l District of the American Federation of
Labor, and seated himself on one of the long row of wood-bottomed chairs
that stood against the wall. Most of them were already occupied by poorly
dressed men who seemed also to be waiting for the president. One man, in
dilapidated, dirty finery, was leaning over the stenographer's desk,
talking about the last big strike and guessing at the chance of there
being any fun ahead in the immediate future. But the rest of them waited
in stolid, silent patience, sitting quite still in unbroken rank along the
wall, their overcoats, if they had them, buttoned tight around their
chins, though the office was stifling hot. The dirty man who was talking
to the stenographer filled a pipe with some very bad tobacco and
ostentatiously began smoking it, but not a man followed his example.

Bannon sat in that silent company for more than an hour before the great
man came. Even then there was no movement among those who sat along the
wall, save as they followed him almost furtively with their eyes. The
president never so much as glanced at one of them; for all he seemed to
see the rank of chairs might have been empty. He marched across to his
private office, and, leaving the door open behind him, sat down before his
desk. Bannon sat still a moment, waiting for those who had come before him
to make the first move, but not a man of them stirred, so, somewhat out of
patience with this mysteriously solemn way of doing business, he arose and
walked into the president's office with as much assurance as though it had
been his own. He shut the door after him. The president did not look up,
but went on cutting open his mail.

"I'm from MacBride & Company, of Minneapolis," said Bannon.

"Guess I don't know the parties."

"Yes, you do. We're building a grain elevator at Calumet."

The president looked up quickly. "Sit down," he said. "Are you
superintending the work?"

"Yes. My name's Bannon--Charles Bannon."

"Didn't you have some sort of an accident out there? An overloaded hoist?
And you hurt a man, I believe."

"Yes."

"And I think one of your foremen drew a revolver on a man."

"I did, myself."

The president let a significant pause intervene before his next question.
"What do you want with me?"

"I want you to help me out. It looks as though we might get into trouble
with our laborers."

"You've come to the wrong man. Mr. Grady is the man for you to talk with.
He's their representative."