Engineers -- Fiction; Grain elevators -- Design and construction -- Fiction; Psychological fiction
The man staggered back, then walked away very pale, but muttering.
Bannon shoved back the revolver into his hip pocket. "It's all right,
boys," he said, "nothing to get excited about."
He walked to the edge and looked over. "We can't wait to pick it up a
stick at a time," he said. "I'll tell 'em to load four or five on each
larry. Then you can lift the whole bunch."
"We run some chances of a spill or a break that way," said the foreman.
"I know it," answered Bannon, dryly. "That's the kind of chances we'll
have to run for the next two months."
Descending to the ground, he gave the same order to the men below; then
he sent word to Peterson and Vogel that he wished to see them in the
office. He wiped his feet on the mat, glancing at Hilda as he did so,
but she was hard at work and did not look up. He took the one unoccupied
chair and placed it where he could watch the burnished light in her red
hair. Presently she turned toward him.
"Did you want something?" she asked.
"Excuse me. I guess--I----"
In the midst of his embarrassment, Max and Pete came in. "I've got a
couple of letters I want to talk over with you boys," he said. "That's
why I sent for you."
Pete laughed and vaulted to a seat on the draughting-table. "I was most
afraid to come," he said. "I heard you drawed a gun on that fellow,
Reilly. What was he doing to make you mad?"
"Nothing much."
"Well, I'm glad you fired him. He's made trouble right along. How'd it
happen you had a gun with you? Do you always carry one?"
"Haven't been without one on a job since I've worked for the old man."
"Well," said Pete, straightening up, "I've never so much as owned one,
and I never want to. I don't like 'em. If my fists ain't good enough to
take care of me against any fellow that comes along, why, he's welcome
to lick me, that's all."
Hilda glanced at him, and for a moment her eyes rested on his figure.
There was not a line of it but showed grace and strength and a
magnificent confidence. Then, as if for the contrast, she looked at
Bannon. He had been watching her all the while, and he seemed to guess
her thought.
"That's all right," he said in answer to Peterson, "when it's just you
and him and a fellow to hold your coats. But it don't always begin that
way. I've been in places where things got pretty miscellaneous
sometimes, but I never had a man come up and say: 'Mr. Bannon, I'm going
to lick you. Any time when you're ready,' There's generally from three
to thirty, and they all try to get on your back."
Peterson laughed reminiscently. "I was an attendant in the insane ward
of the Massachusetts General Hospital for a while, and one time when I
wasn't looking for it, twenty-four of those lunatics all jumped on me at
once. They got me on the floor and 'most killed me." He paused, as
though there was nothing more to tell.
"Don't stop there," said Max.
"Why," he went on, "I crawled along the floor till I got to a chair, and
I just knocked 'em around with that till they was quiet."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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