By the time Enoch was on his way home,
with but two weeks more of speech making before him, it looked as
though the thought of war with Mexico had been definitely quashed. And
Enoch was tired to the very marrow of his bones.
But the Brown papers were not finished. One evening, in Arizona,
shortly after the train had pulled out of a station, Enoch asked for
the newspapers that had been brought aboard from the desert city.
Charley Abbott, who had been with the newspaper men on the observation
platform for an hour or so, answered the Secretary's request with a
curiously distraught manner.
"I--that is--Mr. Huntingdon, Jonas says you slept worse than ever last
night. Why not save the papers till morning and try to sleep now?"
Enoch looked at his secretary keenly. "Picked up some Brown papers
here, eh! Nothing that bunch can say can hurt me, old man."
"Don't you ever think it!" exclaimed Charley vehemently. "You might as
well say you were immune to rattler bites, Mr. Huntingdon--" here his
voice broke.
"Look here, Abbott," said Enoch, "if it's bad, I've got to fight it,
haven't I?"
"But this sort of thing, a man--" Charley suddenly steadied himself.
"Mr. Secretary, they've put some nasty personal lies about you in the
paper.
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