That, I’ve come to see, is the simple remedy; but it’s going to be the hardest thing to teach—­because all the world is so much afraid.

(And then, the worn, haggard man, having thus talked himself out, there enters by the benign intervention of Providence a Gracious Presence, more confident than he in her own ruling power.  She moves quietly toward them, and her voice, when she speaks, is corrective of a situation she does not approve!)

THE PRESENCE.  Mr. Tumulty ... my dear.

(Resting her hands on the back of the Ex-President’s chair, she surveys them benevolently but critically.  Then her attention is directed to the covered cup standing on its tray!)

Have you taken your——­

EX-PRES.  My medicine?  Yes.  Your orders came through, and have been obeyed.

THE PRESENCE.  It wasn’t medicine.  I made it myself.

EX-PRES.  Then I beg its pardon—­and yours.

THE PRESENCE.  Will you please to remember that your holiday began at twelve o’clock to-day?  I’m not going to allow any overtime now.

EX-PRES.  That settles it, then, Tumulty.  And that means you are to go.  I had just been saying, my dear, how much simpler it was to obey orders than to give and to get them obeyed.

THE PRESENCE.  Getting them obeyed is quite simple.  It is merely a matter of how you give them.

EX-PRES.  You see, Tumulty—­it’s all a matter of “how.”

THE PRESENCE.  There’s someone waiting to speak to you on the ’phone:  wants to know how you are.  I thought I would come and see first.

EX-PRES.  Who is it?

THE PRESENCE (indicating the receiver).  He’s there.

(The Ex-President reaches out his hand, and Tumulty from an adjoining table gives him the instrument.  As he listens, they stand watching him.)

EX-PRES.  Oh, yes....  That’s very kind of him....  Please will you tell the President, with my best thanks, that I am greatly enjoying my holiday....  Thank you....  Good-bye.

(He gives the instrument back to the waiting Tumulty.)

TUMULTY (with swelling-bosom).  Governor, that was a great answer!

EX-PRES.  Easily said, Tumulty.  But is it true? (But Tumulty’s breast is such a platform for the generous emotions that he does not really care whether it is true or not.  And therein, between himself and his hero, lies the difference.  Grasping his fallen leader forcefully by the hand and murmuring his adieux in a voice of nobly controlled emotion, he obeys the waiting eye of the Gracious Presence, and goes.  And as she sees him serenely to the door, the Ex-President looks ruefully at his painfully oversqueezed hand, and begins rubbing it softly.  Even the touch of a friend sometimes hurts.)

(The door closes:  the two are alone.  She who-must-be-obeyed stands looking at him with a benevolent eye.)