The Enchanted Canyon

by Honoré Willsie Morrow

  Diana could but smile in return.

  "And so," said Enoch, "returning to the answer to your original question, I have found it hard to keep to any sort of fine idealism, partly because of my own inward struggles and partly because politics is a vile game anyhow."

  "We Americans," Diana lifted her chin and looked into Enoch's eyes very directly, "feel that at least one politician has played a clean game. It is a very great privilege for me to know you, Mr. Huntingdon."

  "Miss Allen," half whispered Enoch, "if you really knew me, with all my inward devils and my half-achieved dreams, you would realize that it's no privilege at all. Nevertheless, I wish that you did know all about me. It would make me feel that the friendship which we are forming could stand even 'the wreckful siege of battering days'!"

  "There was a man who understood friendships!" said Diana quickly. "He said in his sonnets all that could be said about it."

  "Now don't disappoint me by agreeing with the idiots who try to prove that Shakespeare wrote the sonnets to a man!" cried Enoch. "Only a woman could have brought forth that beauty of song."

  Diana rose nobly to do battle. "What nonsense, Mr. Huntingdon! As if a man like Shakespeare--" She paused as if struck by a sudden thought. "That's a curious attitude for a notorious woman hater to take, Mr. Secretary."

  Enoch laid down his fork. "Do you think I'm a woman hater, Miss Allen?" looking steadily into Diana's eyes.

  "I didn't mean to be so personal. Just like a woman!" sighed Diana.

  "But do you think I'm a woman hater?" insisted Enoch.

  Diana looked up earnestly. "Please, Mr. Huntingdon, if our friendship is to ripen, you must not force it."

  Enoch's face grew suddenly white. There swept over him with bitter realism a conception of the falseness of the position into which he was permitting himself to drift. He answered his own question with an attempted lightness of tone.

  "I can never marry, but I don't hate women."

  Diana's chin lifted and Enoch leaned forward quickly. All the aplomb won through years of suffering and experience deserted him. For the moment he was again the boy in the bottom of the Grand Canyon.

  "Oh, I am stupid, but let me explain. I want you to--"

  "Please don't!" said Diana coldly. "I need no warning, Mr. Huntingdon."

  "Oh, my dear Miss Allen, you must not be offended! What can I say?"

  "You might ask me if it's not time to go home," suggested Diana, coolly. "You mustn't forget that I'm a wage earner."

  Enoch bit his lip and turned to sign the check. Then he followed Diana to the door. Here they came upon the Indian Commissioner and his wife, and all opportunity for explanations was gone for the two invited themselves to walk along to Diana's rooming place. Enoch went up the steps with Diana, however, and asked her tensely:

  "Will you lunch with me to-morrow, Miss Allen, that I may explain myself?"

  "Thank you, no. I shall be very busy to-morrow, Mr. Huntingdon."

  "Let me call here in the evening, then."

  "I'd rather you wouldn't," answered the girl, coldly. "Good night, Mr. Secretary," and she was gone.

  Enoch stood as if struck dumb, then he made an excuse to Mr. and Mrs. Watkins, and started homeward. The night was stifling. When Jonas let him into the house, his collar was limp and his hair lay wet on his forehead.

  "I'm going to New York to-night, Jonas," he said huskily.

  "What's happened, boss?" asked Jonas breathlessly, as he followed Enoch up the stairs.

  "Nothing! I'm going to give myself a day's rest. Give me something to travel in," pulling off his coat.

  "I'm going with you, boss," not stirring, his black eyes rolling.

  "No, I'm going alone, Jonas. Here, I'll pack my own grip. You go on out." This in a voice that sent Jonas, however reluctantly, into the hall, where he walked aimlessly up and down, wringing his hands.

  "He ain't been as bad as this in years," he muttered. "I wonder what she did to him!"

  Enoch came out of his room shortly. "Tell every one I'm in New York, Jonas," he said, and was gone.

  But Enoch did not go to New York. There was, he found on reaching the station, no train for an hour. He checked his suitcase, and the watching Jonas followed him out into the dark streets. He knew exactly whither the boss was heading, and when Enoch had been admitted into a brick house on a quiet street not a stone's throw from the station, Jonas entered nimbly through the basement.

  He had a short conference with a colored man in the kitchen, then he went up to the second floor and sat down in a dark corner of the hall where he could keep an eye on all who entered the rear room. Well dressed men came and went from the room all night. It was nearing six o'clock in the morning when Jonas stopped a waiter who was carrying in a tray of coffee.

  "How many's there now?" he demanded.

  "Only four," replied the waiter. "That red-headed guy's winning the shirts off their backs. I've seen this kind of a game before. It's good for another day."

  "Are any of 'em drinking?" asked Jonas.

  "Nothing but coffee. Lord, I'm near dead!"

  "Let me take that tray in for you. I want to get word to my boss."

  The waiter nodded and, sinking into Jonas' chair, closed his eyes.

  Jonas carried the tray into a handsome, smoke filled room, where four men with intent faces were gathered around a card table. Enoch, in his shirt sleeves, was dealing as Jonas set a steaming cup at his elbow. Perhaps the intensity of the colored man's gaze distracted Enoch's attention for a moment from the cards. He looked up and when he met Jonas' eyes he deliberately laid down the deck, rose, took Jonas by the arm and led him to the door.

  "Don't try this again, Jonas," he said, and he closed the door after his steward.

  Once more Jonas took up his vigil. He left his chair at nine o'clock to telephone Charley Abbott that the Secretary had gone to New York, then he returned to his place. Noon came, afternoon waned. As dusk drew on again, Jonas went once more to the telephone.

  "That you, Miss Allen? . . . This is Jonas. . . . Yes, ma'am, I'm well, but the boss is in a dangerous condition. . . . Yes, ma'am, I thought you'd feel bad because you see, it's your fault. . . . No, ma'am, I can't explain over the telephone, but if you'll come to the station and meet me at the news-stand on the corner, I'll tell you. . . . Miss Allen, for God's sake, just trust me and come along. Come now, in a cab, and I'll pay for it. . . . Thank you! Thank you, ma'am! Thank you!"

  He banged up the receiver and flew out the basement door. When he reached the news-stand, he stood with his hands twitching, talking to himself for a half hour before Diana appeared. She walked up to him as directly as a man would have done.

  "What's happened, Jonas?"

  "You and the boss must have quarreled last night. When anything strikes the boss deep, he wants to gamble. Of late years he's mostly fought it off, but once in a while it gets him. He's been at it since last night over yonder, and for the first time in years I can't do anything with him. And if it gets out, you know, Miss Allen, he's ruined. I don't dast to leave him long, that's why I got you to come here."

  Diana's chin lifted. "Do you mean to tell me that a man of Mr. Huntingdon's reputation and ability, still stoops to that sort of thing?"

  "Stoop! What do you mean, stoop? O Lord, I thought, seeing he sets the world by you, that you was different from the run of women and would understand." Jonas twisted his brown hands together.

  "Understand what?" asked Diana, her great eyes fastened on Jonas with pity and scorn struggling in them.

  "Understand what it means to him. How it's like a conjur that Luigi wished on him when he was a little boy. How he's pulled himself away from it and he didn't have anybody on earth to help him till I come along. What do you women folks know about how a strong man like him fights Satan? I've seen him walk the floor all night and win, and I've seen him after he's given in, suffer sorrow and hate of himself like a man the Almighty's forgot. That's why he's so good, because he sins and then suff
ers for it."

  As Jonas' husky voice subsided, a sudden gleam of tears shone in Diana's eyes.

  "I'll send him a note, Jonas, and wait here for the answer. If that doesn't bring him, I'll go after him myself."

  "The note'll bring him," said Jonas, "and he'll give me thunder for telling."

  "Let me have a pencil and get me some paper from the news-stand." She wrote rapidly.

  "Dear Mr. Huntingdon:

  "I must see you at once on urgent business. I am in the railway station. Could you come to me here?

  "DIANA ALLEN."

  Jonas all but snatched the note and dashed away. Enoch was scowling at the cards before him when Jonas thrust the note into his hand. Enoch stared at the address, laid the cards down slowly, and read the note.

  "All right, gentlemen," he said quietly. "I've had my fun! Good night!" He took his hat from Jonas and strode out of the room. He did not speak as the two walked rapidly to the station. Diana was standing by a cab near the main entrance.

  "This is good of you, Mr. Huntingdon," she said gravely, shaking hands. "Thank you, Jonas!" She entered the cab and Enoch followed her.

  "Let me have your suitcase check, boss." Jonas held out a black hand that still shook a little.

  "I'll get Miss Allen to drop me at the house, Jonas," said Enoch.

  Jonas nodded and heaved a great sigh as the cab started off.

  "How did you come to do it?" asked Enoch, looking strangely at Diana.

  "I heard you were in New York, Mr. Secretary. Jonas called me up!"

  "Jonas had no business to do so. I am humiliated beyond words!"

  Enoch spoke with a dreary sort of hopelessness.

  "I thought we were friends," said Diana calmly. "It isn't as if we hadn't known each other and all about each other since childhood. You must not say a word against Jonas."

  "How could I? He is my guardian angel," said Enoch.

  Diana went on still in the commonplace tone of the tea table. "I want to apologize for my fit of temper, Mr. Secretary. I was very stupid and I'm thoroughly ashamed of myself. You may tell me anything you please!"

  "I don't deserve it!" Enoch spoke abruptly.

  Diana's voice suddenly deepened and softened. "Ah, but you do deserve it, dear Mr. Secretary. You deserve all that grateful citizens can do for you, and even then we cannot expect to discharge our full debt to you. Here's my house. Perhaps when you're not too busy, you'll ask me to dine again with you."

  Enoch did not reply. He stood with bared head while she ran up the steps. Then he reentered the cab and was driven home. But it was not till two weeks later that Enoch sent a note to Diana, asking her to take dinner with him. Even his diary during that period showed no record of his inward flagellations. He did not receive an answer until late in the afternoon.

  It had been an exceptionally hectic day. Enoch had been summoned before the Senate Committee on appropriations, and with the director of the Reclamation Service had endured a grilling that had had some aspects of the third degree.

  After some two hours of it the Director had lost his temper.

  "Gentlemen!" he had cried, "treat me as if I were a common thief, attempting to loot the public funds, if you find satisfaction in it, but at least do not humiliate the Secretary of the Interior in the same manner!"

  "These people can't humiliate me, Whipple." Enoch had spoken quietly.

  The blow had struck home and the Senator who was acting as chairman had apologized.

  Enoch had nodded. "I know! You are in the position of having to appropriate funds for the carrying on of a highly specialized business about which you are utterly ignorant. You are uneasy and you mistake impertinent questioning for keen investigation."

  "I move we adjourn until to-morrow," a member had said hastily. The motion had carried and Enoch, as though it was already past six o'clock, had started for his office, Whipple accompanying him.

  "After all this howl over the proposed Paloma Dam," said Whipple, "we may not be able to build it. There's a bunch of Mexicans both this and the other side of the border that have made serious trouble with the preliminary survey, and I have the feeling that there is some power behind that wants to start something."

  "Is that so?" asked Enoch with interest. "Come in and talk to me a few moments about it."

  Whipple followed to the Secretary's office. A sealed letter was lying on the desk. Enoch opened it, and read it without ceremony.

  "Dear Mr. Huntingdon: I find that some old friends are starting for the Grand Canyon this afternoon and they have given me an opportunity to make one of their party. I have been able to arrange my work to Mr. Watkins' satisfaction and so, I'm off. I want to thank you very deeply for the wonderful openings you have made for me and for the very great personal kindness you have shown me. When I return in the winter, I hope I may see you again.

  "Very sincerely yours,

  "DIANA ALLEN."

  Enoch folded the note and slipped it into his pocket, then he looked at the waiting Director. "I hope you'll excuse me, Whipple, but this is something to which I must give my personal attention," and without a word further, he put on his hat and walked out of the office. He did not go to his waiting carriage but, leaving the building by another door, he walked quickly to the drug store on the corner and, entering a telephone booth, called the railroad station. The train connecting for the Southwest had left an hour before. Enoch hung up the receiver and walked out to the curb, scowling and striking his walking stick against his trouser leg. Finally he got aboard a trolley.

  It was a little after three o'clock in the morning when Jonas located him. Enoch was leaning against the wall watching the roulette table.

  "Good evening, boss," said Jonas.

  Enoch looked round at him. "That you, Jonas? I haven't touched a card or a dollar this evening, Jonas."

  Jonas, who had already ascertained this from the owner of the gambling house, nodded.

  "Have you had your supper yet, boss?"

  Enoch hesitated, thinking heavily. "Why, no, Jonas, I guess not." Then he added irritably, "A man must rest, Jonas. I can't slave all the time."

  "Sure!" returned the colored man, holding his trembling hands behind him. "But how come you to think this was rest, boss? You better come back now and let me fix you a bite to eat."

  "Jonas, what's the use? Who on earth but you cares what I do? What's the use?"

  "Miss Diana Allen," said Jonas softly, "she told Mr. Abbott this noon, at lunch, that you was one of the great men of this country and that he was a lucky dog to spend all his time with you."

  Enoch stood, his arms folded on his chest, his massive head bowed. Finally he said, "All right, old man, I'll try again. But I'm lonely, Jonas, lonely beyond words, and all the greatness in the world, Jonas, can't fill an empty heart."

  "I know it, boss! I know it!" said Jonas huskily, as he led the way to the street. There, Enoch insisted on walking the three or four miles home.

  "All right," agreed Jonas, cheerfully. "I guess ghosteses don't mind travel, and that's all I am, just a ghost."

  Enoch stopped abruptly, put a hand on Jonas' shoulder and hailed a passing night prowler. Once in the cab, Jonas said:

  "The White House done called you twice to-night. Mr. Secretary. I told 'em you'd call first thing in the morning."

  "Thanks!" replied Enoch briefly.

  The house was silent when they reached it. Jonas never employed servants who could not sleep in their own homes. By the time the Secretary was ready for bed, Jonas appeared with a tray, Enoch silently and obediently ate and then turned in.

  The White House called before the Secretary had finished breakfast.

  "You saw last night's papers?" asked the President.

  "No! I'm sorry. I--I took a rest last evening."

  "I'm glad you did. Well, I think you'd better plan--come up here, will you, at once? I won't try to talk to you over the telephone."

  Enoch, in the carriage, glanced over the paper. The Brown paper of the
evening before contained a nasty little story of innuendo about the work of the Survey near Paloma. The morning paper declared in glaring headlines that the President by his pacifist policy toward Mexico was tainting the nation's honor and that it would shortly bring England, France and Germany about our ears.

  The President was still at breakfast when Enoch was shown in to him. The chief executive insisted that Enoch have a cup of coffee.

  "You don't look to me, my boy, like a man who had enjoyed his rest. And I'm going to ask you to add to your burdens. Could you leave next week for a speaking trip?"

  The tired lines around Enoch's mouth deepened. "Yes, Mr. President. Have you a general route planned?"

  "Yes, New York, Chicago, Denver, San Francisco and in between as can be arranged. Take two months to it."

  "I shall be glad to be free of office routine for a while," said Enoch. He sipped his coffee slowly, then rose as he added:

  "I shall stick strictly to the work of my department, Mr. President, in the speech making."

  "Oh! Absolutely! And let me be of any help to you I may."

  "Thank you," Enoch smiled a little grimly. "You might come along and supply records for the phonograph."

  "By Jove, I would if it were necessary!" said the President.

  Jonas and Abbott each was perfect in his own line. In five days' time Enoch was aboard the private car, with such paraphernalia as was needed for carrying on office work en route. The itinerary had been arranged to the last detail. A few carefully chosen newspaper correspondents were aboard and one hot September evening, a train with the Secretary's car hitched to it, pulled out of Washington.

  Of Enoch's speeches on that trip little need be said here. Never before had he spoken with such fire and with such simple eloquence. The group of speeches he made are familiar now to every schoolboy. One cannot read them to-day without realizing that the Secretary was trying as never before to interpret for the public his own ideals of service to the common need. He seemed to Abbott and to the newspaper men who for six weeks were so intimately associated with him to draw inspiration and information from the free air. And there was to all of his speeches an almost wistful persuasiveness, as if, Abbott said, he picked one listener in each audience, each night, and sought anew to make him feel the insidious peril to the nation's soul that lay in personal complacency and indifference to the nation's spiritual welfare. Only Jonas, struggling to induce the Secretary to take a decent amount of sleep, nodded wisely to himself. He knew that Enoch made each speech to a lovely, tender face, that no man who saw ever forgot.