"It's a Pleasure!"

After all, the trip was planned partly for the boys, Tom Jr., 14, and John, 11. So last week the Deweys started off from Salt Lake City for a week's sightseeing in Utah, Yellowstone National Park and Wyoming.

So far, the boys had not been too impressed. Tom, the mustacheless image of his father, had looked over briny Great Salt Lake and had dismissed it with "Give me the pool at our house in Albany any time." During the Governors' Conference in Salt Lake City, he had signed autographs with a patient smile. Politicking had been more fun. He had sidled around the lobby of the Hotel Utah, spotting governors by their name badges and surreptitiously reading the name. Then he marched up and offered his hand with a hearty: "How do you do, Governor So-&-So, I'm Tom Dewey. It's a pleasure to meet you."

John had yet to develop such poise. Once John became so fascinated with the Utah scenery that he borrowed three rolls of film from a news photographer, ran them through his Brownie. When the photographer refused to lend him any more, John let go a disappointed yell. The Governor had to restore order.

At Yellowstone's west gate, all the Deweys smiled broadly, signed autographs, paid their bus fare ($34.50 apiece) and started off for Old Faithful. Mrs. Dewey, recovering from a violent case of poison oak she had picked up in her home town of Sapulpa, Okla., seemed to be showing some strain. They had their picture taken beside the Jet Geyser, were disappointed by the poor catches being made by stream fishermen, but cheered up when they saw a bear amble out of a stand of dead spruce. Everybody stayed in the bus. The Governor had been warned that the bears were vicious.

At Old Faithful Inn, the Deweys rested. Tom Sr. felt that everything was going fine. Ten of the 17 Republican governors polled at the Salt Lake conference had picked him as the likeliest Republican presidential nominee. "I hadn't thought it would be that overwhelming," said the Governor modestly.

Just when Tom Dewey would announce that he was a candidate, nobody seemed to know. But there was one small occurrence which might indicate that the Governor was pondering the question. When photographers kept him posing for action shots, moving his lips soundlessly at a dead microphone, Tom Dewey finally barked: "I can't keep saying nothing forever."

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