I'll be frank with you. They
don't like the man who crowded you out. That's putting it mild. I won't
say they hate him for an uncivil, hard-tongued, sneaking weasel of a
spy----"

"I never knew Bannon to do anything like that," said Peterson, slowly.

"I did. Didn't he come sneaking up and hear what I was saying--up on top
of the elevator the other day? I guess he won't try that again. I told
him that when I was ready to talk to _him_, I'd come down to the office
to do it."

Grady was going almost too far; Pete would not stand very much more;
already he was trying to get on his feet to put an end to the
conversation. "I ask your pardon, Mr. Peterson. I forgot he was a friend
of yours. But the point is right here. The men don't like him. They've
been wanting to strike these three days, just because they don't want to
work for that ruffian. I soothed them all I can, but they won't hold in
much longer. Mark my words, there'll be a strike on your hands before
the week's out unless you do something pretty soon."

"What have they got to strike about? Don't we treat them all right? What
do they kick about?"

"A good many things, big and little. But the real reason is the one I've
been giving you--Bannon. Neither more nor less."

"Do you mean they'd be all right if another man was in charge?"

Grady could not be sure from Peterson's expression whether the ice were
firm enough to step out boldly upon, or not. He tested it cautiously.

"Mr. Peterson, I know you're a good man. I know you're a generous man. I
know you wouldn't want to crowd Bannon out of his shoes the way he
crowded you out of yours; not even after the way he's treated you. But
look here, Mr. Peterson. Who's your duty to? The men up in Minneapolis
who pay your salary, or the man who has come down here and is giving
orders over your head?

"--No, just let me finish, Mr. Peterson. I know what you're going to
say. But do your employers want to get the job done by New Year's? They
do. Do they pay you to help get it done? They do. Will it be done if
that would-be murderer of a Bannon is allowed to stay here? It will not,
you can bet on that. Then it's your duty to get him out of here, and I'm
going to help you do it."

Grady was on his feet when he declaimed the last sentence. He flung out
his hand toward Pete. "Shake on it!" he cried.

Peterson had also got to his feet, but more slowly. He did not take the
hand. "I'm much obliged, Mr. Grady," he said. "It'