burned out earlier in the evening -- flared momentarily, and I saw Reginald Hector, flanked by aides and receptionist, striding towards his brother's bench. I stepped between them.
"You!" the ex-Chancellor cried, and his surprise at the sight of me quickly turned to irritation. "Look out of my way, boy; I got to save Ira from those beggars!"
"Your brother can't really be helped, Grandpa," I declared. "His case is hopeless."
"Nuts," he said, pushing past me. "That's no-win talk. Nothing's impossible!"
"Check," the receptionist affirmed. "Up and at 'em, P.-G."
"You have some begging of your own to do, is that it?" My gibe fetched him up, though I knew it to be no more than half true. He ordered his aides to proceed to Ira's rescue, directing them with his slinged arm, and then turned to me like a professor-general to a wayward freshman recruit, his chin thrust dangerously forth.
"I withdraw the remark, sir," I said, before he could speak. "Your brother Ira can't pass, but Ido have some final advice for you. If you want it."
"Hmp!" He glared at me squint-eyed for a moment, stroking his jaw. His aides, having driven off Ira's three or four lingering molesters, found themselves beset now by the whole original company of demonstrators, almost united in their opposition to uniformed intervention.
"Contingency Three-A?" the receptionist called.
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