toddson with his bulging briefcase full of classified and sensitive files. He was assuming more and more the role of “intelligence extraoridanare’” , a special role where he combined his brilliance and extra special gift s of intuition and insights with that of the Director’s. Together , they had formed a formidable intelligence apparatus.
The entire group was being talked about more and more and was being assigned a somewhat special label . “The best and brightest” was a phrase being whispered around Washington circles. These were men, America’s best, bringing all of the resources of their vast skills to bear to solve the nation’s problems. The nation could sleep well at night knowing that the future of the country lie in capable hands.
Secretary general Sir Leeper got quickly to the point “ Gentlemen, we have a special problem here involving intelligence operations. The FBI director Mac (the knife) kevins himself, ’ has disappeared. Until we can locate him and determine the exact nature of the disappearance, we have the gravest of security concerns.”
“Here are some of the suggestions as to what the situation is. There are some that say that he has merely taken off on an excursion of his own, maybe gone fishing, and for personal reasons has not bothered to inform the world of his whereabouts. There are those that say maybe he was drugged by foreign intelligence and kidnapped. If this were the case, we would be in dire jeopardy of compromising top level secrets to a foreign enemy.
“There are some suggestions to indicate that the lovely Vivian Monique’ was in actuality a spy sent from the Russian KGB and whom had targeted our FBI Director from the beginning.
All rumors set aside, the administration is at a loss to take any action until we can locate the director and determine for ourselves just what the conditions surrounding his disappearance are.
the secretary general Sir Leeper then laid his suggestion on the table. We will need to have a special forces agent brought in . This agent will serve to penetrate the centers of intelligence in Europe’s governments and locate the FBI director and appraise us of developments. “
We had made our selection from all of the available profiles. We now have a soldier supremely qualified to accomplish this mission. In a dramatic moment, he flung a stuffed file onto the briefing desk. It was a large official “201” file used in the military’s classification systems.
Pister grabbed the file and briefly scanned its contents. He notice the name on the front was that of an elite and highly trained soldier from a special air borne division of the 77th Airborne Brigade. On the inside cover , with full combat make up on and a green beret was a most sinister and somber looking soldier who was outfitted in full combat gear and even wearing his make-up camaflouge . The name in bold print underneath the fighting soldier’s image was that that of special detail and surveillance soldier Private Squiggy McGoo.”
Pister commented “Gentlemen, we do seem to have a problem. As I scanned through the 201 profile, I noticed that the recruit, Private Santiago Davis has a drug addiction.
“What specific drug is he addicted to ? “ Sir Leeper was making a fine point.
“Nicotine” said Pister. “He does on a regular basis assaults his lungs with corcenagins and poisons , tars and gases, disregarding the inherent dangers and knowing full well that each inhalation of this terrible drug paralyzes the mucus of the membranes of his lungs for six to eight minutes. ”.
It was Madam Val, , the surgeon general , who then offered a solution to make this recruit, Private e-1 Santiago Davis fit for active duty. ”We do have a special unit the Mayo Clinic for this type of occasion . I will see what we can do”.
Mayo Clinic
Head nurse and chief administrator among the staff was Ida B. Stockington. She was a huge woman and she had a determined set to her jaws. One didn’t rise to such a lofty position by being wimpish. Ida B. looked in upon the new patient in ward B. The patient was strapped down and fixed to an oxygen machine.
Each rise and fall of the heavy cylinder pumped a big load of fresh air through the lungs of the patient. It seemed like one could see the patient swell up and then collapse with each new cycle of the machine.
Security was especially tight here at the unit that was famously called the “Detox”. It seemed like so many patients had come here and felt that they knew better than the clinic itself what was good for them. She was looking through the heavy glass door window with the checkered metal sashes and the sight that met her eyes made her blood run cold.
This new patient had broken the strap on his wrist and somehow sneaked a cigarette through security and had lighted up this cigarette and was inhaling from it. She screamed for back up assistance and immediately the horns sounded and a large security guard showed up. While the guard held the patient down, Nurse Ida B. Stockington tried to beat the breath of the poisonous air from the stubborn patient. She pounded heavily upon his stomach but it was no good. He wouldn’t let of that breath of carcogenic laden poison go.
The patient didn’t realize that nobody but nobody outsmarts Ida B. Stockington at this type of game. She wasn’t about to let a patient of her’s suffer a massive dose of forbidden drugs while in her custody.
The nurse assembled two guards and two more nurses to help her in what she had planned. They wheeled the bed down the hall at a full run with the nurses and guards now holding down the patient with one on each arm and one on each leg. . As they approached the end of the hall, nurse Ida B. Stockington yelled “Now!!” The guards and the nurses let go of the patient just as Ida B. reached in and pulled the lever that locked the front brakes. There was a deafening screech as the front of the wheeled bed locked down and the patient went flying directly into the wall. He then moaned softly and slid down the wall. Ida B. checked him for response and yelled “ He still has the poison locked in his lungs and won’t let go” .
They loaded the patient back onto the roller bed and then time they decided more speed might be needed. They wheeled the patient down to the Mayo Clinic Gymnasium and with all of the space in this large arena , they were allowed to build up to a greater speed. This time as they had all raced to a crescendo and were furiously oicking up their steps and putting them down with Nurse Ida B. running alongside the formation, she directed them towards a pole .In the split second before they would have slammed into the pole, Ida B. screamed ‘Now, let him go!!!” With this, she once again set the brakes and this time the patient catapulted from the wheeled bed directly into the pole with such a force that . both arms and legs slapped together on the other side of the pole. The patient then slid down the pole lie a limp wash rag.
The patient was proving to be a hard cookie to crack. As Ida B. checked his breathing, she realized that he was still holding onto this bit of poisoned smoke. This act of defiance merely served to infuriate her even more.
“ This calls for the extreme solution. The bath!! The bath. Fix some bath water.” They then stuffed the patient into the bath tub and held his head under the water as the water level began rising. . “Make it scalding” nurse ida B. directed the guards. As the steamy scalding water covered the patient, he let out a loud scream of agony and the group could see the smoke escaping.”
The staff then burst into a loud celebration. They were slapping each other on the back and proclaiming “Well done!! Well done!!! We have just saved another patient from the dangers of OTC overload. Our job is never easy but the satisfaction comes from saving lives.”
Nurse Ida B. Stockington then composed the following formal report:
SURGEON GENERAL;
PATIENT IN CUSTODY HAS BEEN SAVED FROM A
DREADFUL FATE. HE WAS DISCOVERED IN THE
PROCESS OF LOADING HIS LUNGS WITH TARS,
NICOTINES , GASSES, CARCENOGENS AND TOXIC
INAHLENTS. WE , OF THE STAFF, SHOWING OUR KEEN
AND INTENSE DEVOTION TO DUTY HAVE ACTED
BRAVELY TO SAVE THIS ONE HUMAN FROM A MOST
UNDESIRABLE CONDITION.
At the bottom of this message was penciled in shorthand ”We were fortunate. I feel that we have acted just in time.
When Sir leeper got the report, he was most relieved. He was able to report to the intelligence committee. “Gentle men I do believe that we have a brave soldier who is successfully completing his detoxification program and should be ready to go and locate the FBI Director next week.”
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FREEDOM IN MONTANA The old pick-up chugged steadily up the mountain. Its rusted remains of a muffler apparently had been shot for years and it made a loud sputtering noise as it fought its way up the hills. It seemed to Pister that they had not seen a house or any sign of civilization for at least fifteen miles. The last house that they had sighted was a decrepit
old shack way down at the bottom of the hills . He noticed that the trees had gotten scraggier and the air seemed much thinner . Even the road narrowed down to where it seemed barely passable.
At times they were winding their way around sheer cliffs where they could look out and see the gaping yawing valley miles below. The old tires of the dilapidated truck would sometimes be only inches from the edge of the cliff. Every now and then they would startle a crow or a jackrabbit or even a coyote.
They pulled up in front of an old deserted looking shack that had been set up on four large bricks and the shack appeared to have been fortunate that the wind had not yet blown it over. The boards nailed to the shack had fed many a termite in their day. It looked like the kind of shack that one could punch real hard on the sides and knock a hole in the flimsy wall.
“Here” Grunted the old-timer. “Right Cheer yah are”.
Pister stared at the shack in disbelief. “ You gotta be kidding old-timer…No one lives here”
“You did say Old Lady Hornsnaggle didn’t you? Well right cheer yah ah.”
“Yes, that is who I am looking for …My Aunt Loonie Hornsnaggle. This is the place? It can’t be. “
“Old Lady Hornsnaggle and Old Crazy Granny Loopey live here. Just knock on the door. Knock loudly. They may be a little deaf”
All of the luggage Pister had was was one stuffy old worn out suitcase and his heavy Korea coat. The old geezer threw the suitcase in the dust and spat a big wad of chewing tobacco on it before he threw the Korea coat across the top of this . “That’s alright! No need a bee a thenking me. T’was nothing. ” .
The porch looked a little dangerous. Pister was careful to pick only the good boards to step on. He was sure that he didn’t want to break a leg up here so far removed from civilization. Of course, it wasn’t a choice of which solid boards to walk on. There were plenty of gaps in the board large enough to have concealed a snake or even a small animal. Whomever had made this porch had gone on to meet his maker. Whomever had made this porch probably had sons and daughters who themselves had gone on to meet their maker.
‘
Pister tiptoed through the creaky maze looking for some solid footing and then knocked on the door apprehensively .
He was beginning to have doubts about this whole thing .He was developing a feeling that this was turning into a big mistake. He knocked on the door several times quite respectfully. No response. He then banged heavily on the door and screamed “Aunt Looney…Aunt Looney…It’s me Jay …Pister….I’m home from the city. I’ve come to visit. Hello…hello … hello .???”
Pister turned to ask the goofy old driver he was sharing a ride with to wait on him for just a moment to make sure that he wasn’t stranded. …Too late!!! The old pick-up truck was speeding away throwing up a cloud of dust. The driver appeared to be laughing in a fitful fashion and he was shooting an obscene gesture out the window.
It was hard to believe that an old truck could go that fast. Its old tires were squealing even on the hard packed and dusty dirt road . It hit a bump and bounced into the air with a loud rattle of its main frame and the ancient axle seemed to shatter. A bolt or two came loose from the underside but the old truck came down running and spewing dust. And then the truck was gone.
Feeling a little nervous about the whole situation, Pister peered through the rusted old screen to see if he could spot any kinds of life. What he saw made him recoil in shock. Just inside the window…outlined and made visible by another window to the rear by just enough light for visibility , he could make out the ugly features of a crazed old lady holding a shotgun.
There was another crazy old lady beside the one with the shotgun. She was jumping up and down and screaming “ shoot im!!! shootim !!!!Looney. Shoot the varmit afore he gets away!!
Pister was pleading for his life “Aunt Looney. It’s me. Your favorite nephew from the city. Jay Pister. I have come to visit. Don’t shoot”.
The older of the two ladies came running out onto the porch and got up close to Pister . She glared and squinted at him from behind some dirty and well cracked spectacles. “It’s him. Looney. It’s him. It’s that oldest boy of Claude’s. Ya know. The one that we all said wadn’t never gonna be no good. “
Pister turned just in time to see Looney blast his suitcase with a shotgun. “You never know when something might be hiding in one of those things”.
“Come on in the house. Pister. You might as well visit for awhile since you’re already here. “.
“Pister surveyed the inside of the house. Looney took a position on the couch . Pister looked over at the bed and another small chair. Crazy Loopey had beaten him to the chair. He decided it might be best to just sit on the old log. At least here he felt like if something moved from under the bed he would have a chance to bolt for the door.
Looney opened up the conversation. “ Old Lady Tillman down in the flats got her a TV. I saw on it that we done got us a new President. He is not a bad looking guy. “
Granny Loopey came alive with this political discussion. She apparently was much involved in politics and showed a keen interest in this type of conversation ‘ “He’s a camma nist. I tell ya he a comma- nist. I done saw him talking on old Lady Tillman’s TV and I could tell from the way that he was talking that he’s a Comma- nist and a liar. “
“I could always tell when someone was lying. It was a gift that I done had from mah birth. My Aunt, the second sister from my daddy’s side of the family , Sara Belle, she done had the same gift. I suppose I had done inherited this gift from her . Got it through mah jeans. We could always tells if the truth is not in someone. ‘
“ I’ll tell you something else too. “At this, her eyes squinted tight and she took on a hushed whisper as if she were saying something profound and fairly secret. “That other fellow. The one who always hangs around in a dark suit, the one who stands behind the president a lot … Yah know , the one that looks like he maybe a terrorist or sumptin’. I done detected him. He don’t fool me none. I think the CIA should keep an eye on him. I mean he may be stealing money from the government or something.
Pister tried to make conversation a few times but he rarely got through the first four or five words of his planned sentence until the conversation would excite Looney and stimulate another outburst from her. She felt that she was well versed on all phases and aspects of politics.
Pister then inquired “Aunt Looney. I have had an exhausting trip. May I use be excused to use the bathroom for awhile?”
At this comment, Pister followed their gaze to the broken window on the side of the room by the door. He walked out towards the outhouse. He decided that a little rest wouldn’t hurt and he just needed to sit and collect himself for awhile. This little pause could be the first time in several days that he would have the opportunity to sit and think.
In a moment, he had returned to the door and commented “Aunt Looney, is it possible that there is some paper up here in the house?’
Looney cackled “What’s the matter Pister? Ya couldn’t find the Sear’s catty log??
As Pister was walking back to the outhouse, he heard Looney ad lib to the conversation “Dat oldest boy of Claude’s never had a lick of sense , next thing ya know he’ll be asking for an egg in his beer.”
Pister sat down on the seat in the outhouse and began to study the situation. He was proud for a moment to get away from the two old ladies and their insane racket. He noticed the door to the outhouse had a latch that was broken and the door opened to the
house where the two old ladies had moved to sit out on the porch and he could hear their incessant cackling and laughing. He felt a little awkward since the door was just sitting in the closed position and there was no way that he could lock it.
He felt he had to get back , /there were things at the White House that needed fixing. He was feeling ". I didn’t really feel that …."
Ka blak…ka blakk…ka blak …blam…The door was banging wildly shut and open in the wind, Pister made a grab for it and he did secure it with one hand but the wind was too strong. He was yanked outside of the outhouse and tossed upon the ground while he still was hanging onto his pants with one hand and the door with the other hand. He had fallen face down into the ground in the struggle. The two old ladies were screaming their laughter at this point.
Pister held onto his pants and ran to the far side of the outhouse by the cliff . He could still hear the two old ladies but he couldn’t see them . Better yet, they could not see him. Their loud obnoxious laughter seemed to completely fill the canyon below him. It sounded like a herd of goats braying.
He sat there trying to finish his business and then realized that in all of the commotion that he had forgotten his “catty log” inside the outhouse. . He didn’t want to walk back around to get it while the two old ladies were screaming and laughing. He spotted a corn cob nearby. He mused “Ten million Indians can’t be wrong”.
He walked back to the house and it was nearing dark. He assumed that dark and bedtime were pretty close to the same hour as he couldn’t determine that much else besides sleeping could be done. A hot shower or bath before he tucked himself in for the night seemed obviously out of the question. He did spot the old washtub with its beat up and rusted sides but it didn’t appear capable of holding more than a gallon of water.
Pister with the help of Looney finally figured out the best spot for him to bed down would be out on the porch. He had to use the Korea coat but this presented its own problem. If he slept on he coat, he was uncovered and quite cold. If he would use the Korea coat for cover, the hard floor then became unbearable.
He finally just compromised. He would roll up partially covered and part of the coat underneath him.
As he tried to find some sleep, the voices of Looney and Loopey kept drifting out through the open door to disturb his efforts at slumber. . Loonie would carry on in a most mournful racket complaining and harping about nearly everyone that she knew.
It sounded like this
“You know, Loopie, I always did know Claude would turn out to be no good. He ain’t never had enough sense to pour the pea outta a boot. He’d do sumptin stewpid…like cut the toe outta it…or maybe try to drill a hole in the bottom of it…and then all those poor raggedy kids of his had to inherit his thinking ability …I always deed say
‘ Lawd a mercy….What these poor kids gonna do when they gets around normal people?”
Loopey never added much to the conversation. She would just cackle loudly every time Looney would pause to collect her thoughts. She would add this obnoxious cackle whether the story was funny or not Everything seemed funny to her. . Pister kept tossing and turning trying to hold his head some way that it wouldn’t let in so much racket.
He thought to himself. “I think that I have enjoyed this hospitality for about as long as I can stand it. I will leave in the morning right after coffee. He could reckon with about a twenty mile hike down the road but it wouldn’t be too bad if he got an early start and it being downhill all the way . He could then rejoin civilization and try to forget this nightmare. He then thought “To hell with coffee. I am leaving before coffee. I will leave as soon as I wake up.
As daylight broke, Pister felt like he hadn’t had a decent minute’s worth of sleep. He was stretching and yawning and trying to work some feelings back into his arms and legs and had just set up straight on the porch when he was startled by the sound of a shot gun breech being cocked.
“Okay Pister. Let’s have it. “
“Have what?”
“Don’t act stupid Pister. I got a gun. You got a wallet”.
Loopey came running out and started screeching “Get it all Looney. Get it all! Don’t leave nothing.”
Pister thought for a moment “Get it all? What else is there?”
He soon found out what “all” meant. These two old ladies made him unload everything . He had to undress all the way down to his boxer shorts. They took his watch. They got his ring too.
Looney held up his pants to the sunlight and commented. “I don’t know what I can do with such a short fat pair of pants. Maybe I’ll just donate them to the Salvation Army”
Then she looked at Pister “Now git!!”.
Pister started walking down the hard baked soil path with his fists clenched and he was muttering to himself “ I’ll tell you one thing…these two old hags don’t know who they are messing with … “
He walked along the hard soil road and he was sizing up his predicament. It would be hard enough to walk the hill clad barefooted and wearing only a pair of boxer shorts.
He couldn’t hope for a ride anyhow. Plus he had the problem of what to do when he did reach the bottom. He couldn’t even make a phone call since he didn’t have as much as a quarter on him. The idea of walking into Podunk Montana naked and broke didn’t appeal to him.
He saw the old worn out tool shed towards the end of the road and there was a Model “T” there. The motor probably hadn’t been ran in over thirty years but the tires appeared to all be good. Pister started calculating. He looked backed towards Looney and Loopey on the front porch.
They were watching him suspiciously. He reckoned about 250 feet separated them from the shed with the model “T” . He knew he would have to move fast once Looney figured out what he was trying to do. If he could get the junk thrown away from in front of the Model “T: in time and get it pushed to the first hill and get in it, he could make the sharp drop off and be rolling with plenty of momentum after the first hill. He knew he could count on the road being steeply down hill all the way.
In a flash Pister made his move. He grabbed an old plow and a stack of old timber and tossed it aside and had started furiously pushing the Model “T” towards the hill.
Looney and Loopey took off after him. Crazy Loopey slipped in some mud in the washing area by the porch and fell down immediately but Old Lady Looney Hornsnaggel still had some rubber in her legs. She kept the shotgun in an arms abreast position and bounded along mightily with her worn out tennis shoes kicking up little bits of dust at each pace.
Pister knew it was going to be close. She just kept coming at a brisk pace. Just as he made the hill and jumped inside the model “T” Looney let loose with her first shot gun blast. Pister smiled as the old model “T” rolled over the drop off and started gaining momentum and he could hear the pellets fall harmlessly behind him.
At the bottom of the hill, Pister found a junk dealer and sold the Model “T” for twenty-five dollars. He bought an old pair of pants and a shirt . He did have to ignore the looks of some of the other nosy looking clients when he went into the small all purpose store dressed only in his boxer shorts.
He made a telephone call to his brother-in-law Carlos, who owed him a favor and had some money wired to the nearby service station for him.
He was soon back at the White House. He stopped in to say hello to president Le Shawn .
“Good to see you back Pister. How was your Aunt? I trust she is doing better?? I suppose you had a good time “.
“You know Mr President , it is sometimes good to get away from the hustle and bustle of the city upon occasion and to just go out where life is pleasant and the pace of living is slower . It is a nourishment to the spirit and a balm to the soul to nestle in amongst those whom are near and dear and just to relax amidst comfortable surroundings . I think mankind was meant to stop and smell the roses sometimes”.
The good old Montana air was so rich and refreshing and my poor old dear aunt was feeling better when I had left. In fact, on the last day I was there , her spirits had improved so much that she was even able to jog a little. Auntie hated to see me go. I hugged her tightly and I had to beg off and tell her “Poor dear Auntie. I really have to get back to Washington and tend to some unfinished business. “
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