big stick twice, finally putting a runway
across the drillage of the annex, and doing a hundred little things
between times, he made himself master.

The afternoon he spent in the little office, and by four o'clock had
seen everything there was in it, plans, specifications, building book,
bill file, and even the pay roll, the cash account, and the
correspondence. The clerk, who was also timekeeper, exhibited the latter
rather grudgingly.

"What's all this stuff?" Bannon asked, holding up a stack of unfiled
letters.

"Letters we ain't answered yet."

"Well, we'll answer them now," and Bannon commenced dictating his reply
to the one on top of the stack.

"Hold on," said the clerk, "I ain't a stenographer."

"So?" said Bannon. He scribbled a brief memorandum on each sheet.
"There's enough to go by," he said. "Answer 'em according to
instructions."

"I won't have time to do it till to-morrow some time."

"I'd do it to-night, if I were you," said Bannon, significantly. Then he
began writing letters himself.

Peterson and Vogel came into the office a few minutes later.

"Writing a letter to your girl?" said Peterson, jocularly.

"We ought to have a stenographer out here, Pete."

"Stenographer! I didn't know you was such a dude. You'll be wanting a
solid silver electric bell connecting with the sody fountain next."

"That's straight," said Bannon. "We ought to have a stenographer for a
fact."

He said nothing until he had finished and sealed the two letters he was
writing. They were as follows:--

DEAR MR. BROWN: It's a mess and no mistake. I'm glad Mr. MacBride
didn't come to see it. He'd have fits. The whole job is tied up in
a hard knot. Peterson is wearing out chair bottoms waiting for the
cribbing from Ledyard. I expect we will have a strike before long.
I mean it.

The main house is most up to the distributing floor. The spouting
house is framed. The annex is up as far as the bottom, waiting for
cribbing. Yours,

BANNON.

P.S. I hope this letter makes you sweat to pay you for last
Saturday night. I am about dead. Can't get any sleep. And I lost
thirty-two pounds up to Duluth. I expect to die down here.

C. B.

P.S. I guess we'd better set fire to the whole damn thing and
collect the insurance and skip.

C.

The other was shorter.

MACBRIDE & COMPANY, Minneapolis:

_Gentlemen_: I came on the Calumet