“She can do anything you give her.  Her head’s as clear as a bell.”

For the moment Bannon made no reply, but as they paused outside the office door he said: 

“We’d better make a point of dropping in at the office now and then during the day.  Any time you know I’m out on the job and you’re up this way, just look in.”

Max nodded.

“And nights when we’re working overtime, there won’t be any trouble about your getting off long enough to see your sister home.  She won’t need to do any night work.”

They entered the office.  Miss Vogel was standing by the railing gate, buttoning her jacket and waiting for Max.  Behind her, bending over the blue prints on the table, stood Peterson, apparently too absorbed to hear the two men come in.  Bannon gave him a curious glance, for no blue prints were needed in working on the annex, which was simply a matter of building bins up from the foundation.  When Max and his sister had gone the foreman looked around, and said, with a show of surprise:—­

“Oh, hello, Charlie.  Going up to the house?”

“Yes.”

Peterson’s manner was not wholly natural.  As they walked across the flats his conversation was a little forced, and he laughed occasionally at certain occurrences in the morning’s work that were not particularly amusing.

Bannon did not get back to the office until a half hour after work had commenced for the afternoon.  He carried a large bundle under one arm and in his hand a wooden box with a slot cut in the cover.  He found the scrubwoman hard at work on the office floor.  The chair and the unused stool were on the table.  He looked about with satisfaction.

“It begins to look better already,” he said to Miss Vogel.  “You know we’re not going to be able to keep it all clean; there’ll be too many coming in.  But there’s going to be a law passed about tracking mud inside the railing.”

He opened his bundle and unrolled a door mat, which he laid in front of the gate.

Miss Vogel was smiling, but Bannon’s face was serious.  He cut a square piece from the wrapping paper, and sitting on the table, printed the placard:  “Wipe your feet!  Or put five cents in the box.”  Then he nailed both box and placard to the railing, and stood back to look at his work.

“That will do it,” he said.

She nodded.  “There’s no danger that they won’t see it.”

“We had a box down on the New Orleans job,” said Bannon, “only that was for swearing.  Every time anybody swore he put in a nickel, and then when Saturday came around we’d have ten or fifteen dollars to spend.”

“It didn’t stop the swearing, then?”

“Oh, yes.  Everybody was broke a day or so after pay day, and for a few days every week it was the best crowd you ever saw.  But we won’t spend this money that way.  I guess we’ll let you decide what to do with it.”