"No, but I know of one that could do the work first-rate."
"I want a good one—he's got to keep time besides doing the office work."
"Yes, I thought of that. I don't suppose she—"
"She? We can't have any shes on this job."
"Well, it's like this, Mr. Bannon; she's an A 1 stenographer and bookkeeper; and as for keeping the time, why, I'm out on the job all day anyhow, and I reckon I could take care of it without cutting into my work."
Bannon looked quizzically down at him.
"You don't know what you're talking about," he said slowly. "Just look around at this gang of men—you know the likes of them as well as I do— and then talk to me about bringing a girl on the job." He shook his head. "I reckon it's some one you're interested in."
"Yes," said Max, "it's my sister."
Max evidently did not intend to be turned off. As he stood awaiting a reply—his broad, flat features, his long arms and bow legs with their huge hands and feet, his fringe of brick-red hair cropping out behind his cap, each contributing to the general appearance of utter homeliness—a faint smile came over Bannon's face. The half-formed thought was in his mind, "If she looks anything like that, I guess she's safe." He was silent for a moment, then he said abruptly:—
"When can she start?"