CHAPTER III
TWENTY-TWO YEARS LATER
"It sometimes seemed to me that the Colorado said as it rushed throughthe Canyon, 'Nothing matters! Nothing! Nothing!'"--_Enoch's Diary_.
One burning morning in July, Jonas, in a cool gray seersucker suit, hisblack face dripping with perspiration, was struggling with the electricfan in the private office of the Secretary of the Interior. Thewindows were wide open and the hideous uproar of street traffic filledthe room. It was a huge, high-ceilinged apartment, with portraits offormer Secretaries on the walls. The Secretary's desk, a large,polished conference table, and various leather chairs, with a handsomeOriental rug, completed the furnishings.
As Jonas struggled vainly with the fan, a door from the outer officeopened and a young man appeared with the day's mail. Charley Abbottwas nearing thirty but he looked like a college boy. He was big andbroad and blonde, with freckles disporting themselves frankly on a nosethat was still upturned. His eyes were set well apart and his lipswere frank. He placed a great pile of opened letters on Enoch's desk.
"Better peg along, Jonas," he said. "The Secretary's due in a minute!"
Jonas gathered the fan to his breast and scuttled out the side door asEnoch Huntingdon came in at the Secretary's private entrance.
The years had done much for Enoch. He stood six feet one in his socks.He was not heavy but still had something of the rangy look of hisboyhood. He was big boned and broad chested. College athletics haddeveloped his lungs and flattened his shoulder blades. His hair wascopper-colored, vaguely touched with gray at the temples and very thickand unruly. His features were still rough hewn but time had hardenedtheir immaturity to a rugged incisiveness. His cheek bones were highand his cheeks were slightly hollowed. His eyes were a burning,brilliant blue, deep set under overhanging brows. His mouth was large,thin lipped and exceedingly sensitive; the mouth of the speaker. Hewore a white linen suit.
"Good morning, Mr. Abbott," he said, dropping his panama hat on acorner of the conference table.
"Good morning, Mr. Secretary! I hope you are rested after yesterday.Seems to me that was as hard a day as we ever had."
Enoch dropped into his chair. "Was it really harder, Abbott, or was itthis frightful weather?"
"Well, we didn't have more appointments than usual, but some of themwere unusually trying. That woman who wanted to be reappointed to thePension Office, for example."
Enoch nodded. "I'd rather see Satan come into this office than awoman. Try to head them off, Abbott, whenever you can."
"I always do, sir! Will you run through this correspondence, Mr.Huntingdon, before I call in the Idaho contingent?"
Enoch began rapidly to read letters and to dictate terse replies. Theywere not more than a third of the way down the pile when a buzzersounded. Enoch looked up inquiringly.
"I told Jonas to buzz for me at 9:20," explained young Abbott. "Idon't dare keep the people in the waiting-room watching the clocklonger than that. We'll fit this in at odd times, as usual. Remember,Mr. Secretary, you can't give these people more than fifteen minutes.Shall I come in and speak to you, at that time?"
"Perhaps you'd better," replied Enoch.
Abbott opened the door into the outer room. "Gentlemen, the Secretarywill receive you," he said. "Mr. Secretary, allow me to present Mr.Reeves, Mr. Carleton, Mr. Schmidt, Mr. Dunkel, Mr. Street, Mr.Swiftwater and Mr. Manges."
The men filing into the room bowed and mumbled. Enoch looked afterAbbott's retreating back admiringly. "I've been hearing Abbott do thatsort of thing for two years, but it never fails to rouse myadmiration," he said.
"A wonderful memory!" commented one of the visitors.
"Abbott is going into politics later," Enoch went on. "A memory suchas his will carry him far."
"Not as far as a silver tongue," suggested another man, with a twinklein his eye.
"That remains to be seen," smiled Enoch. He had a very pleasant smile,showing even, white teeth. "Well, gentlemen, what can I do for you?"
"Mr. Secretary," said the spokesman of the delegation, "as you know, werepresent the business men of the State of Idaho. There is a verybitter controversy going on in our State over your recent ruling on thematter of Water Power Control. We believe your ruling works aninjustice on the business men of our state and as nothing came ofcorrespondence, we thought we'd come along East and have a talk withyou."
"I'm glad you did," said Enoch. "You see, my work is of such a naturethat unless you people on the firing line keep in touch with me, I maygo astray on the practical, human side. You are all States' Rightsmen, of course."
The delegation nodded.
"My ideas on Water Power are simple enough," said Enoch. "The time isapproaching when oil, gas, and coal will not supply the power needed inAmerica. We shall have to turn more and more to electricity producedby water power. There is enough water in the streams of this countryto turn every wheel in every district. But it must be harnessed, andafter it is harnessed it must be sold to the people at a just price.What I want to do is to produce all the available water power latent inour waterways. Then I want the poorest people in America to haveaccess to it. There is enough power at a price possible even to thepoorest."
"We all agree with you so far, Mr. Secretary," said the chair-man ofthe delegation.
"I thought you would!" Enoch's beautiful voice had a curious dignityfor all its geniality. "Now my policy aims to embody the idea that themen who develop the water power of America shall not develop forthemselves and their associates a water power monopoly."
"We fear that as much as you do, Mr. Secretary," said one of thedelegates. "But let the state control that. We fear too muchbureaucracy and centralization of authority here in Washington. Anddon't forget, if it came to a scratch, we could say to Uncle Sam, youown the stream, but you shan't use a street or a town facility reachingit."
Enoch raised his eyebrows. "Uncle Sam doesn't want more power. If thestates had not been so careless and so corrupt in regard to theirpublic lands and their waters, there would be no need now for theDepartment of the Interior to assert its authority. Show me, Mr.Delegate, that there are neither politics nor monopolistic dreams inIdaho's attitude toward her Water Power problem and I'd begin tode-centralize our policy toward your state."
Abbott opened the door and tip-toed to Enoch's desk. "I'm sorry, Mr.Secretary," he said softly, "but Senator Far has been waiting fiveminutes."
"I'm sorry too," replied Enoch. "Gentlemen, we have used up the timeallotted. Will you make arrangements with Mr. Abbott for a longerconference, to-morrow? Come back with the proofs!" He smiled, and thegentlemen from Idaho smiled in return, but a little ruefully. The lastone had not turned his back when Enoch began an attack on the pile ofletters.
A ruddy-faced, much wrinkled man appeared in the door.
"Senator Far, Mr. Secretary," announced Abbott. Enoch rose and heldout his hand. "Senator, you look warm. Oh, Abbott, tell Jonas to turnon the fan. What can I do for Arkansas, Senator?"
Jonas came in hurriedly. "Mr. Secretary, that fan's laid down on me.How come it to do it, I haven't found out yet. I tried to borrow onefrom a friend of mine, but--"
"Never mind, Jonas," said Enoch. "I don't expect you to be anelectrician. Perhaps the power's still off in the building. I noticedthere were no lights when I came in."
Jonas' eyes grew as big as saucers. "It sure takes brains to be aSecretary," he muttered, as he turned to hurry from the room.
The two men grinned at each other. "What I wanted was an appointmentfor a friend of mine," said Senator Far. "He's done a lot for theparty and I want to get him into the Reclamation Service."
"He's an engineer?" asked Enoch, lighting the cigar the Senator gavehim.
"I don't think so. He's been playing politics ever since I knew him.He has a good following in the state."
"Why the Reclamation Service then! By the eternal, Senator, can't youfellows leave one department clear
of the spoils system? I'm here totell you, I'm proud of the Service. It's made up of men with brains.They get their jobs on pure ability. And you fellows--"
"Oh, all right, Mr. Huntingdon!" interrupted Senator Far, rising, "I'malways glad to know where you stand! Good morning!"
He hurried from the room and Enoch sighed, looked out the window, thenread a half dozen letters before Abbott announced the next caller, aman who wanted his pension increased and who had managed to reach theSecretary through a letter from the president of a great college. Thenfollowed at five and ten minute intervals a man from Kansas who hadideas on the allotment of Indian lands; a Senator who wanted light on abill the Secretary wished introduced; a man from Alaska who objected tothe government's attitude on Alaskan coal mines; the chairman of aState Central Committee who wanted three appointments, and a well knownengineer who had a grievance against the Patent Office. Followedthese, an hour's conference with the Attorney General regarding the NewPension Bill, and at noon a conference with the head of the ReclamationService on the matter of a new dam.
When this conference was over, Enoch once more attacked thecorrespondence pile which, during the morning, having been constantlyfed by the indefatigable Abbott, was now of overwhelming proportions.It was nearly two o'clock when Jonas, having popped his head in and outof the door a half dozen times, evidently waiting for the Boss to lookup, entered the room with a tray.
"Luncheon is served, sir," he said.
"Put it right here, Jonas." Enoch did not raise his head.
Jonas set the tray firmly on the conference table. "No, sir, Mr.Secretary, I ain't goin' to sit it there. You're going to git up andcome over here and keep your mind on your food. How come you think yougot iron insides?"
Enoch sighed. "All right, Jonas, I'm coming." He rose, stretched andmoved over to the table. The man ceremoniously pulled out a chair forhim, then lifted the towel from the tray and hung it over his arm. Onthe tray were a bottle of milk, a banana and some shredded wheatbiscuit, with two cigars.
"Any time you want me to change your lunch, Mr. Secretary, you say so,"said Jonas.
Enoch laughed. "Jonas, old man, how long have I been eating thisfodder for lunch?"
"Ever since you was Secretary to the Mayor, boss!"
"And how many times do you suppose you've told me you were willing tochange it, Jonas?"
"Every time, boss. How come you think I like to see a smart man likeyou living on baby food?"
Enoch grunted. "And how many times have I told you the only way for meto live through the banquets I have to attend is to keep to this sortof thing when I am alone?"
Jonas did not reply. Enoch's simple lunches never ceased to troublehim.
"Where do I go to-night, Jonas?"
"The British Ambassador's, Mr. Secretary."
Enoch finished his lunch rapidly and had just lighted the first of thecigars when Abbott appeared.
"There's a woman out here from the Sunday Times, Mr. Secretary. Shewants to interview you on your ideas on marriage. She has a letterfrom Senator Brownlee or I wouldn't have disturbed you. She looks asif she could make trouble, if she wanted to."
"Tell her I'm sorry, but that I have no ideas about marriage and thatJonas is as near a wife as I care to get. He henpecks me enough, don'tyou, Jonas, old man! Abbott, just remember, once for all, I won't seethe women."
"Very well," replied Abbott. "Will you dictate a few moments on yourreport to the President on the Pension controversy?"
"Yes!" Enoch pulled a handful of notes out of his pocket and began todictate clearly and rapidly. For ten minutes his voice rose steadilyabove the raucous uproar that floated in at the window. Then thetelephone rang. Abbott answered it.
"The White House, Mr. Secretary," he said. Enoch picked up thereceiver. After a few moments' conversation he rose, his face eager.
"Abbott, the Mexican trouble appears to be coming to a crisis and thePresident has called a cabinet meeting. I doubt if I can get back hereuntil after five. Will you express my regrets to the Argentinedelegation and make a new appointment? Is there any one in thewaiting-room?"
"Six people. I can get rid of them all except Alton of the Bureau ofMines. I think you must see him."
"Send him in," said Enoch. "I'll ask him to ride as far as the WhiteHouse with me. And I'll be back to finish the letters, Abbott. I darenot let them accumulate a single day."
Abbott nodded and hurried out. A tall, bronzed man, wiping the sweatfrom his bald head, came in just as Jonas announced, "The carriage, Mr.Secretary."
"Come along, Alton," said Enoch. "We'll talk your model coal mine aswe go."
It was six o'clock when Enoch appeared again in his office. His linensuit was wrinkled and sweat stained between the shoulders. He tossedhis hat on a chair.
"Abbott, will you telephone Senor Juan Cadiz and ask him to meet me atmy house at ten thirty to-night? He is at the Willard. Tell Jonas tointerrupt us promptly at seven, I mustn't be late to dinner. Now, forthis mess."
Once more he began the attack on the day's mail, which Abbott hadalready reduced to its lowest dimensions. Enoch worked with a power ofconcentration and a quick decisiveness that were ably seconded byCharley Abbott. It was a quarter before seven when Enoch picked up thelast letter. He read it through rapidly, then laid it down slowly, andstared out of the window for a long moment. Abbott gave his chief'sface a quick glance, then softly shoved under his hand the pile ofletters that were waiting signature. The letter that Enoch had justread was dated at the Grand Canyon.
"Dear Mr. Secretary," it ran, "it is twenty-two years since I took ared-headed New York boy down Bright Angel trail. You and I have neverheard from each other since, but, naturally I have followed your careerwith interest. And now I'm going to ask a favor of you. My daughterDiana wants a job in the Indian Bureau and she's coming to Washingtonto see you. Don't give her a job! She doesn't have to work. I cantake care of her. I'm an old man and selfish and I don't like to bedeprived of my daughter for my few remaining years.
"With heart-felt congratulations on your great career,
"I am yours most respectfully,
"FRANK ALLEN."
Enoch drew a deep breath and took up his fountain pen. He signed witha rapid, illegible scrawl that toward the end of the pile became a merehieroglyphic. Jonas put his black face in at the door just as hefinished the last.
"Coming, Jonas!" said the Secretary. "By the way, Abbott, I'll answerthat letter from Frank Allen the first thing in the morning. Goodnight, old man! Rather a lighter day than yesterday, eh?"
"Yes, indeed, Mr. Secretary!" agreed Abbott, as Enoch picked up his hatand went hastily out the door Jonas held open for him.
It was seven twenty when Enoch reached home. His house was small, witha lawn about the size of a saucer in front, and a back yard entirelymonopolized by a tiny magnolia tree. Enoch rented the house furnishedand it was full of the home atmosphere created by the former diplomat'swife from whom he leased it. Jonas was his steward and his valet.While other servants came and went, Jonas was there forever. Hefollowed Enoch upstairs and turned on the bath water, then hurried tolay out evening clothes. During the entire process of dressing the twomen did not exchange a word but Jonas heaved a sigh of satisfactionwhen at ten minutes before eight he opened the hall door. Enochsmiled, patted him on the shoulders and ran down the stairs.
A dinner at the British Ambassador's was always exceedingly formal asto food and service, exceedingly informal as to conversation. Enochtook in a woman novelist, a woman a little past middle age who was verysmall and very famous.
"Well," she said, as she pulled off her gloves, "I've been wanting tomeet you for a long time."
"I'm not difficult to meet," returned Enoch, with a smile.
"As to that I've had no personal experience but three; several friendsof mine have been trampled upon by your secretary. They all werewomen, of course."
"Why, of course?" demanded Enoch.
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"One of the qualities that is said to make you so attractive to my sexis that you are a woman hater. Now just why do you hate us?"
"I don't hate women." Enoch spoke with simple sincerity. "I'm afraidof them."
"Why?"
"I don't think I really know. Do you like men?"
"Yes, I do," replied Mrs. Rotherick promptly.
"Why?" asked Enoch.
"They aren't such cats as women," she chuckled. "Perhaps cat fear isyour trouble! What are you going to do about Mexico, Mr. Huntingdon?"
Enoch smiled. "I told the President at great length, this afternoon,what I thought we ought to do. He gave no evidence, however, that hewas going to take my advice, or any one else's for that matter."
"Of course, I'm not trying to pick your confidence. Mr. Secretary!"Mrs. Rotherick spoke quickly. "You know, I've lived for years inGermany. I say to you, beware of Germany in Mexico, Mr. Huntingdon."
"What kind of people did you know in Germany?" asked Enoch.
"Many kinds! But my most intimate friend was an American woman who wasmarried to a German General, high in the confidence of the Kaiser. Iknow the Kaiserin well. I know that certain German diplomats aredeeply versed in Mexican lore--its geography, its geology, its people.I know that Germany must have more land or burst. Mr. Secretary,remember what I say, Germany is deeply interested in Mexico and she isthe cleverest nation in the world to-day."
"What nation is that, Mrs. Rotherick?" asked the Ambassador.
"Germany!" replied the little woman.
"Possibly you look at Germany through the eyes of a fiction writer,"suggested the Englishman.
"It's impossible to fictionize Germany," laughed Mrs. Rotherick. "Onecould much more easily write a rhapsody on--"
"On the Secretary of the Interior," interrupted the Ambassador.
"Or on the Bank of England," laughed Mrs. Rotherick. "Very well,gentlemen! I hope you never will have cause to remember my warning!"
It was just as the ladies were leaving the table that Enoch said toMrs. Rotherick: "Will you be so kind as to write me a letter telling meof your suspicions of Germany in Mexico? I shall treat it asconfidential."
Mrs. Rotherick nodded, and he did not see her again that evening. Justbefore Enoch departed for his engagement with Senor Cadiz, theAmbassador buttonholed him.
"Look here, Huntingdon," he said, "that little Mrs. Rotherick knows athing or two. She's better informed on international relations thanmany chaps in the diplomatic service. If I were you I'd pump her."
"Thanks, Mr. Johns-Eaton," replied Enoch. "Look here, just how much ofa row are you fellows going to make about those mines in the Alaskanborder country? Why shouldn't Canada take that trouble on?"
"Just how much trouble are you going to make about the sealmisunderstanding?" demanded Johns-Eaton.
"Well," replied Enoch, with a wide smile, "I have a new gelding I'dlike to try out, to-morrow morning. If you'll join me at seven-thirtyon that rack of bones you call a bay mare, I'll tell you all I know."
"You will, like thunder!" laughed Johns-Eaton. "But I'll be there andjolly well give you the opportunity!"
Senor Juan Cadiz was prompt and so was Enoch. For a long hour the twosat in the breathless heat of the July night while the Mexican answeredEnoch's terse questions with a flow of dramatic speech, accentuated bywild gestures. Shortly after eleven-thirty Jonas appeared in thedoorway with two tinkling glasses.
"You are sure as to your facts about this bandit leader?" asked Enochin a low voice.
"Of an absolute sureness. If I--"
The Secretary interrupted. "Could you go to Mexico for me, in entiresecrecy?"
"Yes! Yes! Yes! If you could but see him and he you! If he couldbut know an American of your type, your fairness, your kindness, yourjustice! We have been taught to despise and hate Americans, you mustknow."
"Who has taught you?"
"Sometimes, I think partly by the Germans who have come among thepeople. But why should Germany do so?"
"Why indeed?" returned Enoch, and the two men stared at each other,deep intelligence in the gaze of each. Jonas tinkled the glasses againand Senor Cadiz jumped to his feet.
"I know, Senor Jonas!" he laughed. "That is the good night cap, eh!"
Jonas grinned acquiescence, and five minutes later he turned off thelights in the library. Enoch climbed the stairs, somewhat wearily.His room was stifling despite the wide-flung windows and the electricfan. He slowly and thoughtfully got himself into his pajamas, lighteda cigarette, and walked over to the table that stood in the bay window.He unlocked the table drawer and took out a large blank book of looseleafed variety, opened it, and seating himself he picked up his pen andbegan to write.
"July 17.--Rather an easier day than usual, Lucy, which was fortunate,for the heat has been almost unbearable and at the end of the officeday came that which stirred old memories almost intolerably. A letterfrom Frank Allen! You remember him, Lucy? I told you about him, whenI first began my diary. Well, he has written that his daughter, Diana,is coming to Washington to ask me for a job which he does not wish meto give her. I cannot see her! Only you know the pain that such ameeting could give me! It would be like going to Bright Angel again.And while the thought of going back to the Grand Canyon has intriguedme for twenty-two years, I must go in my own way and in my own time.And I am not ready yet. I had forgotten, by the way, that Frank had adaughter. There was, now that I think of it, a little thing of five orsix who went down Bright Angel with us. I have only the vaguestrecollection of what she looked like.
"Minetta Lane and the Grand Canyon! What a hideous, what a grotesquecoupling of names! I have never seen the one of them since I wasfourteen and the other but once, yet these two have absolutely made mylife. Don't scold me, Lucy! I know you have begged me never tomention Minetta Lane again. But to you, I must. Do you know what Ithought to-night after I left the British Ambassador? I thought thatI'd like to be in Luigi's second floor again, with a deck of cards andthe old gang. The old gang! They've all except Luigi been inSing-Sing or dead, these many years. Yet the desire was so strong thatonly the thought of you and your dear, faithful eyes kept me fromcharging like a wild elephant into a Pullman office and getting a berthto New York."
Enoch dropped his pen and stared long at the only picture in his room,a beautiful Moran painting of Bright Angel trail. Finally, he rose andturned off the light. When Jonas listened at the door at half aftermidnight, the sound of Enoch's steady, regular breathing sent thatfaithful soul complacently to bed.
The Enchanted Canyon Page 3