r MacBride and
young Page arrived from Minneapolis, it became clear that they would be
through in time.

At eight o'clock next morning, as Bannon and MacBride were standing in
the superintendent's office, he came in and held out his hand. "She's
full, Mr. Bannon. I congratulate you."

"Full, eh?" said MacBride. Then he dropped his hand on Bannon's
shoulder. "Well," he said, "do you want to go to sleep, or will you come
and talk business with me for a little while?"

"Sleep!" Bannon echoed. "I've been oversleeping lately."

CHAPTER XVII

The elevator was the place for the dinner, if only the mild weather that
had followed the Christmas storm should continue--on that Bannon, Pete,
and Max were agreed. New Year's Day would be a holiday, and there was
room on the distributing floor for every man who had worked an hour on
the job since the first spile had been driven home in the Calumet clay.
To be sure most of the laborers had been laid off before the installing
of the machinery, but Bannon knew that they would all be on hand, and he
meant to have seats for them. But on the night of the thirtieth the wind
swung around to the northeast, and it came whistling through the cracks
in the cupola walls with a sting in it that set the weighers to
shivering. And as the insurance companies would have inquired curiously
into any arrangement for heating that gloomy space on the tops of the
bins, the plan had to be given up.

As soon as the last of the grain was in, on the thirty-first, Max took a
north-bound car and scoured South Chicago for a hall that was big
enough. Before the afternoon was gone he had found it, and had arranged
with a restaurant keeper to supply the dinner. Early the next morning
the three set to work, making long tables and benches by resting planks
on boxes, and covering the tables with pink and blue and white scalloped
shelf-paper.

It was nearly ten o'clock when Max, after draping a twenty-four-foot
flag in a dozen different ways, let it slide down the ladder to the
floor and sat down on the upper round, looking out over the gridiron of
tables with a disgusted expression. Peterson, aided by a man from the
restaurant, was bringing in load after load of thick white plates,
stacking them waist high near the door. Max was on the point of calling
to him, but he recollected that Pete's eye, though quick with timbers,
would not help much in questions of art. Just then Bannon came through
the doorway w