The Centre Block of Parliament was deserted and silent as the Hon Bonar Deitz closed the heavy oaken door of his parliamentary office. Room 407S, behind him. His light footsteps on the marble floor echoed sharply through the long corridor, the sound bouncing forward and down from its vaulted Gothic arches and Tyndall limestone walls. He had stayed, handwriting some personal notes, longer than he had intended and now going to the Rideau Club to meet Senator Deveraux would make him even later. But he supposed he had better see what the old boy wanted.

Not bothering to wait for an elevator, he used the square marble staircase leading down to the main-floor front corridor. It was two flights only and he trod the stairs quickly, his long bony frame moving in short jerky movements like a tightly wound toy soldier. A thin, delicate hand touched the brass stair rail lightly.

A stranger seeing Bonar Deitz for the first time might have taken him for a scholar – which, in fact, be was – but not for a political leader. Leaders, traditionally, have robustness and authority, and externally Deitz had neither. Nor did his triangular, gaunt face – an unfriendly cartoonist had once drawn him with an almond head on a string-bean body – have any of the physical handsomeness which attracts votes to some politicians irrespective of anything they say or do.

And yet he had a surprising following in the country -among discriminating people, some said, who could detect qualities in Deitz finer and deeper than those of his major political opponent James McCallum Howden. Nevertheless in the last election Howden and his party had beaten Deitz resoundingly.

As he entered Confederation Hall, the vaulted outer lobby with its soaring columns of dark polished syenite, a uniformed attendant was talking with a young man – he looked like a teenager – in tan slacks and a Grenfell jacket. Their voices carried clearly.

'Sorry,' the attendant said. 'I don't make the rules, son.'

'I realize that, but couldn't you make just this one exception?' The boy's accent was American; if not from the Deep South, then close to it. 'I've two days, is all. My folks start back…'

Involuntarily Bonar Deitz stopped. It was none of his business, but something about the boy… He asked, 'Is there a problem?', 'The young man wants to see the House, Mr Deitz,' the attendant said. 'I've explained it isn't possible, being the holiday,'

'I'm at Chattanooga U, sir,' the boy said. 'Majoring in constitutional history. I figured while I was here…'

Deitz glanced at his watch. 'If we're very quick I'll show you. Come with me.' Nodding to the attendant, he turned around the way he had come.

'Boy, this is great!' The lanky sophomore walked beside him, taking long easy strides. 'This is really swell.'

'H you're studying constitutional history,' Deitz said, 'you'll understand the difference between our Canadian system of government and yours.' The boy nodded. 'I think I do, most of it. The biggest difference is that we elect a President, but your Prime Minister isn't elected.'

'He isn't elected as Prime Minister,' Deitz said. 'To sit in the House of Commons, though, he must seek election as a Member of Parliament, the same way as all the other members. After an election the leader of the majority party becomes Prime Minister and then forms a ministry from among his own followers.'

Continuing, he explained. 'The Canadian system is a parliamentary monarchy with a single, unbroken line of authority all the way upward from the ordinary voter, through the Government, to the Crown. Your system is divided authority with separation of powers – the President has some. Congress others.'

'Checks and balances,' the boy said. 'Only sometimes there are so many checks, nothing gets done.'

Bonar Deitz smiled. 'I won't comment on that. We might upset foreign relations.'

They came to the House of Commons lobby. Bonar Deitz opened one of the heavy double doors and led the way on to the floor of the House. They stopped, the deep silence – almost physically felt – enfolding them. Only a few lights were burning and, beyond their range, the soaring galleries and the chamber's outer edges blurred into darkness.

'When the House is sitting it's a good deal livelier,' Deitz said dryly.

Tm glad I saw it this way,' the boy said softly. 'It's… it's sort of hallowed.'

Deitz smiled. 'It has very old traditions.' They moved forward and he explained how the Prime Minister and the Leader,. of the Opposition – himself – faced each other daily across the ' floor of the House. 'You see,' he said, 'we think directness has a lot of advantages. With our kind of government the Executive is accountable to Parliament immediately for everything it does.'

The boy looked curiously at his guide. 'If your party had elected more people, sir, then you'd be Prime Minister instead of leading the Opposition.'

Bonar Deitz nodded. 'Yes, I would.'

With unembarrassed frankness the boy asked, 'Do you think you'll ever make it?'

'Now and then,' Deitz said wryly, 'I get to wondering that myself.'

He had intended to take only a few minutes. But he found himself liking the boy and, by the time they had finished talking, much longer had elapsed. Once again, Deitz thought, he had allowed himself to be sidetracked. It happened frequently. He wondered sometimes if that were the real reason he had not been more successful in politics. Others whom he knew -James Howden was one – saw a straight, undeviating line and followed it. Deitz never did, politically or any other way.

He was an hour later than he had expected in reaching the Rideau Club. Hanging up his coat he remembered ruefully that he had promised his wife he would spend most of today at home.

In the lounge upstairs Senator Deveraux, still asleep, was snoring in gentle undulations.

'Senator!' Bonar Deitz said softly. 'Senator!' The old man opened his eyes, taking a moment to focus them. 'Dear me.' He eased upright from the depths of the big chair. 'I appear to have dropped off.'

'I expect you thought you were in the Senate,' Bonar Deitz said. He lowered himself angularly, like a collapsible spindle, into an adjoining seat.

Senator Deveraux chuckled. 'H that were so, you would have wakened me less easily.' Shifting around, he reached into a pocket and produced the newspaper item he had torn out earlier. 'Read this, my boy.'

Deitz adjusted his rimless glasses and read carefully. While he did so the Senator trimmed a new cigar and lit it.

Looking up Deitz said mildly, "'I have two questions. Senator.'

'Ask away, my boy.'

'My first question is – since I am now sixty-two years old, do you conceivably think you could stop calling me "my boy"?'

The Senator chuckled. 'That's half the trouble with you young fellows – you want to become old men before your time. Don't worry; age will creep up soon enough. Now, my boy, what's your second question?'

Bonar Deitz sighed. He knew better than to argue with the older man, who he suspected was baiting him. Instead he lighted a cigarette and asked, 'What about this chap in Vancouver – Henri Duval? Is there something you know?'

Senator Deveraux waved his cigar in a gesture of dismissal. 'I know nothing whatever. Except that the moment I learned of this unfortunate young man and his unheeded plea to enter our country, I said to myself: here is an opportunity for some ordure stirring which will embarrass our opponents.'

Several others had come into the room, greeting Deitz and Senator Deveraux as they passed. The Senator lowered his voice conspiratorially. 'You've heard what occurred at Government House last night? A fight! – among members of the Cabinet.'

Bonar Deitz nodded.

'Under the very nose, mind you, of the duly appointed representative of our gracious sovereign.'