They have spent years trying to get something
on you, and they've never succeeded. But--well, you understand mob
psychology better than I do--if Brown evolves a slogan, a clever
phrase, built about your gambling propensities, it will damn you far
more effectively than if he had proved that you played crooked politics
or did something really harmful to the country."
Enoch nodded. "Whom do you think Brown is for, Mr. President?"
"Has it ever occurred to you that Brown often picks up Fowler's
policies and quietly pushes them?"
Again Enoch nodded and the President went on, "Brown never actively
plays Fowler's game. There's an old story that an ancient quarrel
separates them. But word has been carefully passed about that there is
to be a dinner at the Willard to-morrow night, of the nature of a love
feast, at which Fowler and Brown are to fall on each other's necks with
tears."
Enoch got up from his chair and prowled about the great room
restlessly, then he stood before the chief executive.
"Mr. President, why shouldn't Fowler go to the White House? He's a
brilliant man. He's done notable service as Secretary of State. I
don't think the cabinet has contained his equal for twenty-five years.
He has given our diplomatic service a distinction in Europe that it
never had before.
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