"Professor? Professor! Professor Ziegler…"

Toby stopped. Sighed. Pinched the bridge of his nose with his free hand and launched into his practice spiel with ease.

"My office hours are Tuesday from 9am until …"

"No, Professor, it's not about your classes. I just … I wanted … "

Toby turned to face the eager young voice that was gaining on him and panting for breath. A tall young man stood before him, black tousled hair falling into dark eyes, a lithe frame swamped in a large navy blue knitted sweater. For a moment he was reminded of a very young Sam Seaborn, without the suit budget.

"Is there any chance of a pertinent question being asked quickly, succinctly and coherently?"

"As soon as I... get my breath sir. I'd have been... more cogent... if you'd stopped when I first shouted."

Toby smiled despite himself. He looked like Sam, but he had a mouth on him like a young Josh. He was starting to like this kid.

"Professor, we met before. A long time ago. At the White House."

Toby's eyes clouded with pain. He didn't like to think back on some of those days.

"It was during the first Bartlet administration. I came to Washington on a Presidential Classroom trip. In 2001…"

The hazy mist started to clear, and now the young man started to look very familiar.

"My name's Billy Weston. But your colleague, Mr Lyman called me…"

"...Fred. I remember. I remember that day very well."

"It's a pleasure to meet you again sir."

"And what can I do for you… Fred? What are you, in grad school now?"

Billy smiled. If Professor Ziegler was mocking him, from everything he had learned so far during his time at Columbia, it was a good sign.

"I graduated law school already. Two years ago. I'm working as a research assistant at Barnes and Wills. I help Professor Cobyn with his teaching research."

"Cobyn doesn't take on research assistants."

"He didn't. Until now."

Toby started to pay close attention.

"I'm … thinking of changing direction. Away from academia. I've been building up a profile in politics. Grass roots level so far."

"In New York?"

"Maryland."

"And what's so special about Maryland?"

"Well, sir, there's a bunch of us starting to feel like Senator Rollins is throwing his weight around. And, well, we might be able to do something about that."

"Senator Rollins has been the Republican Senator for that district for all of ten minutes."

"That's ten and a half too long for our liking."

"I see… and so, for the second time I come to my question. What can I do for you?"

"I was … sort of hoping you might know where I can contact My Lyman. Since you're still in touch with him."

"What makes you think I'm still in touch with Mr Lyman?"

"The photograph of you two together last month at the Bartlet Presidential Library..."

"Huh..."

This kid was good. He had an enviable memory, good political instincts, and now that he'd caught his breath he was asking the right questions. Although not perhaps in the right order.

"Have you spoken to Congresswoman Wyatt?"

"I'm trying to get an appointment through her office…"

"Of course you are."

Toby drifted towards a bench, put down his gladstone bag and started to rummage. He found a pen, clamped it between his teeth and continued to rummage, eventually pulling out a notepad.

"Here…" he scribbled… "Call this number, and say that you want to get an appointment with Congresswoman Wyatt."

"I've not seen that number before…"

"Not many people have… and I don't want to see that being trended, or twitted, or whatever you call it…"

Billy did well to swallow his giggle in time. That was another good sign of self control.

"No sir… Thank you sir..."

"Hang on…" Toby pulled out a sheaf of paper, loosely bound. On the front page, there was a handwritten scribble. He stared at it for a few seconds, blinked rapidly, then turned to face Billy.

"You said you wanted to talk to Mr Lyman?"

"Yes sir."

"You know what happened during the last race, right…?"

"Um… yes sir. I was volunteering for the campaign at the time. In Washington DC."

"Why DC?"

"I was taking classes at Georgetown."

"So you know."

"Yes sir."

Toby tapped the pen against the sheaf thoughtfully for a few seconds. Then scribbled another number on the fly leaf.

"This number will get you through to Mr Lyman's assistant. But before you call, read this. And if I hear of any of it being anywhere online, or distributed at rallies, I will hunt you down, and you will never work anywhere more exciting than a mail room again. Are we understood?"

Billy was staring at the front page.

"Look at me."

He raised his head and saw, with crystal clarity, the seriousness of Toby's face.

"You will be in the first ten people to read that. And the first to read it without the author's express invitation."

"I understand sir." Billy turned the document so that the front page was hugged inward against his sweater.

"Who put you up to this?"

"Up to what, sir?"

"Politics. Who's your mentor, who talked you into this?"

"Nobody sir. That is … nobody recently. The first people who took any interest in me and what I thought of politics set me on this path years ago, and I've not stopped since."

"And who were they?"

"You. Ms Cregg. Mr Lyman. Mr Seaborn. In the White House mess."

Toby nodded.

"I see. Well, if you need to speak to me again, my office hours are Tuesday 9am until 10.30am and Wednesday 4.30pm until 6pm..."

Billy's face lit into a grin. "Thank you sir."

"Don't thank me yet kid. You have no idea what you're getting yourself into."

Billy gathered up his stuff and raced off.

Toby pulled out his mobile phone and walked back toward his office. So much for going home. He punched in the number and made a call.

"Hi Huck, it's me. It's Dad. Hi son. How's everything going…? Yeah …? Good, great … listen, is your mother around? I need to talk to her about some stuff…"