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He said, “What are you doing here?”

I said, “I don't know. The President asked me to come at ten o'clock.”

He said, “He asked me for ten o'clock.”

I said, “Well, perhaps he has something to take up with us both.”

He saw Richberg there and he looked very mean at Richberg. He gave Richberg a dirty look and he said, “What are you doing here, Richberg?”

Richberg said, “I was asked to come at ten o'clock.”

Johnson looked surprised. He had a right to look surprised. He hadn't been told any more than we had who was coming.

McIntyre let the President know we were all there and in just a few minutes we were asked to come into the Blue Room. The President was sitting at his desk which was against the windows. I knew the minute I looked at him that he had braced himself for something. He didn't look like himself. He was very straight. He was grave. He wasn't smiling. He didn't have any smiles for anybody. He was not letting himself get into the useful persiflage with which he opened most conversations. It was his habit to begin a conversation with some pleasantry, or some joke, or some sympathetic inquiry about somebody's personal