Gretchen Guebler sat in rapt fascination at the goings on at the meeting of the Manchester Mercy Hospital Community Outreach Committee. She had long taken in these meetings out of a keen desire to see her philanthropic efforts go to timely and proper use, but certainly the interplay beteen personalities on the hospital committee made for a great floor show. Blair Kent, the massive and formidible chairwoman of the board sat in her usual place, attempting to look stern and attentive, yet needing someting to do--like perhaps the knitting that she was forced behind in order to maintain her image.

Peter Mansfield was in hog heaven tonight, as the viewgraphs and lightup pointer device were sure evidence of. Someone had once pointed out to Gretchen that he was the product of MIT and the cutting edge of the field of physical plant maintenance. Of course, she had pegged him for a graduate from more of a backwoods school of management, herself. Nonetheless, he stood there, droning on in that amazing monotone of his about...yes, HVAC system improvements in other parts of the old hospital. Too bad no one here actually cared enough to stifle their yawns.

Then, sitting at the very end of the front table was Merril Cody, a woman of boundless enthusiasm and energy, penned up in a room and forced to sit at a table until it was time for her stand up and make her presentation. Now, the practiced eye knew that as the fidget travelled up her body during the course of one of these meetings, the more incredibly shrill her voice would be at the moment that she made her own 20 minutes or so worth of useless additions in the middle of this basically useless meeting.

Henry Wilkins leaned over to her in a quiet whisper and said to her "Eight." She passed a look his way and whispered back "six." With that exchange, the bets were laid and only providence could decide who would be buying the drinks this night.

As Peter droned on ...about electrical conduit routing...Gretchen watched the fidget in Merril's foot begin to travel up toward the knee, realizing that she might be buying drinks this night unless something drastic happened and soon. Henry simply smirked and they both paid much more attention to the developing tension while trying to look like they gave a damn about Physical Plant. Just at the moment when things looks bleakest in regard to the bet, the strained cordiality of the meeting was disrupted suddenly by the rhythmic tapping of Merril's toe. Blair Kent looked over at this point and shot a corrective glance at the offending sound, leaning over to say something to the Cody.

That's when the frame on Blair Kent's chair sheared, dumping her 300 or so pounds onto the floor amid the ruins of the broken chair. The chairwoman shrieked out in surprise, embarassment, and pain as she landed and even Peter stopped to take notice. Needless to say, amid the flurry of activity that comes after such a thing, that the meeting was adjourned.

Henry Wilkins escorted Gretchen Guebler from the building, being gentleman enough to assure that she reached her car in the dark lot safely, before they both drove across the river to his office.

Gretchen waited in the large city room of the small daily as Henry fiddled with the lock on his office door. This had become a bit of a tradition over the past few years, clandestined outings to his office after the stunningly dull hospitial affairs. She had even come expect to wind up at Henry's office for drinks for a nightcap. As it turned out, in 9 years of betting on Merril's shrill, she'd only lost the bet a few times--for a reporter and editor, Henry had stunningly poor instincts about people. Or maybe hers were simply better. She smiled a little to herself as he finally got the worn lock to open and then stood aside to allow her to pass inside and turn on the lights.

Henry followed behind her some number of paces before she sat in the chair across the desk from his own while he poured the usual scotch on the rocks for himself and a glass of deep red wine for her. He smiled cordially and she returned it, taking the glass in her carefully gloved fingers and twirling it lightly before a simple sniff and sip.

"Does the wine meet your approval, Mrs. Guebler?" he queried as she sat the stemmed glass on the desktop.

"Of course it does, Henry. You have acquired a much better taste in wine in the time that I have known you." she said quietly, venturing a smile.

Henry Wilkins chuckled a little as he sat in his chair. The lovely leather chair creaked as his full weight settled into it. "You mean since I was dumb enough to rope myself into wagering with you about Merril's speeches." he laughed a bit more. "So, did you set it up so that the leg on Blair's seat would break or was that a happy accident."

Gretchen pursed her lips a little "Well, as fortuitous as it was, Henry, it did not seem happy for Blair." she smiled a little at that. "However, I do admit the timing was grand. I sure hope she wasn't hurt seriously."

Henry sipped his scotch and nodded, volunteering "Blair's hurts aren't half as bad as this strike business. It's getting ugly down at the mills, Gretchen."

She nodded thoughfully, "I know. I have my own personaly concerns about the matter..." her instincts flared a bit and she grabbed for the glass to hide her passion regarding the foolish actions of the bosses down at the cotton mills. "I must say, Henry, it puys you as editor in a curious position, doesn't it?"

He looked at her oddly across the desk "Yes and no. There's always the questions of which side to take, but I'm not sure that there can be a right side in this mess. This reminds me of the strike that my grandad talked about in the '30s...ugly things."

She listened to him carefully as she sipped on the wine, which was much better than usual "I don't envy you at all. However, if I may be so bold, Henry, I think that finding a way to get the two side to stop yelling at each other would go a long way toward assuring that violence and riots are avoided." she paused for along moment. I hear from the backchannel that they are talking strike breakers and scabs...you know where thatwill lead..."

"Yes." he said, shifting uneasily in his seat, "and the last thing that we need is another round of shootings like last time...that was bad." Henry sighed for a long moment. "Gretchen, I don't have a crystal ball. You know that throwing my weight around could do more damage than good right now. I do not want to be the one who set off the war, that's not what being a newspaperman is about." He made a deep frown and sipped lightly once more "Bradley taught me that we're supposed to report the news, not make it."

Gretchen took Henry into her gaze for a long silent moment "Henry, you *have* to use your influence here. I seriously think that your word, if nothing more than said privately to Rod Masterson down at the Union Hall, could avert a great deal of this."

He arched a brow slightly at her unusual insistence and leaned forward "What influence?"

She leaned forward and caught his look with her and spoke in a very calm and specific voice, "Henry, you went to school with Rod Masterson. You go down there tomorrow after your morning coffee and talk to him about things. When he questions you about the visit, use all of your charm and cunning to defuse his anger. You and everyone in town knows that he's been a hothead since the second grade...." and then leaned back in her seat, sipping her wine again. "Seems rather simple, don't you think?"

Henry looked at her for a long moment and then blinked. "I suppose that you're right..." he shifted in his seat. "I just never knew what to say after what happened to him in the Gulf....maybe a friendly visit and a little bit of the old times would help, eh?"

Gretchen nodded a little bit, drinking her wine and noting that he particular brand of magic might just save a number of people a few headaches. She stayed, maybe another half an hour and then left Henry Wilkins behind in his office as the time to put the morning edition to bed was not but a couple of hours away. As she drove home, she made a note to have a talk with her contacts in the police force. It was becoming very important that the bases get covered.