sharply at him in the growing light.

"Hello, Max," he said; "where did you get that black eye?"

"That ain't much," Max replied. "You ought to see Briggs."



CHAPTER VI

When Bannon came on the job on Friday morning at seven o'clock, a group of
heavy-eyed men were falling into line at the timekeeper's window. Max was
in the office, passing out the checks. His sister was continuing her work
of the night before, going over what books and papers were to be found in
the desk. Bannon hung up his overcoat and looked through the doorway at
the square mass of the elevator that stood out against the sky like some
gigantic, unroofed barn. The walls rose nearly eighty feet from the
ground--though the length and breadth of the structure made them appear
lower--so close to the tops of the posts that were to support the cupola
frame that Bannon's eyes spoke of satisfaction. He meant to hide those
posts behind the rising walls of cribbing before the day should be gone.

He glanced about at the piles of two-inch plank that hid the annex
foundation work. There it lay, two hundred thousand feet of it--not very
much, to be sure, but enough to keep the men busy for the present, and
enough, too, to give a start to the annex bins and walls.

Peterson was approaching from the tool house, and Bannon called.

"How many laborers have you got, Pete?"