And Enoch went on with his conferences.
But it was many days before he opened the black book again.
Diana's exhibition must have been of unusual quality, for jaded and
cynical Washington learned of its existence, spoke of it and went to
see it. It seemed to Enoch that every one he met took special delight
in mentioning it to him.
Even Jonas, one night, as he brought in the bed-time pitcher of ice
water, said, "Boss, I saw Miss Allen's pictures this evening. They
sure are queersome. That must be hotter'n Washington out there. How
come you ain't been, Boss?"
"How do you know I haven't seen them, Jonas?" asked Enoch quickly.
"Don't I know every place you go, boss? Didn't you tell me that was my
job, years ago? How come you think I'd forget?" Jonas was eyeing the
Secretary warily. "Mr. Abbott, he's got a bad case on that Miss Allen.
He's give me at least a dollar's worth of ten cent cigars lately so's
I'll stand and smoke and let him talk to me about her."
Enoch grunted.
"He says she--" Jonas rambled on.
Enoch looked up quickly. "I don't want to hear it, Jonas." Jonas drew
himself up stiffly. The Secretary laid his own broad palm over the
black hand that still held the handle of the water pitcher.
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