"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 Max was left with them now. He stood back by the wall, still looking helplessly from one to the other. The restaurant men were bustling about the floor; and Hilda was glad they were there, for she knew that Bannon meant to send Max away, too. She was too nervous to stand still; and she walked around the table, resetting the knives and forks and spoons. The paper napkins on this table were the only ones in the room. She wondered at this, and when the noise of the men had died away into a few jeering cries from the street, and Max had gone to get the flags (for she had said that they should be hung at this end of the room), and the waiters were bustling about, it gave her a chance to break the silence. "Aren't the other"--she had to stop to clear her throat--"aren't the other men going to have napkins?" "They wouldn't know what they were for." His easy tone gave her a momentary sense of relief. "They'd tie them on their hats, or make balls to throw around." He paused, but added: "It wouldn't look bad, though, would it?--to stand them up this way on all the tables." She made no reply.