Brandon was looking at his desk again. An artificial grin spread across the narrow face of the Secretary of Interior who was watching him closely. The Secretary's pencil-thin fingers continued to toy with the small, wood figure he was holding. "Brandon," he tried to lie gracefully, "You're a card. A real card."
Brandon shifted his position, brought his attention back to the thin man with the receding hairline. He couldn't, for the life of him, remember anything humorous he had said or done. He was too tired to be jovial. The past few days had sapped his strength. He was exhausted and there were still two more interviews scheduled.
Good Lord, he thought. Two more! He found his eyes wandering back to his desk. He would never finish the papers in time. That would mean a severe penalty.
"Come now, Brandon. Admit it. You know you want to work for us in Interior."
"Right now I don't know anything," Brandon said wearily. "My head is tired and clouded. I can't think straight." He rubbed his hand across his forehead, wondering how much longer he would be able to continue to say no to their requests. He had almost found himself agreeing with the thin man a few moments ago. That wasn't good.
Brandon leaned back in the contour chair and let some of the strength seep back into his outstretched legs. Each year at this time they would begin to wander in with their strange, outlandish offers of positions with the government. It was perplexing.
"Why me?" he asked suddenly. "Why in Interior? I know nothing about such work?"
The thin man leaned foreward, "Because you are a good man, Brandon. And we need good men these days. Government is big business and we want the top positions filled with the best men we can get. Besides," the Secretary laughed softly, "you're wasting your time playing with dolls."
"They aren't dolls!" Brandon said indignantly.
"So they aren't dolls."
"There is a difference," Brandon insisted. "You make it sound as if I'm in my second childhood."
"All right. Puppets!" The thin man shifted in his chair. He ran his lean fingers over the hand-painted figure he was holding in one hand. "But you can see my point."
Brandon shook his head. That was it. He couldn't see the point. His puppets were becoming world famous, the result of reviving the almost lost art of hand carving. He was earning a fair living at it. He could see no reason for a change.
"Think of the prestige if you come with us. You will be heading a department of your own," the Secretary said.
Brandon wrinkled his brow, thinking of how his name was already associated with his puppets. If only they would leave him alone, if only there wasn't so much paper work waiting for him on his desk, he would be able to spread out, expand, really have a going business. But they had to keep pestering him with worthless offers that they knew he couldn't handle, wasting his time, especially now when time was of the essence. The paper work on his desk had to be completed by midnight. He would never finish it now.
Brandon felt the beginning of a headache. Because of the paper work he hadn't had time to touch a new puppet in months. Now these damn interviews were keeping him from the desk work. It was a vicious circle leading to ruin.
"You will be serving your Country, Brandon," the Secretary said strongly. "Not fiddling with dolls."
"I told you...."
The Secretary held up his hand. "I know. Puppets."
Brandon got up and walked to the window and looked out at the setting sun. It was hard to define; there were some things words couldn't explain. All the offers had been good ones. But a man had to have some rule, some yardstick to guide him. Brandon had his. He wanted to be useful, that wasn't too much to ask. Life was too short to waste laboring in a position he wasn't fitted for. If he took Interior's offer all that would be ended. He would be caught in a web which allowed no escape.
Brandon turned. "I'm afraid, Mr. Secretary, that you don't understand my position. It isn't that I feel above being employed by the President. I have all the respect in the world for him and his office. I have nothing but respect for you...."
"Then what is it, Brandon?"
"I don't think I would be happy taking orders from some one else."
"We all have a boss, Brandon."
"I haven't."
The Secretary grinned. "You can head your own department. The President and myself will be the only ones you will have to answer to, I promise."
"That's what I mean," Brandon answered softly.
The Secretary felt his face flush. "You are insinuating that you are above working for the President, Mr. Brandon!" he said stiffly.
"You're twisting words." Brandon's voice was determined. "It's just that I like to work alone. I like to put my hat on and go, whenever, and wherever I please."
The Secretary shook his head "Brandon! I happen to know that you haven't been off this estate, this property of yours, in the past five years."
"That doesn't alter a thing. I can go, anytime I please. I have no reason to leave now. But when I do, I won't ............