Midge

Last week in a red brick house on a Washington hilltop a man strove to out-midge the midge in public unimportance. He wanted to hush all mention of his name. The only shadow he wanted to cast was his own wavering outline against the library wall opposite the open fire.

Outside his door newsgatherers stood ankle-deep in slushy snow, their collars turned against a winter wind zipping up the S Street hill. Moved by pity and mischief, Congressman Black of New York offered in the House a resolution to appropriate $5,000 to build the newsmen a temporary shelter.

Meanwhile, back and forth through the white front door in S Street, passed many people--friends bearing advice, advisers looking for friendship--Indiana's Watson, long of leg and small of eye; Mellon the benign; square-jawed Borah and mouse-grey Good, North Dakota's boyish Nye, Iowa's heavy-footed Brookhart. They talked of many things to the Next President and went away holding their tongues.