A sleepy office attendant was
awaiting them. With considerable ceremony he ushered the two across
the elaborate reception room and throwing open a door, said:
"The Secretary of the Interior, sir."
A small man, with a Van Dyke beard and gentle brown eyes crossed the
room with his hand outstretched.
"Mr. Huntingdon! this is a pleasure and an honor!"
"It is neither, sir," said Enoch, giving no heed to the outstretched
hand.
Brown raised his eyebrow. "Will you be seated, Mr. Huntingdon?"
"Not in your office, sir. Mr. Brown, I have endured from your hands
that which no _man_ would think to make another endure." Enoch's
beautiful voice was low but its resonance filled the office. His eyes
were like blue ice. "I have remained silent, for reasons of my own,
under your personal attacks on me, but now I have come to tell you that
the attacks on the Department of the Interior and on my personal life
must cease."
Hancock Brown looked at Enoch with gentle reproach in his eyes.
"Surely you don't want to muzzle the press, Mr. Huntingdon?"
"We're not speaking of the press," returned Enoch, "I have sincere
admiration for the press of this country."
Brown flushed a little at this. "I shall continue on exactly the line
I have laid down," he said quietly.
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