"Mr. Chairman!" Praska was on his feet, flushed, dead earnest. "King got this wrong. I'm no liar. If you call me a liar, then you've got to call all actors liars because what they say on the stage isn't so. All I did was to act a part to make clear an idea that I hadn't been able to get across to the crowd in any other way." He turned to Perry, his eyes hurt. "You'll have to take that back," he said very quietly.
"I sure will." Perry was a quick thinker—he had followed Praska's argument and his response came instantly and with a heartiness that took the hurt out of Praska's eyes.
With sublime indifference to conventional parliamentary procedure the two shook hands warmly.
"George," said Perry, "you're a schemer, and a plotter, and a betrayer, and a conspirator—but you're as straight as a string, and you've got the best bean of any of us. I guess we'll have to elect you president."
From the back of the room came the voice of the football captain. "Yes," Hammond boomed, "I'd like to boil you in oil, George, but I guess we'll have to elect you."
