The captain shook Professor Laslow’s hand, and despite the suspicion that had existed between the two, they parted as friends of the greatest mutual respect. In fact, as he walked down the gangway with Sir Humphrey in tow, the Professor wondered how he could ever have been tricked into almost stabbing Captain Sterling to death with his sword cane.

“So this is America, is it?” He said, regarding the harbor with a suspicious eye. The docks were bustling with passengers and stevedors, and since this was an election year, there were also a number of colorfully-dressed men shouting out encouragement to vote for so-and-so, and thrusting leaflets into the hands of everyone they could wrangle.

Sir Humphrey trundled up beside him, trembling under the weight of half a dozen suitcases and trunks loaded with assorted clothing and personal items, hunting rifles of various caliber, volumes of rare reference material, and sundry alchemical paraphenalia packed tightly so as not to become unsettled during the trans-Atlantic voyage.

“I couldn’t say whether it’s America or not sir, as all countries look the same from behind your luggage.”
“Let us fetch a porter to help you with that, Sir Humphrey, or you shall become herniated.”

They took a coach to the Copley Square Hotel, where they met a man dressed in a bleached wool suit of the purest white, with white whiskers and a silver watch-chain. The only thing about his person which was not colorless was the ruby ring he wore to signify that he was a member of that secret, solemn order to which the Professor also belonged. When they arrived he was seated in the gentlemen’s club which adjoined the hotel. Being offered drinks, the Professor accepted his usual brandy, but Sir Humphrey declined, choosing instead to read a copy of the United States Constitution which he had purchased for pleasure-reading during the trip.

“It’s good to see you again, Laslow, though I wish your first visit to my country could have been in happier times.”
“What exactly is it that I’m here to help you with, Dr. Morris? Your telegram was somewhat vague.”
“Yes, of course. It had to be, you know.. This would start a panic if it got out to the public.”

Meanwhile, Sir Humphrey was mumbling to himself as he read: “Congress shall assemble… a majority of each shall constitute a quorum… this is absolute rubbish!”

The Professor looked grave. “But Dr. Morris, you don’t mean to suggest… that is to say, you don’t mean it’s…”
Dr. Morris took the cigar out of his mouth and leaned in close to the Professor. “One of the Ancient Troubles? Yes, yes indeed, I’m afraid.”
“Which of them is it?”
“It’s the one the Indians call Wretched-Eater-of-Man-Bones.”
“That one that pins you to the top of a tree and waits for your blood to drain out?”
“No, the slimey one that sneaks in under the door and carries you off into a swamp. He’s been trapped in a cave for over two hundred years, but recently his cultists have been very active.”
“In what ways, Doctor?”
“The strangest ways, Professor. We’ve seen them carrying boxes full of buttons, and ribbons of red, white and blue into his secret lair in the swamp.”

The Professor leaned back in his chair and stroked his chin. “This is indeed curious, Morris, though I confess that I am rather at a loss to explain his motives.”
“Something exceedingly sinister, no doubt.”

Both men grew quiet, but Sir Humphrey, completely oblivious to the conversation, carried on his mumbled reading. “The executive power shall be vested… a term of four years…”

Suddenly the Professor sat bolt upright. “Humphrey, that’s it! The patriotic ribbons, the campaign buttons… Wretched-Eater-of-Man-Bones has escaped from his cave and is preparing to run for President of the United States!”

“Balderdash, it simply cannot be! Why would he do such a thing?” Scoffed the doctor.
The Professor’s eyes blazed. “Don’t you see? He’d be unstoppable!”

“But you don’t understand,” explained Dr. Morris, “our constitution was written to prevent just such a catastrophe. You see, only someone who is a born citizen of this country can be elected President. Monsters and such are firmly barred from holding office.”
“I pray to God my memory misleads me” said the professor, “but I’m almost certain it does not. Sir Humphrey, will you turn to Article II, Section 1 of that document you hold in your hands, and read the 5th clause that is listed there?”

Sir Humphrey fumbled with the pages, and required an explanation of what a clause was, and when he finally began to read his voice quavered with anxiety, he not being used to public speaking.

“N-no person,” he stuttered, “except a natural b-b-born citizen, or a citizen of the United States at the t-time of the adoption of this Constitution, shall be eligible to the Office of the P-p-president.”

Professor Laslow set his brandy snifter down and cleared his throat.

“Now you see what I mean, doctor; having been entrapped on American soil for over two centuries, he became a de facto citizen when the Constitution was adopted. He is free to run for President, and there is nothing we can do to stop him!”
“This fledgling country is surely doomed!” moaned Dr. Morris.
“I’m not sure that’s how it works…” said Sir Humphrey.
“I’m afraid it is, old friend. The framers of your Constitution, doctor, wise though they were, could not have foreseen this horrible sequence of events. Now, I’m afraid there is only one thing to do.”
“What is that, Professor?”

“Since we cannot prevent Wretched-Eater-of-Man-Bones from running for the presidency, we must beat him at his own game! We shall choose a candidate of our own, and use every means at our disposal to ensure his victory in next year’s election. There is little hope of our succeeding, but we must not allow ourselves to fail.”

And that’s how Chester A. Arthur became the twenty-first President of the United States. He wasn’t necessarily the best man for the job, but the only alternative was a horrible monster that escaped from a cave. The end.