"Well, what about it?" said Pete, with half-controlled rage.
"What about it! But never mind. I'm a busy man myself. I've got no more time to waste on the likes of you. Take a good look at that, and then listen to me. That's the last stick of timber that goes across this floor until you put a runway from the hoist to the end of the building. And every stick that leaves the runway has got to go on a dolly. Mark my words now—I'm talking plain. My men don't lift another pound of timber on this house—everything goes on rollers. I've tried to be a patient man, but you've run against the limit. You've broke the last back you'll have a chance at." He put his hand to his mouth as if to shout at the gang, but dropped it and faced around. "No, I won't stop them. I'll be fair to the last." He pulled out his watch. "I'll give you one hour from now. At ten o'clock, if your runway and the dollies ain't working, the men go out. And the next time I see you, I won't be so easy."
He turned away, waved to the laborers, with an, "All right, boys; go ahead," and walked grandly toward the stairway.
Max whistled.
"I'd like to know where Charlie is," said Peterson.
"He ain't far. I'll find him;" and Max hurried away.
Bannon was sitting in the office chair with his feet on the draughting-table, figuring on the back of a blotter. The light from the wall lamp was indistinct, and Bannon had to bend his head forward to see the figures. He did not look up when the door opened and Max came to the railing gate.
"Grady's been up on the distributing floor," said Max, breathlessly, for he had been running.
"What did he want?"
"He's going to call the men off at ten o'clock if we don't put in a runway and dollies on the distributing floor."