Enoch climbed the stairs, somewhat wearily.
His room was stifling despite the wide-flung windows and the electric
fan. He slowly and thoughtfully got himself into his pajamas, lighted
a cigarette, and walked over to the table that stood in the bay window.
He unlocked the table drawer and took out a large blank book of loose
leafed variety, opened it, and seating himself he picked up his pen and
began to write.
"July 17.--Rather an easier day than usual, Lucy, which was fortunate,
for the heat has been almost unbearable and at the end of the office
day came that which stirred old memories almost intolerably. A letter
from Frank Allen! You remember him, Lucy? I told you about him, when
I first began my diary. Well, he has written that his daughter, Diana,
is coming to Washington to ask me for a job which he does not wish me
to give her. I cannot see her! Only you know the pain that such a
meeting could give me! It would be like going to Bright Angel again.
And while the thought of going back to the Grand Canyon has intrigued
me for twenty-two years, I must go in my own way and in my own time.
And I am not ready yet. I had forgotten, by the way, that Frank had a
daughter. There was, now that I think of it, a little thing of five or
six who went down Bright Angel with us.
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