'Possibly not,' Briskin said. 'Mini may not like the idea of a Col taking up his ideas and propagandizing them. Thanks, Dorothy.'

Coming up beside him, Sal Heim shook his head and said, 'Jim, you just don't have political instinct.'

Shrugging, Jim Briskin said, 'Possibly you're right.' He was in that sort of mood, now he felt passive and depressed. In any case the damage had been done; the speech was on tape and already being relayed to the R-L satellite. His review of it had been cursory at best.

'I heard what Dotty said,' Sal said. 'That Mini character will be showing up here now; we'll have him to contend with, along with all our other problems. Anyhow, how about a drink ?'

'Okay,' Jim Briskin agreed. 'Wherever you say. Lead the way.'

'May I join you ?' Patricia said, appearing beside her husband.

'Sure, 'Sal said. He put his arm around her and hugged her. 'A good big tall one, full of curiouslyrefreshing tiny little bubbles that last all through the drink. Just what women like.'

As they stepped out onto the sidewalk, Jim Briskin saw a picket - two of them, in fact - carrying signs.

KEEP THE

WHITE HOUSE WHITE

LET'S KEEP AMERICA CLEAN!

The two pickets, both young Caucs, stared at him and he and Sal and Patricia stared at them. No one spoke. Several homeopape camera men snapped picks; their flashbulbs lit the static scene starkly for an instant, and then Sal and Patricia, with Jim Briskin following, started on. The two pickets continued to pace back and forth along their little routes.

'The bastards,' Pat said as the three of them sealed themselves at a booth in the cocktail lounge across the street from the TV studio.

Jim Briskin said, 'It's their job. God evidently meant them to do that.' It did not particularly bother him; in one form or another it had been a part of his life as long as he could remember.

'But Schwarz agreed to keep race and religion out of the election,' Pat said.