"All very well, of course," agreed the President, "but what of the big game back of it all--what's the means of fighting that?" "Publicity," replied Enoch briefly. "Exactly!" exclaimed the President, "There are other newspapers. Brown does not own them all. As fast as evidence is produced, let the story be told. By Jove, if this war talk grows much more menacing, Huntingdon, I think I'll ask you to go across the country and make a few speeches,--on the Geological Survey!" "I'm willing!" replied Enoch, with a little sigh. The President looked at him keenly. "Huntingdon, we're working you too hard! You look tired. I try not to overload you, but--" "But you are so overloaded yourself that you have to shift some of the load," said Enoch, with a smile. "I'm not seriously tired, Mr. President." "I hope not, old man. By the way, what did you think of Miss Allen yesterday?" "I thought her a very interesting young woman," replied Enoch. "My heavens, man!" exclaimed the chief executive. "What do you want! Why, Diana Allen is as rare as--as a great poem. Look here, Huntingdon, you make a mistake to cut all women out of your life. It's not normal." "Perhaps not," agreed Enoch briefly. "I would be very glad," he added, as if fearing that he had been too abrupt, "I would be very glad to see more of Miss Allen." "You ought to make a great effort to do," said the President. "Keep me informed on this Mexican matter, please, and take care of yourself, my boy. Good-by, Mr. Secretary. Think seriously of a speaking tour, won't you?" "I will," replied Enoch obediently, as he left the room. The remainder of the day was crowded to the utmost. It was not until midnight that Enoch achieved a free moment. This was when in the privacy of his own room Jonas had bidden him a final good night. Enoch did not open his journal. Instead he scrawled a letter. "Dear Miss Allen: After deliberating on the matter a somewhat shorter time, I'll admit, than you suggested, but still having deliberated on it, I have decided that friendship is an art that needs attention and study. Will you not dine with me to-morrow, or rather, this evening, at the Ashton, at eight o'clock? Jonas, who will bring you this, can bring your answer. Sincerely yours, Enoch Huntingdon." He gave the note to Jonas the next morning. Jonas' black eyes, when he saw the superscription, nearly started from their sockets: for during all the years of his service with Enoch, he never had carried a note to a woman. It was mid-morning when he tip-toed to the Secretary's desk and laid a letter on it. Enoch was in conference at the time with Bill Timmins, perhaps the foremost newspaper correspondent in America. He excused himself for a moment and opened the envelope. "Dear Mr. Secretary: Thank you, yes. Sincerely, Diana Allen."