About ten o’clock he encountered Pete, bearing off to the shanty a quart bottle of cold coffee and a dozen big, thick sandwiches.  “Come on, Charlie,” he called.  “Max is coming, too; but I guess we’ve got enough to spare you a little.”

So the three of them sat down to supper around the draughting-table, and between bites Bannon talked, a little about everything, but principally, and with much corroborative detail—­for the story seemed to strain even Pete’s easy credulity—­of how, up at Yawger, he had been run on the independent ticket for Superintendent of the Sunday School, and had been barely defeated by two votes.

When the sandwiches were put away, and all but three drinks of the coffee, Bannon held the bottle high in the air.  “Here’s to the house!” he said.  “We’ll have wheat in her tomorrow night!”

They drank the toast standing; then, as if ashamed of such a sentimental demonstration, they filed sheepishly out of the office.  They walked fifty paces in silence.  Then Pete checked suddenly and turned to Bannon.  “Hold on, Charlie, where are you going?”

“Going to look over those ’cross-the-house conveyor drives down cellar.”

“No, you ain’t either.  You’re going to bed.”

Bannon only laughed and started on toward the elevator.

“How long is it since you had any sleep?” Pete demanded.

“I don’t know.  Guess I must have slept part of the time while we was putting up that gallery.  I don’t remember much about it.”

“Don’t be in such a hurry,” said Pete, and as he said it he reached out his left hand and caught him by the shoulder.  It was more by way of gesture than otherwise, but Bannon had to step back a pace to keep his feet.  “I mean business,” Pete went on, though laughing a little.  “When we begin to turn over the machinery you won’t want to go away, so this is your last chance to get any sleep.  I can’t make things jump like you can, but I can keep ’em going tonight somehow.”

“Hadn’t you better wrap me up in cotton flannel and feed me warm milk with a spoon?  Let go of me and quit your fooling.  You delay the game.”

“I ain’t fooling.  I’m boss here at night, and I fire you till morning.  That goes if I have to carry you all the way to your boarding house and tie you down to the bed.”  Pete meant it.  As if, again, for illustration, he picked Bannon up in his arms.  The boss was ready for the move this time, and he resisted with all his strength, but he would have had as much chance against the hug of a grizzly bear; he was crumpled up.  Pete started off with him across the flat.

“All right,” said Bannon.  “I’ll go.”

At seven o’clock next morning Pete began expecting his return.  At eight he began inquiring of various foremen if they had seen anything of Charlie Bannon.  By nine he was avowedly worried lest something had gone wrong with him, and a little after ten Max set out for the boarding house.