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. "Spare me that, old friend," he said.
Jonas put his free hand on Enoch's shoulder. "Are you sure you're right, boss?" he asked huskily.
"I know I'm right, Jonas."
"Well, I don't see it your way, boss, but what's right for you is right for me. Good night, sir," and shaking his head, Jonas slowly left the room.
But Enoch was destined to see the pictures after all. One day, after Cabinet meeting, the President, in his friendly way, clapped Enoch on the shoulder.
"First time in a great many years, Huntingdon, that the Indian Bureau has distinguished itself for anything but trouble! I saw Miss Allen's pictures last night. My word! What a sense of heat and peace and, yes, by jove, passion! those photographs tell. The Bureau ought to own those pictures, old man. Especially the huge enlargement of Bright Angel trail and the Navaho hunters. Eh?"
"Well, to tell the truth, Mr. President," said Enoch slowly, "I haven't seen the pictures."
"Not seen them! Why some one said you discovered Miss Allen!"
"In a way I did, but I don't deserve any credit for that."
"Not if he saw her first!" exclaimed the Secretary of State, who had loitered behind the others.