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—Yes, get on with it.
—Is that Max isn’t here because his little girl is sick. None of these people are really here to see him anyway. They all want to hobnob with me.
—I know that’s my preference.
—So Max gets sympathy points for brave single fatherhood, as well as for having his priorities straight.
—His priorities straight? What if a tidal wave is heading for the city but Max’s daughter has a little cough?
—It’s a different time now, Archie.
—The second time I’ve heard that inside of five minutes.
—Only because it’s true.
—Is it?
—Yes. We’ll have an in absentia fundraiser. It’ll be the talk of the town.
—It might be the talk of a very, very dull town, but even only there if it was the first time it had happened.
—The last time was my fault. A head of state had died. I had to send a representative.
—Poppycock. Oh, God bless you, Albert.
—That ought to smooth the evening out a bit.
—So, I’m an alcoholic, now, am I?
—Isn’t that really something for you to decide for yourself?
—Why did you marry this man again?
—He has an enormous penis.
—So ‘it’s not the size that counts’ has been a lie all along?
—'Fraid so.
—Bring me another, then, and let’s get this thing over with.
—Champagne?
—What I’m concerned about is the Bondulay creeping into our schools if he’s elected.
—What do you get when you cross a Rumour with an octopus?
—I think he’s very handsome.
—Harold, please. This is neither the time nor the place.
—I don’t think his race is an issue at all.
—Do you have any Cluvot?
—I’ve heard he’s part of the Rumour Underground.
—Creeping how?
—Oh, please, he hasn’t looked at a woman since his fiancée died.
—I don’t know but it sure can pick a head of lettuce.
—That doesn’t mean he won’t ever.
—Any what?
—Oh, you know how they are.
—Oh, yawn. Everyone knows that doesn’t exist.
—It sure doesn’t seem to be.
—Harold!
—'They'?
—I think he’s wrapped up in being a father.
—Oh, sure, you act shocked now, but you’ll be laughing on the car ride home.
—They call it a cultural experience and then suddenly we’re all listening to their music.
—And she’s such a sweet little girl, too.
—Secret societies control all centres of government.
—Cluvot. It’s from the North.
—I wonder what he looks like naked.
—I most certainly will not.
—What does that have to do with religion?
—He’s Rumour, so probably a hairy chest.
—And you’ll be telling everyone you know at the office tomorrow.
—Maybe Hennington’s a little more enlightened than we thought.
—You’re paranoid.
—Not necessarily. I went out with a Rumour guy in college, and he was smooth.
—Are you really this clueless, Harold?
—You sure he wasn’t waxed?
—There aren’t any wines from the North.
—It’s all stepping stones, is what I’m trying to say.
—Nobody was doing it back then.
—What? What did I say?
—Doesn’t mean he couldn’t have tweezed.
—It’s made from pears.
—A whole chestful of hair? I doubt it.
—Stepping stones.
—Precisely. I mean, he’s leading in the polls and the city’s what? A quarter Rumour?
—Have you even seen him here yet?
—Little baby steps until all of a sudden we’re overrun.
—To think otherwise is naïve.
—I heard someone say something about his daughter being sick.
—I have no response to that, except of course that the answer is no.
—That’d be just like him to stay home with her.
—Max is a Rumour.
—I’m not even sure Max Latham is a member of the Bondulay Church.
—Have you ever even met him?
—Forget it, then.
—If even that.
—No shit, but he should at least be able to take a joke.
—I prefer to think of it as sanity.
—No, but it just seems like the kind of thing he’d do.
—Of course he is. He’s Rumour. They all are.
—I think it’s something to be proud of.
—Champagne?
Albert declined another glass with a wave of his hand.
—There are some well-nigh terrifying people here, Archie.
—But terrifying people with money. That’s the important thing.
—I’d wager half of them aren’t even registered on our side of the hustings.
—Max is going to win. You always put money on the winner, no matter who you might vote for.
—Tragic but true. Makes for a nicely tense party though, don’t you think?
—I always feel like I’ve barely escaped with my life.
—That’s because you have.
—Where’s Cora?
—Over there. Hijacked by Harold Baxter. A rescue might be in order.
—Let her stay. Punishment for allowing me to be here and Max to not.
—She is my wife. A rescue is chivalrous. Come with me.
—No, I … Harold, how are you, you old son-of-a-bitch?
—Doing well, Archie. You know, I was just telling Cora here that—
—Cora, my dear, I’m leaving.
—But you just got here.
—Ninety-three minutes ago. Everyone is as cocktailed-up as they’re going to be. Besides you’ve already gotten my money and the milkings of most of the rest of this crowd.
—He even got money out of Miriam Caldwell.
—Good Lord, Archie. Did you have to join her church?
