Sons of Fortune

“What do we know about him?”

“A nice enough guy, but not a lot between his ears,” said Jimmy.

“Except a good-looking face,” said Fletcher.

“And several touchdowns last season, if I remember correctly,” added the senator. “So now we know who the enemy is, let’s start working on our friends. First, you must pick an inner circle—six, eight at most. They only need two qualities, energy and loyalty—if they’ve got brains as well, that’s a bonus. How long is the campaign?”

“Just over a week. School reassembles at nine o’clock on Monday, and the vote takes place on the Tuesday morning of the following week.”

“Don’t think week,” said the senator, “think hours, 192 of them, because every hour will count.”

Jimmy began making notes.

“So who’s allowed to vote?” was the senator’s next question.

“Every student.”

“Then make sure you spend as much time with the boys in the lower grades as with your contemporaries. They’ll be flattered that you’re taking so much interest in them. And, Jimmy, get your hands on an up-to-date list of the voters, so that you can be certain to make contact with every one of them before election day. And don’t forget, new boys will vote for the last person who speaks to them.”

“There are 380 students,” said Jimmy, unfolding a large sheet of paper on the floor, “I’ve marked the ones we already know in red, everyone I feel confident will support Fletcher in blue, new boys in yellow and left the rest blank.”

“And if you’re in any doubt,” said the senator, “leave them blank, and don’t forget younger brothers.”

“Younger brothers?” said Fletcher.

“I’ve marked them in green,” said Jimmy. “Every one of our supporters who has a brother in a lower grade will be appointed a rep. Their only job will be signing up support in their class and reporting back to their brothers.”

Fletcher looked on with admiration. “I’m not sure it shouldn’t be you who’s running for president,” he said. “You’re a natural.”

“No, I’m a natural campaign manager,” said Jimmy, “it’s you who should be president.”

Although the senator agreed with his son’s assessment, he didn’t offer an opinion.

“How do you think it’s going?” asked Fletcher as they walked around the lake.

“Can’t be sure,” Jimmy replied. “A lot of the upper-mids are telling both camps that they’ll be supporting their candidate, simply because they want to be seen backing the winner. Just be thankful that the vote isn’t on Saturday evening,” Jimmy added.

“Why?” asked Fletcher.

“Because we play Kent on Saturday afternoon, and if Steve Rodgers scores the winning touchdown, we could kiss goodbye to any chance of you becoming president. It’s just a pity it’s a home game. If you’d been born a year earlier or a year later, it would have been an away match, and the impact would have been negligible. But as it is, every voter will be in the stadium watching the encounter, so pray we lose, or at least that Rodgers has a bad game.”

By two o’clock on Saturday, Fletcher was seated in the stand, prepared for four quarters that would make up the longest hour of his life. But even he couldn’t have predicted the outcome.

“I’m not sure how it will affect the vote,” said Jimmy,

as the two of them ran toward the exit to join up with the rest of the team. “At least Steve Rodgers can’t shake hands with everyone as they leave the stadium.”

“I wonder how long he’ll be in the hospital.” Fletcher said.

“Three days is all we need,” said Jimmy. Fletcher laughed.

Fletcher was delighted to find that his team were already well spread out by the time he joined them, and several boys came up to say they would be supporting him, although it still felt close. He never moved beyond the main exit as he continued to shake hands with any boy over the age of fourteen and under the age of eighteen, including, he suspected, a few supporters from the visiting team. Fletcher and Jimmy didn’t leave until they were sure the stadium was empty of everyone except the groundsmen.

As they walked back to their rooms, Jimmy admitted that no one could have predicted a tie, or that Rodgers would have been on his way to the local hospital before the end of the first quarter. “If the vote was tonight he’d win on sympathy. If no one sees him again before Tuesday at nine o’clock, you’ll be the president.”

“Doesn’t ability to do the job come into the equation?”

“Of course not, you fool,” said Jimmy. “This is politics.”