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I said, “Have you asked Ickes?”

He said, “No.” I remember he pulled his face down into that oval shaped mouth he always had when he knew he'd been had. When he had been naughty he would always answer yes or no that way. I knew he felt guilty when he did that. I knew he knew he ought to have spoken to Ickes.

I said, “Well, you know, I think you ought to speak to Ickes.”

He said, “How can I? Hugh doesn't know yet.”

I said, “You haven't told Hugh?”

He said, “No.”

I said, “Oh, Mr. President!”

“Well,” he said, “I thought it would be better and he would be less hurt if we did it in a kind of an atmosphere of glory and praise.”

I said, “Yes, perhaps he would,”

He said, “I can't talk to Ickes. Somebody will find out.”

I said, “But it's only a few hours now.”

He said, “Well, I don't know.”

I said, “Well, let me talk to Ickes.”

“Oh, I don't know,” he said, “How am I going to tell Hugh?”

I said, “I don't know.”