Again Enoch nodded and the President went on, “Brown never actively plays Fowler’s game.  There’s an old story that an ancient quarrel separates them.  But word has been carefully passed about that there is to be a dinner at the Willard to-morrow night, of the nature of a love feast, at which Fowler and Brown are to fall on each other’s necks with tears.”

Enoch got up from his chair and prowled about the great room restlessly, then he stood before the chief executive.

“Mr. President, why shouldn’t Fowler go to the White House?  He’s a brilliant man.  He’s done notable service as Secretary of State.  I don’t think the cabinet has contained his equal for twenty-five years.  He has given our diplomatic service a distinction in Europe that it never had before.  He has a good following in the party.  Perhaps the best of the old conservatives are for him.  I don’t like his attitude on the Mexican trouble and sometimes I have felt uneasy as to his entire loyalty to you.  Yet, I am not convinced that he would not make a far more able chief executive than I?”

“Suppose that he openly ties to Brown, Huntingdon?”

“In that case,” replied Enoch slowly, “I would feel in duty bound to interfere.”

“And if you do interfere,” persisted the President, “you realize fully that it will be a nasty fight?”

“Perhaps it would be!” Enoch’s lips tightened as he shrugged his shoulders.

The President’s eyes glowed as he watched the grim lines deepen in Enoch’s face.  Then he said, “Huntingdon, I’m giving a dinner to-morrow night too!  The British Ambassador and the French Ambassador want to meet Senor Juan Cadiz.  Did you know that your friend Cadiz is the greatest living authority on Aztec worship and a hectic fan for bullfighting as a national sport?  My little party is entirely informal, one of the things the newspapers ordinarily don’t comment on.  You know I insist on my right to cease to be President on occasions when I can arrange for three or four real people to meet each other.  This is one of those occasions.  You are to come to the dinner too, Huntingdon.  And if the conversation drifts from bullfighting and Aztec gods to Mexico and England’s and France’s ideas about your recent speeches, I shall not complain.”

“Thank you, Mr. President,” said Enoch.

“I would do as much for you personally, of course,” the older man nodded, as he rose, “but in this instance, I’m playing politics even more than I’m putting my hand on your shoulder.  It’s good to have you back, Huntingdon!  Good night!” and a few minutes later Enoch was out on the snowy street.

It was after six and he went directly home.  He spent the evening going over accumulated reports.  At ten o’clock Jonas came to the library door.

“Boss, how would you feel about going to bed?  You know we got into early hours in the Canyon.”

“I feel that I’m going immediately!” Enoch laughed.  “Jonas, what have your friends to say about your trip?” as he went slowly up the stairs.