he incidents and problems of the day every night after supper. And
while Hilda, as Max used to say, had a mind of her own, she had fallen
into the habit of seeing things much as Max saw them. Max had from the
start admired, in his boyish way, Peterson's big muscles and his easy good
nature. He had been the first to catch the new spirit that Bannon had got
into the work, but it was more the outward activity that he could
understand and admire than Bannon's finer achievements in organization.
Like Hilda, he did not see the difference between dropping a hammer down a
bin and overloading a hoist. Bannon's distinction between running risks in
order to push the work and using caution in minor matters was not
recognized in their talks. And as Bannon was not in the habit of giving
his reasons, the misunderstanding grew. But more than all Max felt, and in
a way Hilda felt, too, that Peterson would never have found it necessary
to use a revolver; his fists would have been enough for a dozen Reillys.
Max did not tell Hilda about all the conversations he and Peterson had had
during the last week, for they were confidential. Peterson had never been
without a confidant, and though he still shared a room with Bannon, he
could not talk his mind out with him. Max, who to Bannon was merely an
unusually capable lumber-checker, was to Peterson a friend and adviser.
And though Max tried to defend Bannon when Peterson fell into criticism of
the way the work was going, he was influenced by it.

During the few days after the accident Hilda was so deeply distressed
about the injured man that Max finally went to see him.

"He's pretty well taken care of," he said when he returned. "There's some
ribs broken, he says, and a little fever, but it ain't serious. He's got a
couple of sneaking little lawyers around trying to get him to sue for
damages, but I don't think he'll do it. The Company's giving him full pay
and all his doctor's bills."

Nearly every evening after that Max took him some little delicacy. Hilda
made him promise that he would not tell who sent them.

Bannon had quickly caught the changed attitude toward him, and for several
days kept his own counsel. But one morning, after dictating some letters
to Hilda, he lingered.

"How's our fund getting on?" he said, smiling. "Have you looked lately?"

"No," she said, "I haven't."

He leaned over the railing and opened the box.

"It's coming slow," he said, shaking his head. "Are you