nd, feeling relieved, went on, not knowing that by bringing that
twinkle to Hilda's eyes, he had saved the situation.

"It's only that they've talked about it some, and yesterday a couple of
'em spoke to me, and I said I'd ask Max, and----"

"Thank you, Mr. Peterson," Hilda replied. "Max should have told me." She
turned toward Max, her face sober now except for the eyes, which would
not come under control. Max had been dividing his glances between her
and Bannon, feeling the situation heavily, and wondering if he ought not
to come to her relief, but unable to dig up the right word. Pete spoke
up again:--

"Say, honest now, ain't you coming?"

"I can't really. I'm sorry. I know you'll have a good time."

Bannon had been standing aside, unwilling to speak for fear of making it
harder for her. But now she turned to him and said, with a lightness
that puzzled him:--

"Aren't we going to do some decorating, Mr. Bannon? I'm afraid it will
be dinner time before Mr. Peterson knows it."

Pete flushed again at this, but she gave him a quick smile.

"Yes," said Bannon, "there's only a little over half an hour." He
paused, and looked about the group, holding his watch in his hand and
fingering the stem. The lines about his mouth were settling. Hilda
glanced again at him, and from the determined look in his eyes, she knew
that his week of waiting was over; that he meant to speak to her before
she left the hall. It was all in the moment's silence that followed his
remark; then he went on, as easily as if he were talking to a gang on
the marine tower--but the time was long enough for Hilda to feel her
brief courage slipping away. She could not look at him now.

"Take a look at that door, James," he was saying. "I guess you'll have
to tend to business if you want any dinner."

They all turned and saw the grinning heads of some of the carpenters
peering into the room. There was the shuffling of many feet behind them
on the stairs, and the sound of cat calls and whistling. A shove was
passed on from somewhere back in the hallway, and one of the carpenters
came sprawling through the door. The others yelled good-naturedly.

"I'll fix 'em," said James, with a laugh, starting toward them.

"Give him a lift, Pete," said Bannon. "He'll need it. You two'd better
keep the stairs clear for a while, or they'll stampede us."

So Pete followed, and for a few moments the uproar from the stairs
drowned all attempts at conversation. Only