Abbott opened his note book. But the dictation hardly had begun when the telephone rang and Enoch was summoned to the White House. It was noon when he left the President. Washington lay as if scorching under a burning glass. The dusty leaves drooped on the trees. Even the carefully cherished White House lawn seemed to have forgotten the recent rains. Enoch dismissed his carriage and crossed slowly to Pennsylvania Avenue. It had occurred to him suddenly that it had been many weeks since he had taken the noon hour outside of his office. He had found that luncheon engagements broke seriously into his day's work. He strolled slowly along the avenue, watching the sweltering noon crowds unseeingly, entirely unconscious of the fact that many people turned to look at him. He paused before a Johnstown Lunch sign, wondering whimsically what Jonas would say if it were reported that the boss had eaten here. And as he paused, the incessantly swinging door emitted Miss Diana Allen. Enoch's pause became a full stop. "How do you do, Miss Allen?" he said. Diana flushed a little. "How do you do, Mr. Secretary! Were you looking for a cheap lunch?" "Jonas provides the cheapest lunch known to Washington," said Enoch. "I was looking for some one to walk up Pennsylvania Avenue with me." "You seem to be well provided with company." Diana glanced at the knot of people who were eagerly watching the encounter. Enoch did not follow her glance. His eyes were fastened on Diana's lovely curving lips. "And I want to hear about the work in the Indian Bureau." Diana fell into step with him. "I think the work is going to be interesting. Mr. Watkins is more than kind about my pictures. I'm to send home for the best of my collection and he is going to give an exhibition of them." "Is he giving you a decent salary?" asked Enoch. "Ample for all my needs," replied Diana. "Do your needs stop with the Johnstown Lunch?" demanded Enoch. "Well," replied Diana, "if you'd lived on the trail as much as I have, you'd not complain of the Johnstown Lunch. I've made worse coffee myself, and I've seen more flies, too." Enoch chuckled. "What does Watkins call your job?" "I'm a special investigator for the Indian Bureau." Enoch chuckled again. "Right! And that title Watkins counts as worth at least five dollars a week. The remainder is the equivalent of a stenographer's salary. I know him!" "He is quite all right," said Diana quickly. "It must be extremely difficult to manage a budget. No matter how large they are, they're always too small. To administer the affairs of a dying race with inadequate funds--" Diana hesitated. "And in entire ignorance of the race itself," added Enoch quietly. "I know! But I had to choose between a rattling good administrator and a rattling good ethnologist." Diana nodded slowly. "Your choice was inevitable, I suppose. And Mr. Watkins seems very efficient."