Franklin D. Roosevelt, John F. Kennedy, and then T. C. She counted. Eight. Who was the ninth? Then she remembered, and printed the name of William McKinley between Garfield and Harding. Next, she tried to think of the Vice-Presidents who had died in office. She could think of only Elbridge Gerry, Henry Wilson, Garret Hobart, and Porter, and not another. Finally she gave up. There was no use thinking about it. She felt ill.
She heard Talley’s strained voice. “I somehow believed that almost every President who didn’t finish his term was assassinated, but it says here that not more than four were shot down.”
“Lincoln, Garfield, McKinley and Kennedy,” said Flannery, fingers pressing his forehead. “Harrison and Harding died, in part, of pneumonia. Taylor’s death was caused by cholera morbus. F. D. R. suffered a cerebral hemorrhage. Incredible, but poor T. C. was the only one ever to be snuffed out by an accident.” He shrugged. “I suppose it had to happen to someone sometime.” Then he added wretchedly, “Only why did it have to be T. C.?”
Edna had been watching Tim Flannery as he spoke, and there was a sweetness about him, behind his whole façade of forced factuality, that she liked very much. He was a tall Irishman, with unruly rust-colored hair, and a small reddish mustache, and a wide, ingenuous florid face, now puffy and blotched by sorrow. He looked as tweedy as his suits, with their suede elbow patches, and he had been a Midwest newspaperman who had written several highly respected history books on the side. It said much for him that most of the cynical White House press corps, and her own George among them, liked Tim Flannery.
“Chrisamighty, but I’m sure not in the mood for this,” Governor Talley was saying. His one crossed eye contemplated the ceiling and then reluctantly came down to the papers in his hands. “Well, guess somebody’s got to do it. Might as well get it over with. . . . Let me see, Tim, says here that Speaker Earl MacPherson will fill one year and five months of T. C.’s unexpired term. Is that correct?”
“Give or take a few days, yes,” said Flannery, almost inaudibly. He seemed to make an effort to pull himself together. “All the past Vice-Presidents who succeeded Presidents had over three years of unexpired terms to fill, except Fillmore, who served two years and eight months of Taylor’s term, and Coolidge, who picked up one year and seven months of Harding’s unexpired term, and Lyndon Johnson, who served one year and three months of Kennedy’s unexpired term. MacPherson will have a long enough way to go in the—in the Presidency.”
“Yes, he will,” said Talley with gravity. He touched the papers in his hand. “You say here this is the first time in our history we have ever lost both men elected to serve us for four years.”
“Never happened before,” said Tim Flannery. “But as Clinton Rossiter wrote in The American Presidency , ‘This is no guarantee for the future.’ How right he was.” Flannery pointed to the sheaf of papers. “Did you notice that other quotation from Rossiter?”
“Which one?”
Flannery had bent forward and pointed to a paragraph on the top page. “Right there.” He read it aloud. “ ‘If we are only poorly prepared for a double vacancy, we are not prepared at all for a multiple vacancy; and it is this kind of vacancy, so I am told by colleagues who deal in the laws of probability, that we are most likely to be faced with during the next hundred years and beyond.’ ”
Talley frowned. “I’m not interested in that. I’m interested in the facts, Tim, nothing else. We’re faced with a double vacancy, not a multiple one. Let’s check the Presidential Succession Act of 1947, just get it straight, before we dictate the release to Edna.” He had begun turning the pages, and at last he found it. “Here it is. Okay, clear and simple. If the Presidency and Vice-Presidency are vacant, ‘the Speaker of the
She heard Talley’s strained voice. “I somehow believed that almost every President who didn’t finish his term was assassinated, but it says here that not more than four were shot down.”
“Lincoln, Garfield, McKinley and Kennedy,” said Flannery, fingers pressing his forehead. “Harrison and Harding died, in part, of pneumonia. Taylor’s death was caused by cholera morbus. F. D. R. suffered a cerebral hemorrhage. Incredible, but poor T. C. was the only one ever to be snuffed out by an accident.” He shrugged. “I suppose it had to happen to someone sometime.” Then he added wretchedly, “Only why did it have to be T. C.?”
Edna had been watching Tim Flannery as he spoke, and there was a sweetness about him, behind his whole façade of forced factuality, that she liked very much. He was a tall Irishman, with unruly rust-colored hair, and a small reddish mustache, and a wide, ingenuous florid face, now puffy and blotched by sorrow. He looked as tweedy as his suits, with their suede elbow patches, and he had been a Midwest newspaperman who had written several highly respected history books on the side. It said much for him that most of the cynical White House press corps, and her own George among them, liked Tim Flannery.
“Chrisamighty, but I’m sure not in the mood for this,” Governor Talley was saying. His one crossed eye contemplated the ceiling and then reluctantly came down to the papers in his hands. “Well, guess somebody’s got to do it. Might as well get it over with. . . . Let me see, Tim, says here that Speaker Earl MacPherson will fill one year and five months of T. C.’s unexpired term. Is that correct?”
“Give or take a few days, yes,” said Flannery, almost inaudibly. He seemed to make an effort to pull himself together. “All the past Vice-Presidents who succeeded Presidents had over three years of unexpired terms to fill, except Fillmore, who served two years and eight months of Taylor’s term, and Coolidge, who picked up one year and seven months of Harding’s unexpired term, and Lyndon Johnson, who served one year and three months of Kennedy’s unexpired term. MacPherson will have a long enough way to go in the—in the Presidency.”
“Yes, he will,” said Talley with gravity. He touched the papers in his hand. “You say here this is the first time in our history we have ever lost both men elected to serve us for four years.”
“Never happened before,” said Tim Flannery. “But as Clinton Rossiter wrote in The American Presidency , ‘This is no guarantee for the future.’ How right he was.” Flannery pointed to the sheaf of papers. “Did you notice that other quotation from Rossiter?”
“Which one?”
Flannery had bent forward and pointed to a paragraph on the top page. “Right there.” He read it aloud. “ ‘If we are only poorly prepared for a double vacancy, we are not prepared at all for a multiple vacancy; and it is this kind of vacancy, so I am told by colleagues who deal in the laws of probability, that we are most likely to be faced with during the next hundred years and beyond.’ ”
Talley frowned. “I’m not interested in that. I’m interested in the facts, Tim, nothing else. We’re faced with a double vacancy, not a multiple one. Let’s check the Presidential Succession Act of 1947, just get it straight, before we dictate the release to Edna.” He had begun turning the pages, and at last he found it. “Here it is. Okay, clear and simple. If the Presidency and Vice-Presidency are vacant, ‘the Speaker of the
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