"I'm glad you did. Well, I think you'd better plan--come up here, will you, at once? I won't try to talk to you over the telephone." Enoch, in the carriage, glanced over the paper. The Brown paper of the evening before contained a nasty little story of innuendo about the work of the Survey near Paloma. The morning paper declared in glaring headlines that the President by his pacifist policy toward Mexico was tainting the nation's honor and that it would shortly bring England, France and Germany about our ears. The President was still at breakfast when Enoch was shown in to him. The chief executive insisted that Enoch have a cup of coffee. "You don't look to me, my boy, like a man who had enjoyed his rest. And I'm going to ask you to add to your burdens. Could you leave next week for a speaking trip?" The tired lines around Enoch's mouth deepened. "Yes, Mr. President. Have you a general route planned?" "Yes, New York, Chicago, Denver, San Francisco and in between as can be arranged. Take two months to it." "I shall be glad to be free of office routine for a while," said Enoch. He sipped his coffee slowly, then rose as he added: "I shall stick strictly to the work of my department, Mr. President, in the speech making." "Oh! Absolutely! And let me be of any help to you I may." "Thank you," Enoch smiled a little grimly. "You might come along and supply records for the phonograph." "By Jove, I would if it were necessary!" said the President. Jonas and Abbott each was perfect in his own line. In five days' time Enoch was aboard the private car, with such paraphernalia as was needed for carrying on office work en route. The itinerary had been arranged to the last detail. A few carefully chosen newspaper correspondents were aboard and one hot September evening, a train with the Secretary's car hitched to it, pulled out of Washington. Of Enoch's speeches on that trip little need be said here. Never before had he spoken with such fire and with such simple eloquence. The group of speeches he made are familiar now to every schoolboy. One cannot read them to-day without realizing that the Secretary was trying as never before to interpret for the public his own ideals of service to the common need. He seemed to Abbott and to the newspaper men who for six weeks were so intimately associated with him to draw inspiration and information from the free air. And there was to all of his speeches an almost wistful persuasiveness, as if, Abbott said, he picked one listener in each audience, each night, and sought anew to make him feel the insidious peril to the nation's soul that lay in personal complacency and indifference to the nation's spiritual welfare. Only Jonas, struggling to induce the Secretary to take a decent amount of sleep, nodded wisely to himself. He knew that Enoch made each speech to a lovely, tender face, that no man who saw ever forgot.