"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.
"I don't know, old man! Jonas, how long since I've had a vacation?"
"Seven years, boss."
"Sometimes I think I need one, Jonas."
"Need one! Boss, they work you to death! They all say so. Your own
work's enough to kill three men. And now they do say the President is
calling on you for all the hard jobs he don't dare trust nobody else to
do. How come he don't do 'em hisself?"
"Oh, I'm not doing more than my share, Jonas! But you and I'll have to
have a vacation one of these days, sure.
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