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There was still much to do, and the handful of days that remained seemed absurdly inadequate; but it needed only a glance at what Charlie Bannon's tireless, driving energy had already accomplished to make the rest look easy. "We're sure of it now. She'll be full to the roof before the year is out."
The significance of Bannon's arrival, and the fact that he was planning to stay, was slow in coming to Peterson. After supper, when they had returned to the room, his manner showed constraint. Finally he said: "Is there any fuss up at the office?" "What about?" "Why do they want to rush the job or something?" "Well, we haven't got such a lot of time. You see, it's November already."
He had been the first to catch the new spirit that Bannon had got into the work, but it was more the outward activity that he could understand and admire than Bannon's finer achievements in organization. Like Hilda, he did not see the difference between dropping a hammer down a bin and overloading a hoist.
"It's right here you're trying to make money by putting on one man to do the work of two." "How?" Bannon's quiet manner exasperated the delegate. "Use your eyes, man you can't make eight men carry a twelve-by-fourteen stick." "How many shall I put on?" "Ten." "All right." "And you'd better put eight men on the other sticks." The delegate looked up, nettled that Bannon should yield so easily.
She looked up and met Bannon's eyes again, with an expression that puzzled Max. "I don't care. It's almost time to go home, anyway." So they went out, and closed the door; and Max, who had been told to "stay behind and keep house," looked after them, and then at the door, and an odd expression of slow understanding came into his face.
Seeing that he was in no danger, the delegate threw back his shoulders, held up his head, and, frowning in an important manner, he returned Bannon's greeting with the scantest civility. Bannon walked up and stood beside him. "If you can spare the time," he said politely, "I'd like to see you at the office for a while."
I'll dictate a letter to go with it by and by." For all Bannon's foresight, there threatened to be a hitch in the work on the gallery. The day shift was on again, and twenty-four of Bannon's forty-eight hours were spent, when he happened to say to a man: "Never mind that now, but be sure you fix it tomorrow." "Tomorrow?" the man repeated. "We ain't going to work tomorrow, are we?"
Bannon hung up his overcoat and looked through the doorway at the square mass of the elevator that stood out against the sky like some gigantic, unroofed barn. The walls rose nearly eighty feet from the ground though the length and breadth of the structure made them appear lower so close to the tops of the posts that were to support the cupola frame that Bannon's eyes spoke of satisfaction.
From the first, of course, he had been hurt that the office should have thought it necessary to send Bannon to supersede him, but so long as he had plenty to do and was in Bannon's company every hour of the day, he had not taken time to think about it much.
Seeing that he was in no danger, the delegate threw back his shoulders, held up his head, and, frowning in an important manner, he returned Bannon's greeting with the scantest civility. Bannon walked up and stood beside him. "If you can spare the time," he said politely, "I'd like to see you at the office for a while."
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