“We like your Administration, Mr. President. Much of the time.”
McKinley laughed. “You may like us even more of the time after this trip.”
“The President,” Del made his contribution, “is going to speak out, against the trusts…”
“Like Colonel Bryan?” Caroline could not resist.
“Perhaps more like Colonel Roosevelt.” The Major was bland.
“But
“The President’s going to meet the problem head on. He’s also going to discuss the tariff. He wants commercial reciprocity.”
Ida hissed at Del. The President’s face did not change expression. Del did not stop talking. “He’s going to challenge the Senate at last…”
Ida hissed Del even more loudly. As Caroline turned to look at her hostess, McKinley with a practiced gesture flipped a buttery napkin over his wife’s head; but not before Caroline had got a glimpse of the mouth as it set in a ghastly rictus, while the wide-open eyes showed only the whites. Beneath the napkin the hissing continued.
“I hope you won’t write this in your newspaper.” McKinley helped himself to a Spanish omelette which had appeared just when Caroline had prayed for deliverance from food.
“No, Mr. President. I understand that all this is,” Ida was now making a gurgling sound, “in confidence.”
“Caroline is discreet, sir.” But Del was nervous.
“I’m sure. Unlike Mr. Hearst.” McKinley shook his head; spoke with his mouth full. “Have you been reading the
“You even beat Bryan in his home state…”
“But I lost New York City by thirty thousand votes. Anyway, they’ve now written that if bad men can be got rid of only by killing, then the killing must be done.”
“That is-atrocious!” Caroline was shocked; she was even more shocked that she had not seen the story. Del explained why. “After the first run, Mr. Hearst killed the story. So it wasn’t in the later editions. For once, the Yellow Kid figured he’d gone too far, even for him. And Blaise,” Del added. Mrs. McKinley was now silent beneath her napkin.
“All the more curious,” said the President equably, “because Mr. Hearst had just sent me one of his editors to apologize for the things they wrote about me during the election.”
When a Kentucky governor had been killed, Hearst’s irrepressibly savage employee Ambrose Bierce had written a quatrain that had shocked the nation:
The bullet that pierced Goebel’s breast
Cannot be found in all the west;
Good reason, it is speeding here
To stretch McKinley on his bier.
“Hearst wants to be the Democratic candidate in ’04,” said Del. “He figures Bryan’s had his last chance, now he’s getting into place.”
“I wish him luck.” McKinley was mild. Caroline wondered if he was as serene as he appeared; or was he, simply, a consummate actor? “Anyway, I shall be out of it. I shall never run again.”
“That will upset Father,” said Del. “He’s already talking you up for a third term.”
“We’d better put a stop to that.” McKinley turned to his wife. As neck and shoulders were no longer rigid, he removed the napkin.
“There’s nothing more boring-I say-than talking about the tariff.” Ida picked up where she had left off.
“Then let’s not talk any more about it.” The Major smiled at her; and indicated for the waiter to bring them the first of several pies, “I want my second term to be truly disinterested. I want to do the sort of things that ought to be done but which you can’t do if you’re fretting about being reelected.”
“Poor Mark Hanna,” murmured Caroline.
McKinley gave her an amused, appreciative look. “He’ll have his problems, I suppose. But I’ve made up my mind.”
“He’s sick.” Ida sounded pleased. She helped herself to apple pie; if nothing else, the fit had given her a good appetite. Did she know? Caroline wondered. Or did she not notice that the game course had abruptly given way to dessert?
“Do you think,” asked Caroline, “that there’s
McKinley shook his head. “He is much too unscrupulous-too immoral-too rich. But if, let’s say, he managed, somehow, to
“Reasonably hated,” added Caroline.
“Reasonably hated,” McKinley repeated; then he turned to Del. “Have you told her?”
“No, sir.”
“Have you told your father?”
“I’ve told no one at all.”
“It was,” said Ida, staring intently at Caroline, “my idea.”
“What is-
“I’m appointing Del assistant private secretary to the president, with the understanding that when Mr. Cortelyou moves out and-and up, Del will be secretary.”
Del turned pink with pleasure.
Caroline saw immediately the eerie symmetry. “It is the same position that John Hay had, when he came to Washington with President Lincoln.”
“I think it fitting.” The President smiled; dried his lips with a napkin, just missing a shiny buttery spot on the Napoleonic chin.
“Oh, that was so long ago.” Ida was entirely in the present when she was not out of time altogether.
“But to look a long way ahead,” said Caroline, “thirty-eight years from now, if you are like your father, you will be secretary of state.”
“In the year,” McKinley paused; not so much to count as to marvel, “1939. What on earth will we be like then?”
“Gone, dearest. In Heaven, with little Katie. And good riddance to everybody else.” Mrs. McKinley put down her napkin. “We’ll have coffee in the oval parlor.” The President helped her up, while Caroline and Del flanked the sovereign couple. “I’m glad Del’s marrying you.” Thus Ida gave her blessing to the appointment and the marriage. Caroline was relieved, for Del’s sake. Whether or not she married him, she wished him well; realized that this was the greatest day of his life so far. As Lincoln had lifted the young John Hay out of the irrelevant mass and placed him squarely in history, so McKinley now lifted the son.
They proceeded into the oval sitting room, where the coffee service had been set up.
“When do you start work?” Caroline helped the President arrange the drooping First Lady in a green velvet chair.
“In the fall,” said Del.
“After the tour.” In his antimacassared rocking chair, McKinley rocked slowly back and forth, gently settling the contents of that huge stomach. “Shall I tell your father? or do you want to?”
“You should, sir.”
“No.” Caroline was firm. “Del must confide in his father, this one time, anyway.”
“Your young lady is a born politician.” The Major bestowed the highest accolade within his gift. Then smiled at Caroline, and she was struck, yet again, by the beauty of his plain face. Over the years, goodness of character had transformed what might otherwise have been a dull, somewhat bovine appearance into an almost god-like radiance-almost because, unlike most gods, there was no fury, no malice, no envy of mortal happiness in William McKinley, only a steady radiant kindness, like a comforting nimbus about that great head, whose rounded chin
