"Hardly any. Max, there, can tell." Max, who had just passed out his last
check, now joined them at the doorstep.

"There's just sixty two that came for checks," he said, "not counting the
carpenters."

"About what I expected," Bannon replied. "This night business lays them
out." He put his head in at the door. "You'd better give checks to any new
men that we send to the window, Miss Vogel; but keep the names of the old
men, and if they show up in the morning, take them back on the job. Now,
boys"--to Peterson and Max--"pick up the men you see hanging around and
send them over. I'll be at the office for a while. We'll push the cribbing
on the main house and start right in on the annex bins. There ain't much
time to throw around if we're going to eat our Christmas dinner."

The two went at once. The hoisting engines were impatiently blowing off
steam. New men were appearing every moment, delaying only to answer a few
brisk questions and to give their names to Miss Vogel, and then hurrying
away to the tool house, each with his brass check fastened to his coat.
When Bannon was at last ready to enter the office, he paused again to look
over the ground. The engines were now puffing steadily, and the rapping of
many hammers came through the crisp air. Gangs of laborers were swarming
over the lumber piles, pitching down the planks, and other gangs were
carrying them away and piling them on "dollies," to be pushed along the
plank runways to the hoist. There was a black fringe of heads between the
posts on the top of the elevator, where the carpenters were spiking down
the last planks of the walls and bins.

Miss Vogel was at work on the ledger when Bannon entered the office. He