“There always are,” said Enoch, without a smile as he pressed another button.  Jonas’ black head appeared.  “Bring in the portfolio Miss Allen left in the other room, please, Jonas!”

“Yes, Mr. Secretary,” replied Jonas, withdrawing his eyes slowly from Diana’s eager face.

The portfolio and the Indian Commissioner arrived together.  After the introduction had been made, Enoch said: 

“Watkins, do you know anything about Indians?”

“Very little, Mr. Secretary,” with a smile.

“Would you be interested in looking at some photographs of Indian life?”

“Made by this young lady?” asked Watkins, looking with unconcealed interest at Diana.

“Yes,” said Enoch.

“And shown and explained by her?” asked the Indian Commissioner, a twinkle in his brown eyes.

Diana laughed, and so did Abbott.  Enoch’s even white teeth flashed for a moment.

“I wish I had time to join you,” he said.  “What I want to suggest, Mr. Watkins, is that you see if Miss Allen will qualify to take care of some of the research work you received an appropriation for the other day.  You were speaking to Abbott, I think, of the difficulty of finding people with authentic knowledge of the Indians.”

The Indian Commissioner nodded and tucked Diana’s portfolio under his arm.  “Come along, Miss Allen!”

Diana rose.  “If we don’t leave now, I have an idea we will be asked to do so,” she said, the corners of her mouth deepening suddenly.  “What happens if one doesn’t leave when requested?”

“One is cast in a dungeon, deep under the Capitol building,” replied Enoch, holding out his hand.

Diana laughed.  “Thank you for seeing me and helping me, Mr. Huntingdon,” she said, and a moment later Jonas closed the door behind her and the Commissioner.

“How come that young lady to stay so long, Mr. Abbott?” Jonas asked Charley in a low voice, as he helped the young man bring in a huge pile of Reclamation reports.

“Did you get a good look at her, Jonas?” demanded Abbott in the same tone.

“Yes,” replied Jonas.

“Then why ask foolish questions?”

“The boss don’t like ’em, no matter what they look like.”

“Every man has his breaking point, Jonas,” smiled Charley.

Enoch turned from the window where he had been standing for a moment in unprecedented idleness.

“I think you’d better let me have ten or fifteen minutes on that report to the President, Abbott.”

“I will, Mr. Secretary.  By the way, here is the data you asked me to get for your speech at the Willard to-night.”

Enoch nodded, pocketed the notes and began to dictate.  The day went on as usual, but it seemed to Jonas, when he helped the Secretary to dress for dinner that night that he was unusually weary.

“How come you to be so tired to-night, boss?” he asked finally.