“I’m sorry, Mr. McDaniel, but I’m afraid I’ll have to disagree. I feel that my ‘type’ is not only wanted, but also, needed. That was made pretty clear last night.”

Tom rose. “Get out of Caxton, Cramer,” he said. “Get out today.”

“Are you telling me?”

“I’m advising you.”

Adam Cramer smiled again. “I honestly don’t understand your attitude, Mr. McDaniel—and I don’t think I want to, either. But it doesn’t matter. It so happens that I plan to stay here until my job is finished. I’d hoped we could work together; I still do, in fact, but if we can’t, then that’s the way it is.”

“I’ll fight you,” Tom said. “Every inch of the way.”

“That’s your right.”

They stared at one another for a moment, and Tom knew precisely what his visitor was thinking. “There is one thing I can tell you,” he said. “Stay away from my daughter.”

“I should think that would be her decision,” Cramer said.

“It isn’t. If you go near her, you’ll be sorry.”

Adam Cramer smiled. “That,” he said, “would be taking the law into your own hands, wouldn’t it, Mr. McDaniel?” He paused. “I’d like to talk more with you, but I’m afraid I have work to do. You want to set up the ad?”

Tom picked up the sheet of paper, read it quickly. If you are interested in keeping Caxton High School white, don’t fail to attend the first general meeting of SNAP—The Society for National American Patriots. Saturday, 7:30, Joan’s Cafe.

“The ad,” he said, “isn’t suitable. We can’t run it.” He folded it and tossed it back across the desk.

Adam Cramer did not move. “I think you’ll change your mind,” he said. Then, carefully, he took out another piece of paper and handed it to Tom.

It read: Tom, put this in a box, with heavy border, on page one. V. S.

“A quarter column ought to be all right,” Cramer said. “The typeface isn’t too important—so long as it’s big.”

Tom threw both sheets of paper into the wastebasket. “The ad is not suitable,” he repeated. “Please close the door after you.”

Adam Cramer walked to the door; turned. “You hate me, Mr. McDaniel,” he said. “I don’t know why, but you do. However, I regard my work here as something vitally important to the country. There’s no room in it for personal quarrels. After all, we’re both trying to achieve the same goal. Aren’t we?”

Tom did not answer.

“We’re like soldiers on a battlefield,” Adam Cramer said, “fighting a common enemy. If we can’t get along together, let’s at least not weaken our own offensive by engaging in private wars. I’ve read your editorials, sir. They were thoughtful and brave. You fought damned hard, and I think maybe now you’re a little tired of fighting. Well, I’m a fresh recruit, don’t you understand? I simply want to carry on where—”

“Get out,” Tom said firmly.

The door closed.