"I don't think you realize just how good an idea you have, here," he
told the plump man abruptly. "If you did, you wouldn't ruin it with such
timid and unimaginative treatment."
I thought he'd been staying out of the conversation because it was over
his head. Instead, he had been taking the plump man's idea apart,
examining all the pieces, and considering what was wrong with it and how
it could be improved. The plump man looked startled, and then
angry--timid and unimaginative were the last things he'd expected his
idea to be called. Then he became uneasy. Maybe this fellow was a
typical representative of his lord and master, the faceless abstraction
called the Public.
"What do you mean?" he asked.
"Misplaced emphasis. You shouldn't emphasize the event that could have
changed history; you should emphasize the changes that could have been
made. You're going to end this show you were talking about with a shot
of Columbus wading up to the beach with an English flag, aren't you?"
"Well, that's the logical ending."
"That's the logical beginning," the sandy-haired man contradicted. "And
after that, your guest historian comes on; how much time will he be
allowed?"
"Well, maybe three or four minutes. We can't cut the dramatization too
short--"
"And he'll have to explain, a couple of times, and in words of one
syllable, that what we have seen didn't really happen, because if he
doesn't, the next morning half the twelve-year-old kids in the country
will be rushing wild-eyed into school to slip the teacher the real
inside about the discovery of America.
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