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surprise David. A.J. seemed the rescuing type.
    “I missed you,” Timmy piped in. “You weren’t in the office when I went to get the trash.”
    “I’ve been out to meetings, Timmy. I missed you too. Tell you what. Let me take you out for hamburgers tonight, and we’ll stop by the arcade and you can play some games.”
    “Superheroes! Can I play Superheroes and drive the race-car game too?”
    “If you finish your work, yes.”
    “Cool! Yes! Neat!” Timmy was ecstatic. “I’ll get to work right away.” Timmy stepped from the office but immediately bounded back in, hugged A.J., and then bounded back out.
    “I don’t think my ribs will ever be the same,” A.J. said rubbing his side. “That boy is about as strong as they get.”
    “So I found out,” David replied as he rubbed his shoulder.
    “But the strongest thing about Timmy is his heart,” A.J. said. “I’ve never seen anyone who can love so unconditionally and with such … enthusiasm.” Both men laughed.
    “So tell me, David,” A.J. said, “how have your first two days at Barringston been? Are you finding everything you need?”
    “I think I’m adjusting to corporate life, although I can’t imagine any corporation doing what you folks do here.”
    “We are different, but then our work is different. Is Ava helping out?”
    David nodded, “Oh, yes. She’s great. In many ways she’s been my guiding light.”
    “Good. She’s one of the best. If you need anything, she can get it.” A.J. looked at the manuscripts on David’s desk and then turned to look at the television opposite the desk. He saw his image frozen on the screen. “So what do you think?”
    “Think?” David asked. “Think about what?”
    “The speeches, of course.”
    David hesitated. How frank should he be? He barely knew his new boss. A.J. could be the sensitive type who had trouble accepting constructive criticism. When David was a student in college, he encountered several students who responded so poorly to criticism that they would risk failing the course rather than give a simple five-minute speech.
    As if he had read David’s mind, A.J. said: “No need to hesitate, I can take it.”
    “It’s not that bad, A.J.,” David said with a chuckle. “Actually you’re a fine speaker with a natural talent. Your timing is good; your voice is clear and not monotone. You display a measure of presence, and your body language is unambiguous.”
    “But …” A.J. prompted as he sat down opposite David’s desk.
    “But in all the speeches I’ve watched, about eight, I’ve noticed that you’ve left something at home. Passion.”
    “Passion?”
    “Absolutely. Let me show you.” David picked up the VCR remote and pressed the rewind button. A moment later the image changed to A.J. dressed in a black tuxedo standing behind an oak lectern that was too short for his height. David provided a running commentary while the tape ran.
    “First, your voice. It’s good, strong, and well projected. Your body language says you are both confident and sincere. The speech itself is pretty good, and you deliver it well. But there’s no passion. What I see here is someone giving a nice speech about an important topic. What I don’t see is someone who’s devoted his life to the eradication of hunger.”
    “I see,” A.J. said, but David noticed he was puzzled.
    “Look,” David continued as he leaned over the desk, “it isn’t enough to touch the audience’s mind. With material this important, your words and delivery have to reach
into
each person and squeeze their soul.”
    “Squeeze their soul,” A.J. repeated.
    “Absolutely,” David began to pace behind his desk. The videotape continued to play unnoticed. “People are intellectual creatures, but they are first and foremost emotional creatures. If you touch their hearts, you touch their minds. The reverse of that isn’t always true.”
    “But I don’t want us to be one of those organizations that parade pictures of