He turned to his father and said something, low-voiced, as though in remonstrance. “… a dirty trick.” At least, it sounded like that. Dave Husack leaned well toward her then, he spoke with earnestness. “It was your Grandpa Czar Kennedy suggested this visit to Washington, you know, Chris. For you, I mean. I was coming anyway, we thought it might make a nice jaunt. But Czar suggested you come. I guess he thought you might learn from seeing things in the—in the making, politically speaking.”

Chris’s face was sparkling, radiant. “I’m so glad he did. Thanks, Uncle Dave—–”

But now there was a sound of scuffling and startled voices from the dignified chamber of government below. The men at the desks and the man on the raised platform stared, startled, their faces reflected unbelieving shock. Chris, leaning far forward, saw suddenly, terribly, the giant figure of Thor Storm striding down the aisle while other smaller men clung to him, impeding his desperate progress. One great arm was upraised like that of a prophet of the Bible, he spoke in a voice of thunder, but then the clinging men succeeded in confining and twisting his arms, and they turned him around like a bundle and rushed him up the aisle. They disappeared with him. In the midst of the melee a man rose in the House and said something above the uproar as though he had been waiting for this moment. You just caught the word Alaska. There was a mumble. The man sat down. That was all.

Chris scrambled wildly out of her seat. “Grampa Thor! Grampa Thor!”

“Sh-sh-sh! Sit down!”

“That was my Grampa Thor! What did he—what are they doing? I’m going down to him. I’m—what are they doing to him!”

Dave Husack yanked her into the seat. “He’s all right. Sit still. I’ve tended to that. They’ll let him go. That’s all. That settles Alaska for two more years, anyway. That’s all.”

“You knew about this! You—Grampa Czar—that’s why—–”

“Come back here, and keep out of it. He’s all right, I tell you. The delegation’s with him. Serves ’em right. After lunch you can—say, how about lunch, anyway! What d’you all say, lunch?”

Chris pressed both hands flat to her stomach as though she were about to be sick. “All!” she cried, her voice so high and clear that the gallery turned to stare at her even as they began to move out and up through the exits. “All! No! No!” She fought her way forward, she leaned far over the balcony, she flung out both arms in a gesture that seemed command or supplication or both.

“Listen to him! Listen to him! That’s my grandfather, Thor Storm! You men! Listen! Alaska must be free! Alaska! Alaska!” Like the old-day suffragettes, like Charlotte Corday, like Betsy Ross, like Joan.

She was, of course, hysterical.

Dave Husack gathered her up with one great paw and pulled her down into the seat, she felt his moist soft palm clapped across her mouth, stifling her. She could not dislodge the hand, she heard Bay say quit that Dad or I’ll sock you, she managed to work her lips back somewhat from beneath the pressure and she bit the hand hard so that she was gratified to feel the bone as her teeth crunched into it and she heard his howl of pain and rage as he jerked his hand away. Then he slapped her.