Max did not know what to say.  At first he grinned and blushed, thinking only that Bannon had been pleased with his work; then he grew serious.

“Well,” said Bannon, “what do you say?”

Max still hesitated.  At last he replied:—­

“Can I have till tomorrow to think about it?  I—­you see, Hilda and I, we most always talk things over, and I don’t exactly like to do anything without—­”

“Sure,” said Bannon; “think it over if you like.  There’s no hurry up to the end of the week.”  He paused as if he meant to go on, but changed his mind and stood up.  Max, too, was waiting, as if there were more to be said.

“You two must think we’ve got all day to fix things.”  It was Pete calling from the other end of the room.  “There ain’t no loafing allowed here.”

Bannon smiled, and Max turned away.  But after he had got a third of the way down the aisle, he came back.

“Say, Mr. Bannon,” he said, “I want to tell you that I—­Hilda, she said—­ she’s told me something about things—­and I want to—­” It had been a lame conversation; now it broke down, and they stood through a long silence without speaking.  Finally Max pulled himself together, and said in a low, nervous voice:  “Say, it’s all right.  I guess you know what I’m thinking about.  And I ain’t got a word to say.”  Then he hurried out.

When Max and Hilda came in, the restaurant man was setting up the paper napkin tents on the raised table at the end of the hall, and Pete stood by the door, looking upon his work with satisfaction.  He did not see them until they were fairly in the room.

“Hello,” he said; “I didn’t know you was coming, Miss Vogel.”  He swept his arm around.  “Ain’t it fine?  Make you hungry to look at all them plates?”

Hilda followed his gesture with a smile.  Her jacket was still buttoned tightly, and her eyes were bright and her cheeks red from the brisk outer air.  Bannon and James were coming toward them, and she greeted them with a nod.

“There’s going to be plenty of room,” she said.

“That’s right,” Pete replied.  “There won’t be no elbows getting in the way at this dinner.  Come up where you can see better.”  He led the way to the platform, and they all followed.

“This is the speakers’ table,” Pete went on, “where the boss and all will be”—­he winked toward Bannon—­“and the guest of honor.  You show her how we sit, Max; you fixed that part of it.”

Max walked around the table, pointing out his own, Pete’s, James’, and Bannon’s seats, and those of the committee.  The middle seat, next to Bannon’s he passed over.

“Hold on,” said Pete, “you forgot something.”

Max grinned and drew back the middle chair.

“This is for the guest of honor,” he said, and looked at Hilda.  Pete was looking at her, too, and James—­all but Bannon.

The color, that had been leaving her face, began to come back.