The Troubled Air Read Online Free PDF Page B

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    “And, even if we grant that Communists should not work on radio,” Archer went on evenly, “still, we do not permit the people who are accused to defend themselves?”
    “No.”
    “It doesn’t occur to you that that’s a little bit on the filthy side, does it?”
    “It occurs to me,” said O’Neill. “A lot of things occur to me.” O’Neill played with his glass. “I get paid $18,000 a year because I have such a fertile mind. Next year, they put my name on the door.”
    “If there’s still a door.”
    O’Neill nodded agreeably. “If there’s still a door.”
    “Now, as for the question of technique,” Archer said, pleased with the fact that he was doing this so calmly. “What am I supposed to say to the five people? Do I say, You’re Communists, or, We think you’re Communists, or, The editor of a throwaway magazine is of the opinion you’re Communists, kindly leave and starve in another section of the city?”
    “That’s up to you,” O’Neill said. “I suggest it would save trouble to do it as quietly as possible.”
    “Quietly.” Archer nodded reasonably. “Be so good as to walk, not run, to the nearest exit when you discover your throat is cut. Something along that order? Maybe Mimeograph will run off a form.”
    “It was felt,” O’Neill returned to his earlier oratorical style, “that the best way would be merely to say nothing. None of them has a contract. We don’t have to tell them anything.”
    “I see.” Archer pursed his lips thoughtfully. “Do you suggest that that’s the way I do it to Vic Herres, for example? Is that what you would do with your friend Herres, Emmet?”
    The plum surge of blood showed in O’Neill’s face again. “Please, Clement,” he said, “what do you want me to do?”
    “I don’t know about you, Emmet,” said Archer, feeling his hands trembling, “but I can’t do it this way. Maybe I can’t do it any way, but this is out. So I’ll quit now, and you find somebody else who knows how to handle these things better.”
    “You can’t quit,” O’Neill said. “Your contract runs another sixteen weeks.”
    “Mr. Clement Archer,” said Archer, “the not very eminent radio director and producer, was last seen entering a private nursing home, suffering from a nervous breakdown due to overwork. Before he went in, he issued a statement regretting his inability to fulfill his obligations due to reasons of health. He was assured by his lawyers that this was sufficient legal justification for laying down his contractual burdens.”
    O’Neill listened unhappily. “All right,” he said, “what do you want? Within reason.”
    Archer thought for a moment. “First of all,” he said, “I want time. You sprang this on me without warning and you can’t expect me to make up my mind in fifteen minutes. Is that within reason?”
    “How much time do you want?”
    Archer considered. “Two weeks, anyway.”
    “You won’t help Herres in two weeks,” O’Neill said.
    “Maybe not.” Archer smiled. “But maybe I’ll help myself. I’m a slow thinker, and if I was smarter I wouldn’t be in radio, but in two weeks there’s a chance I can get one or two things settled, anyway. For one thing, I might even find out whether these people are Communists or not.”
    “How’ll you do that?”
    “In a very novel way. I’ll ask them.”
    O’Neill laughed harshly. “Do you think they’ll tell you?”
    “Who knows? Maybe they will,” Archer said. “The world is full of people with a sickly leaning toward the truth.”
    “What if Frances Motherwell tells you she’s not a Communist?”
    Archer considered for a moment. “I won’t believe her,” he said quietly.
    “What if Vic Herres says he’s not a Communist?”
    “I’ll believe him.”
    “Because he’s your friend.”
    “Because he’s my friend,” Archer said.
    “Then what’ll you do?” O’Neill demanded. “After the two weeks are up?”
    “I’ll tell you then.”