“Service, Madame.” He wheeled up a camera-like device somewhat larger than the one used to take Perry’s palm print. “Is your friend exactly four meters from the screen?”
“Exactly.” He fiddled with the camera.
“Is your screen corrected for angular aberration?”
“Yes.” He made an adjustment.
“Now—front view. Very well, right side. Back view, please. Left side. Will you bend over, please? Extend both arms. That’s fine. Now raise your knees in succession. That’s all.” The camera disappeared. “Will you examine materials?”
“No, make them all wool with cellutate lining. How about colors, Perry? Would dark blue suit you?”
“Fine.”
“With white piping, perhaps?” The vendor’s anxious voice joined them.
“Very well.”
Diana also okayed the purchase of a pocket belt with a detachable kilt for travel and general public wear, some sport sandals, and a pair of light slippers for city wear. She firmly vetoed any discussion of ornaments, jewelry, knickknacks, and accessories, and refused to be drawn into considering any feminine frills for herself. The ‘artist’ finally gave up and the screen went blank. Perry returned to his studies. Record followed record and the afternoon wore away unbeknownst to Perry. Once, Diana came in and changed the position of the screen and propped Perry up on pillows. Later she brought him a cup of tea and a sandwich. Perry hardly noticed the interruptions. He was held by the endless, ultimate drama. Late in the afternoon the last supplement whirred to a stop. Perry got up and stretched cramped limbs. Diana was not in sight. He looked around, sighed, sat down and lit a cigarette. Presently Diana appeared in the garden door. “How far did you get, Perry?”
“I’ve been through them once right up to date.”
“How about it?”
“Well, I feel for the first time as if I actually were in 2086. It’s a lot to swallow at one dose though.”
“I’ve invited an old friend of mine here this evening, Perry. He can help you a lot. He’s a Master of History who used to be one of my teachers.”
“Say, that’s fine. When does he get here?”
“He should be here for dinner. He has to fly over from Berkeley.”
Less than an hour later the visitor appeared. He was a thick set man, with broad powerful shoulders. His cranium was large, his eyes deep, his face homely and rugged. He gathered Diana in a bear hug that lifted her off her feet, kissed her on both cheeks, sat her down and started to peel off his flying kit. Perry judged him a well preserved fifty-five or sixty, and noted with interest that he appeared to shave his entire body with the exception of his bushy grey eyebrows. Diana introduced them.
“May I do you a service, my boy.” It was more a statement than a question. “Diana has told me something of your case. We should have lots to talk about.” His name, it appeared, was Master Cathcart.
Diana insisted on refraining from historical discussion until after dinner. Once it was over however, and Master Cathcart had persuaded a big bowled pipe to burn, he came right to business. “I am to assume, I take it, that you are for all practical purposes an inhabitant of 1939 A.D., well educated in your period, transported by some witchcraft to this period. Very well. You have been studying some records today? Which ones?” Perry ran through the list. “Good enough. Now suppose you summarize briefly what you have learned today and I will explain and amplify and answer questions as best I can.”
“Well,” replied Perry, “that’s a large order but I’ll give it a try. At the time of my accident, July 1939, President Franklin D. Roosevelt was in his second term. Congress had adjourned after wrecking most of the President’s program. The war in Spain had been won by the fascists. Japan was fighting China and was apparently about to fight Russia. Unemployment and an unbalanced budget were still the main troubles in the United States. 1940 was a presidential year. President Roosevelt was forced to run for a third term through lack of an electable successor to carry on his policies. His nomination by the Democratic convention resulted in the defection of the conservative wing of the party to Republican Party. In the meantime the National Progressives had organized on a nationwide scale and put young Bob LaFollette in the field. The Republicans nominated Senator Vandenburgh. Vandenburgh was elected but polled considerably less than half of the popular vote and failed to get a majorityin either house. His administration was doomed from the start. Very little was done for four years except for a half-hearted attempt to balance the budget by eliminating relief, but riots and hunger marches soon scared Congress into providing more and more for the dole. In the spring of 1944 the death in a plane crash of Mr. Roosevelt demoralized the remnants of the Democratic Party and most of them joined the Republicans or the Progressives. The Democrats adjourned their convention without naming a candidate. The Progressives named LaGuardia, the fiery little Mayor of New York, while the Republicans after many ballots picked Senator Malone. President Vandenburgh was as thoroughly discredited by circumstances he did not understand and could not control as President Hoover before him. Senator Malone was a mid-western politician, a typical demagogue of my period, if I’m any judge. The recordings show him red-faced and raucous, a man of the people. Malone ran on a platform of blaming everything on Europe and the radicals. He demanded instant payment of the war debts, which were pretty silly since the second European war was already on. He called for the outlawing of the Communist Party, protection of the American home, and a return to rationalism in education which he defined as readin’, ‘ritin’, and ‘rithmetic and a particularly offensive jingoistic patriotism. He advocated deportation of all aliens, laws to prevent women from holding men’s jobs, and protection of the morals of the young. He promised to restore prosperity and promised everyone the ‘American’ standard of living. And he won, by a narrow vote in the electoral college . LaGuardia said afterwards that since Malone had promised them the moon, all he could offer was the moon with whipped cream, which didn’t seem practical to LaGuardia.