This operation runs on it. We use electric power for the mill which mixes feed for forty thousand cattle. And did you know that in the pens there are bright lights on all night?"
"As I understand it," Nim said, "it's so the cattle can see to cat."
"Right. They sleep less, feed more, and fatten faster. But our power bills are astronomical."
Nim hummed "It seems to me I've heard that song before," and Yale laughed.
"Sound like a bellyaching consumer, don't I? Well, today I am. I've told the trust manager, Ian Norris, to cut down, economize, search out waste, conserve. We have to."
Nim had met Norris briefly, earlier this morning. He was a dour, humorless man in his late fifties who had an office in the city and managed other estates as well as the Yale Family Trust. Nim guessed that Norris had preferred it when Paul Sherman Yale was in Washington and unintervened in trust business.
"What I'd like to do," Yale said, "is sell off this property and some of the others my grandfather left. But right now is a had time."
While they talked, Nim had continued watching the procession below them.
Something puzzled him.
"That last calf," he said. "And the one before it. They weren't castrated. Why?"
A cowboy nearby, overhearing Nim's question, turned. He had a swarthy Mexican face and was grinning broadly. So was Mr. Justice Yale.
"Nim, my boy," the old man said. He leaned nearer, speaking confidentially. “There's something I should tell you. nose last two were girls."
* * *
They had lunch in Fresno, in the Windsor Room of the Hilton Hotel. During the meal Nim continued the briefing be had come for. It proved an easy task. As soon as any fact or statistic was presented, Mr. Justice Yale appeared to have it memorized. He rarely asked for repetition and his sharp, probing questions showed a quickness of mind, plus a grasp of the big picture. Nim hoped that when he was eighty his mental powers would be as good.
Much of their talk was about water. Ninety percent of electric power used by farmers in the lush San Joaquin Valley, Nim reported, was to pump water from wells for irrigation. Therefore, interruptions in power supply could be disastrous.
"I remember this valley when it was mostly desert" Paul Yale reminisced.
"There was a time when nobody believed anything would grow here. The Indians called it 'Empty Valley.' "
“They hadn't heard of rural electrification."
"Yes, it wrought miracles. What's that line from Isaiah?-'the desert shall rejoice, and blossom as the rose."' Yale chuckled. "Maybe I can slip that into my testimony. A line or two from the Bible adds a touch of class, don't you think?"
Before Nim could answer, the maitre d' came to their table. He announced, "Mr. Yale, there's a telephone call for you. You may take it at the hostess' desk if you wish."
The older man was gone several minutes. Nim could see him across the room, writing in a notebook as be listened intently to whatever was being said on the telephone. When he returned to the table, he was beaming and had the notebook open.
"Some good news from Sacramento, Nim. Excellent news, I think. An aide to the Governor will be at the bearing here this afternoon; he'll read a statement that the Governor now strongly supports the plans for Tunipah. A confirming press release is going out now from the Governor's office." Yale glanced at his notes. "It speaks of 'a personal conviction, after study, that the Tunipah development is essential to the growth and prosperity of California."'
"Well," Nim said, "you really pulled it off. Congratulations!"
"I'll admit I'm pleased." Pocketing the notebook, Yale glanced at his watch. "What do you say we get some exercise and walk over to that hearing?"
"I'll walk with you, but I won't come in." Nim grinned. "You may remember-at the Energy Commission I'm still persona non grata."
* * *
Their destination was the State Building, some ten minutes away.
It was a bright pleasant day and Paul Yale, spry in walking as in much else, stepped out briskly. After the flow of talk before and during lunch, both fell silent.
Nim's thoughts returned, as they had so often lately, to Ruth. A week and a half had passed since the soul-searing night when he learned that Ruth's life was endangered by cancerous cells at large in her body. Apart from a talk with Dr. Levin, Nim had kept the knowledge to himself. There seemed no point in turning Ruth-as he had seen happen with other families-into an object of gossip and speculation.
Dr. Levin's attitude had been neither defeatist nor reassuring. "Your wife may have many years of normal life," be had said. "But you must also know that her condition could deteriorate suddenly and rapidly.
“Treatment, though-whether it's chemotherapy or immunotherapy will tilt the odds in her favor."
As to possible additional therapy, Ruth was to make another trip to New York soon; it would be decided then if the newer, in-part-experimental method at the Sloan-Kettering Institute was likely to help her. For Nim, as well as Ruth, the waiting was like living on the loose ledge of a precipice, wondering if it would collapse or hold.
“The only advice I can give," Dr. Levin had added, "is what I've told your wife already: Live one day at a time, and use it to the full. Don't let her put things off that she wants to do, and can. Come to think of it, that's good counsel for us all. Remember that you or I could drop dead from a heart attack or be killed in a traffic accident tomorrow, with your wife suryiving us by many years."
The doctor had sighed. "I'm sorry, Nim; maybe that sounds like a load of bull. I know you want something definite. Everybody does. But the advice I've given you is the best I have."
Nim had taken Dr. Levin's advice by spending as much time with Ruth as possible. Today, for example, he could have stayed on overnight in Fresno; there were local developments about which he might usefully inform himself.
Instead, he had arranged to take an afternoon flight back, and would be home for dinner.
His thoughts were jerked into the present by Mr. Justice Yale, who observed, “There seems to be an extraordinary number of people around for this time of day."
Nim had been preoccupied; now he looked about him. "You're right. There are."
The streets within immediate view contained large numbers of pedestrians, all apparently heading in the same direction-toward the State Building. Some were hurrying, as if anxious to get ahead of others. Cars, too, were streaming in and a traffic jam was developing. among occupants of the cars and those on foot, women and teen-agers seemed to predominate.
"Perhaps," Nim said, "word got around that you were coming here."
The old man chuckled. "Even if it did, I don't have the charisma to pull a crowd this size."
They reached the grassy mall which fronted on the State Building. It was packed with people.
"If you want to find something out, a good way is to ask," Yale said. He touched the arm of a middle-aged man in workman's clothes. "Excuse me. We are curious to know why so many people are here."
The other looked at him incredulously. "You ain't heard?"
Yale smiled. "It's why I asked."
"It's Cameron Clarke. He's coming here."
“The movie actor?"
"Who, else? Gonna speak his piece at some gumment hearing. Bin on radio all morning. On TV too, so my old lady says."
Nim asked, "What government hearing?"
"How should I know? Who cares? just wanna get a look at him, is all."
Paul Yale and Nim exchanged glances as the same thought occurred to them.
"We'll know soon enough," Yale said.
They began easing their way closer to the State Building, a functional, uninteresting edifice with steps in front. At the same time a black limousine with a police motorcycle escort approached from the opposite direction. A cry went up, and was repeated, “There he is!" the crowd surged forward.