It had to be You

toothpaste. A little box of Fels-Naptha soap. A packet of Tums. “Very good for indigestion,“ he said.
    “Nobody gets indigestion from my cooking,“ Emmaline Prinney said rather sharply.
    “I’m sure they don’t,“ Kelly Connor said, “but what if you have to eat someone else’s cooking?”
    He went on removing other things from his suitcase. Samples of Ovaltine, Aqua Velva shaving cream, Wrigley Doublemint chewing gum. Even miniature bars of Baby Ruth candy bars.
    At that point Mr. Prinney was drawn in by the giggles coming from the kitchen. “What’s this all about?“ he asked.
    “This young man is showing us samples of things we can’t buy unless we go to a big city. This is my husband,“ Mrs. Prinney said to Kelly. “Mr. Prinney, Esquire.“
    “And they’re all a lot cheaper to buy from me, sir,“ said Kelly, who had stood up politely when the attorney walked into the kitchen. I’ve got something in my bus you should know about. Would you mind waiting while I get it?”
    A moment later he was back with a big machine. “Sir, this is a mimeograph machine. For your business it would be a really useful thing.“ He cleared an area of the big kitchen table and set the machine down. He handed Mr. Prinney a double set of papers and said, “Write something down, sir, on the top page. Press a bit hard.”
    Prinney, in spite of his reservations, wrote a few lines of the Gettysburg Address and handed it back.
    Kelly separated the sheets, put the back one down on a roller, and cranked a handle, and several copies of what Mr. Prinney had written came out the other end of the machine, smelling very odd. “The stink goes away pretty soon,“ Kelly said.
    Mr. Prinney waved one of the sheets around to get rid of the odor, and asked, “How many of these could you make with this thing?“
    “At least twenty before it starts to get hazy. Want me to show you?“
    “No need to,“ Mr. Prinney said stiffly. “I’ll take your word.“ He’d been disapproving of this nonsense when the machine was hauled in, but now there was a light in his eye.
    It didn’t take Mr. Prinney very long to come back to his senses. He had a secretary who had strong enough fingers to type three copies at once by using carbon papers. He couldn’t think of any occasion when he’d need twenty copies of anything.

Chapter 2
    Saturday, March 4

    Robert woke up at dawn shivering. He’d spent the night on the grounds of the EastPlaza of the Capitol with thousands of other people far better equipped than he was for a nippy night. He’d already located a public bathroom where he could shave in the morning. There was no mirror and only cold water. He left his blanket and small pillow in place, hoping no one would steal it or take over his spot. The day was overcast and cold and there was a brisk wind cutting through his clothes. He should have worn a coat.
    Most of the others attending had planned better. They were in pickup trucks with beds and warm bedding in the back. Many had tents along with kerosene lanterns and heaters. There were hundreds of children running around unsupervised, stepping on the hands and feet of the unfortunate, like Robert, who were trying to sleep on the ground. He estimated he might have had two full hours of sleep altogether. He staggered to the bathroom, where he shaved, washed his face, and slicked back his hair, shivering.
    Eventually the ceremony took place on a balcony of the Capitol. The crowd stood shoulder to shoulder and had grown at least three times in size since the night before. They all fell silent while Franklin Roosevelt took the oath of office.
    When the ceremony was finished, fifty thousand people cheered before dispersing to follow the parade to the White House. Robert learned later that, counting the many groups marching in the parade and the people watching the parade along the route, the inauguration involved almost a half million participants. The whole city was draped in flags, the endless string of marching bands creating quite a din as they played different music at the same time.
    Finally Roosevelt appeared on the balcony at the White House and gave a rousing speech. By that time Robert was so exhausted, he was hard-pressed to remember what was said, though as the words washed over him, he thought it was a grand speech. The only part he remembered clearly was the best: “The only thing we have to fear is fear itself.”
    Surely Jack Summer, the editor of the Voorburgon-Hudson