He was big and
broad and blonde, with freckles disporting themselves frankly on a nose
that was still upturned. His eyes were set well apart and his lips
were 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 as
Enoch 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 his
boyhood. He was big boned and broad chested. College athletics had
developed his lungs and flattened his shoulder blades. His hair was
copper-colored, vaguely touched with gray at the temples and very thick
and unruly. His features were still rough hewn but time had hardened
their immaturity to a rugged incisiveness. His cheek bones were high
and 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. He
wore a white linen suit.
"Good morning, Mr. Abbott," he said, dropping his panama hat on a
corner of the conference table.
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