t of snow behind it over a belt hundreds of
miles wide. But Page's steamers were not stopping for blizzards; they
headed out of Duluth regardless of what was to come. And there were a
bad few days, with tales of wreck on lake and railroad, days of wind and
snow and bitter cold, and of risks run that supplied round-house and
tug-office yarn spinners with stories that were not yet worn out. Down
on the job the snow brought the work to a pause, but Bannon, within a
half-hour, was out of bed and on the ground, and there was no question
of changing shifts until, after twenty-four hours, the storm had passed,
and elevator, annex and marine tower were cleared of snow. Men worked
until they could not stagger, then snatched a few hours' sleep where
they could. Word was passed that those who wished might observe the
regular hours, but not a dozen men took the opportunity. For now they
were in the public eye, and they felt as soldiers feel, when, after long
months of drill and discipline, they are led to the charge.

Then came two days of biting weather--when ears were nipped and fingers
stiffened, and carpenters who earned three dollars a day envied the
laborers, whose work kept their blood moving--and after this a thaw,
with sleet and rain. James, the new delegate, came to Bannon and pointed
out that men who are continually drenched to the skin are not the best
workmen. The boss met the delegate fairly; he ordered an oilskin coat
for every man on the job, and in another day they swarmed over the
building, looking, at a distance, like glistening yellow beetles.

But if Chicago was thawing, Duluth was not. The harbor at the western
end of Lake Superior was ice-bound, and it finally reached a point that
the tugs could not break open the channel. This was on the twenty-third
and twenty-fourth. The wires were hot, but Page's agents succeeded in
covering the facts until Christmas Day. It was just at dusk, after
leaving the men to take down the cable, that Bannon went to the office.

A newsboy had been on the grounds with a special edition of a cheap
afternoon paper. Hilda had taken one, and when Bannon entered the office
he found her reading, leaning forward on the desk, her chin on her
hands, the paper spread out over the ledger.

"Hello," he said, throwing off his dripping oilskin, and coming into the
enclosure; "I'm pretty near ready to sit down and think about the
Christmas tree that we ain't going to have."

She looked up, an