I want to welcome Robin Marris to this performance of Our Gang. Since you cannot tell the players without a scorecard, perhaps I should explain to readers of this magazine that Marris is shorter than I am, but not nearly by so much as I am shorter than Galbraith. I will not pass on his beauty, but he has an attractive air of distraction that is really quite deceptive (witness that he is a better skier than I am, though I have not had the opportunity to compare him with Galbraith in this respect). Nor can I say whether his face, which is only moderately weatherbeaten, expresses much of what has made England what it is today. Indeed, the low music you hear may well be Galbraith whistling a few bars of “The Maple Leaf Forever.” Since I, too, am politically biased in favor of Galbraith, I do not see why this fact should cause Marris to be unfair to an old friend. Actually, he is not. (I will return to this matter of politics later.)