It was one of those glorious fall Sundays here in
Oblivious to it all yet somehow affected by this best of seasons, Mr. Fury's usual mix of anger and dyspepsia seemed strangely muted as he strode down the church steps after services. Perhaps it was the communion wine. An insurance adjuster, he was accustomed to reckoning the costs of damages and always expecting the worst. The halcyon skies and gentle winds had already made him decidedly uneasy by the time he encountered
"Good morning," she said. Aha! he thought. Just like her, for nothing upset him like ordinary pleasantries, and the blithe smile she always seemed to have. Unless it was women who didn't know their place.
"My goodness, you're looking even more dapper than usual," she continued, "though you always cut a dashing figure." He ignored her effrontery, pretending he hadn't heard the compliment, though later he would repeat it to himself word for word while deciding whether to wear his gray or blue tie with his businessman's blue serge, and grudgingly allowing himself to smile at his reflection in the closet mirror.
But this sunny Sunday, as was his habit, he went on expecting the worst, while
"What's good about it?" Mr. Fury wanted to know, speaking with his usual asperity. "The country is being overrun by all this riffraff, we've got a president who acts more like an emperor, ignoring law and order and precedent, and letting these foreigners run all over the rest of us, speaking their own language instead of American, giving them special privileges like work permits so they can take our jobs, a shiftless bunch who'll never put in a day's work, and who need to be sent back to where they came from, and furthermore...."
"It's always so enlightening to hear your well-informed views on current events," said
"Bah, humbug," retorted Mr. Fury. "Reagan! I never was fond of that matinee idol with that movie-actor smile of his, that Democrat in Republican's clothing, that great pretender, that RINO, that sellout...."
"And even before him,"
"Another softie!" Mr. Fury snorted. "If anything, he was even worse than Reagan. I never did like Ike -- with that grin of his, certainly not after he stole the party's nomination from Sen. Taft and deprived us of another satisfying defeat...."
"I'm sure Mr. Taft was a fine gentleman," soothed
I should think so, thought Mr. Fury, telling himself the girl wasn't really such a bad sort if someone would just take her in hand and show her the true, rocky path in these matters. Instead, she took all this church talk about Do Unto Others and