Enoch turned on his heel and closely followed by Charley left the office.  As they entered the taxicab, Abbott said, “Gee, that did me more good than getting my salary doubled!  I thought you were going to use this morning’s item as a text!”

“You’d better have Cheney prepare a reply to that, for me to sign,” said Enoch and he lapsed into silence.  They went directly to their train and to bed and the next morning office routine began promptly at nine as usual.

February slipped into March.  One cold, rainy morning Abbott, with a broad smile on his face, came in to take dictation.

“What’s happened, Abbott?” asked Enoch.  “Some one left you some money?”

“Better than that!” exclaimed Charley.  “I dined at the Indian Commissioner’s last night and whom do you think I took out?  Miss Allen!”

A slow red suffused Enoch’s forehead and died out.  “When did she return to Washington?” he asked, quietly.

“A day or so ago.  She is studying at the Smithsonian.  She says she’ll be here two months.”

“She is well, I hope,” said Enoch.

“She looks simply glorious!”

Enoch nodded.  “Instead of dictating letters, this morning, Abbott, suppose you start the visitors this way.  Somehow, the thought of wading through that pile, right now, sickens me.”

Charley’s face showed surprise, but he rose at once.  “Mr. Cheney’s been waiting for an hour out there with an interesting chap from the western field.  Perhaps you’d better see them before I let the committee from California in.”

Cheney came first.  “Mr. Secretary, one of my men is in from Arizona.  He is very much worked up over Brown’s last effort and he’s got so much to say that I thought you’d better meet him.  Incidentally, he’s a very fine geologist.”

“Bring him in,” said Enoch.

The Director swung open the door and moving slowly on a cane, Milton came into the room.

“Mr. Secretary, Mr. Milton,” said Cheney.  “He—­” then he stopped with his mouth open for Milton had turned white and the Secretary was laughing.

“Judge!” gasped Milton.

Enoch left his desk and crossing the room seized both Milton’s hands, cane and all.

“Milton, old boy, there’s no man in the world I’d rather see than you.”

“Why, are you two old friends?” asked Cheney.

“Intimate friends!” exclaimed Enoch.  “Cheney, I’ll remember the favor all my life, if you’ll leave me alone with Milton for a little while.”

“Why certainly!  Certainly!  I didn’t know Milton was trying to spring a surprise on you.  I’ll be just outside when I’m needed.”

“Sit down, Milton,” said Enoch, soberly, when they were alone.  “Don’t hold my deception against me.  I was not spying.  It was the blindest fate in the world that brought me to the Canyon and to your expedition.”

Milton’s freckled face was still pale.  “Hold it against you!  Of course not!  But you’ve rattled me, Judge,—­Mr. Secretary.”