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“More than a bit. I’m doing a doctoral program in Greek and Roman history at the University of Constantina right now.”
    The man beamed. “Good! Very good, sir. I almost did the same thing myself. I was working on a Master’s program when I dropped out to go into business with a few partners.” 
    Simon looked at the expensive suit and car. “It seems to have worked out.” 
    The man smiled. “Quite well. Still, I wonder from time to time if I should not have pursued it anyway. There are so few ancient scholars today, and appreciation for the classics has vanished.”
    “I know,” said Simon. “I was a TA for an intro class last year. The students just didn’t care. They were more interested in business administration or women’s studies or just playing computer games.”
    The man sneered. “Crass and ignorant pursuits of time, certainly.”
    Simon nodded. “The decline of western civilization.”
    The man laughed. “I wouldn’t worry too much. The decline of western civilization has always been in sight. Tacitus complained about it in the second century AD, and every major writer before or since has said something about it.” He smiled. “Men do not change. It is one of the great truths of the world. Well. As enjoyable as a good intellectual discussion would be, we must get to business.”
    Simon stuck out his hand on impulse. “Simon Wester.” 
    The man shook his hand. “Thomas Wycliffe.” 
    Simon blinked. “Wycliffe…” He blinked and went rigid. “Wait! I know you…you’re the Senator, the one who won the election last year.” 
    Wycliffe grinned. “The same.”
    Simon ran a hand through his hair. “I…I voted for you…”
    “Thank you.”
    “Oh, man. Oh, man. I hit a Senator’s car. I am in so much trouble.” 
    Wycliffe laughed. “Calm yourself, Mr. Wester. Were I the President, Secret Service agents would have arrested you already. But I am not the president. Yet.” He grinned. “So, we’ll settle this the usual way. Do you have insurance information with you?”
    “Um…” Simon grimaced. “I don’t have car insurance. I can’t afford it. Rather, I couldn’t afford it, and after I lost my job…”
    “You lost your job?”
    Simon nodded. “Today!”
    Wycliffe blinked. “Goodness. Then you’ve had quite a rotten day, haven’t you?”
    “You have no idea,” said Simon.
    Wycliffe produced a checkbook and propped it against his car. “Well…in that case, perhaps I should pay for the damages to your vehicle.”  Simon started to protest, and then thought better of it. “How much does that look like? Six hundred dollars worth of damage?”
    “Maybe seven,” said Simon. “Actually, eight hundred. Or nine.”
    “I’ll take that into consideration,” said Wycliffe. He tore off a check and handed it over. “Here you are.”
    “Thanks.”  Simon blinked. He almost dropped the check. It was for five thousand dollars. “I…you…you…”
    “Well, just in case,” said Wycliffe. “And if there’s any left over after fixing the van, consider it a donation to a struggling scholar.”
    “Thanks.” A considerable crowd had gathered on the sidewalks. Some of them called Senator Wycliffe’s name and waved. “Wait. This is all politics, all publicity. You just want to look good.”
    Wycliffe laughed. “Absolutely! Do you think I want a car accident to become a scandal? And you’ve impressed me, Mr. Wester. Not many people have the dedication it takes to properly study history.”  He snapped his fingers. “In fact, I have an idea.” He pulled out a business card and pressed it into Simon’s hand. “This is the address of my offices on the South Side. Why don’t you stop by tomorrow morning and pay me a visit?” 
    “I have class all morning,” said Simon. 
    “Afternoon, then. Or the day after, if it works better. I don’t fly back to Washington until the end of the week. You need a job? Perhaps I can provide something.”
    “Thanks,” said