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Updated: June 18, 2025
The characters, too, are rather types than specific individuals, though one or two of them, particularly Professor Billy Bain, who is clearly Charles D. McIver, may be accepted as fairly accurate portraits.
All they need is a start and this anarchist is here to start them. And John, instead of lining up with McIver and getting ready to fight them to a finish, is spending his time hobnobbing with Charlie Martin and listening to that old fool Interpreter." "Come, dear," she said, soothingly. "Come and sit down here with me. Don't let's worry about what may happen."
His hands were idle. There was a sound of some one knocking at the door. The Interpreter did not hear. The sound was repeated, and this time he raised his head questioningly. Again it came and the old basket maker called, "Come in." The door opened. Jim McIver entered. Since that night of the tragedy McIver had struggled to grasp the hidden meaning of the strange series of incidents.
"Of course you would say these things to Jake Vodell." "I do," returned the Interpreter, gently. "Oh, you are in touch with him then?" "He comes here sometimes. He is coming this afternoon at four o'clock. Will you not stay and meet him, Mr. McIver?" McIver hesitated. He decided to ignore the invitation.
While the physician, with John's assistance, was caring for his patient, McIver gave the officers what information he could and went with them to the scene of the shooting. He returned to the house after the officers had completed their examination of the spot and the immediate vicinity just in time to meet John, who was going out.
He had feared that his comradeship with Charlie might be weakened well, that was settled now. He was glad they had had their talk. The door of the house opened and McIver came down the steps to his automobile. For a moment Helen stood framed against the bright light of the interior, then the car rolled away. The door was closed. John recalled what his father had said.
"Already I find it very hard to accomplish much with this Mill workers' union. Except for our friend, Sam Whaley, and a few others, the fools are losing their class loyalty. Their fighting spirit is breaking down. It will not do, I tell you. At the McIver factory it is all very different. It will be easy there. The workingmen show the proper spirit they will be ready when I give the word.
And, what was of more vital importance to McIver, perhaps, if the truth was not soon revealed, Jake Vodell's charges that the murder was inspired by McIver himself would become, in the minds of many, an established fact.
As the Interpreter spoke, James McIver again felt the movement of those unseen forces that were about him. His presence in that little hut on the cliff seemed, now, a part of some plan that was not of his making. He was awed by the sudden conviction that he had not come to the Interpreter of his own volition, but had been led there by something beyond his understanding.
McIver, on the other. When the meeting closed, McIver had failed to gain the support of the association. Realizing that without the Mill he could never succeed in his plans, the factory owner appealed to Adam Ward himself. The old Mill owner, in full accord with McIver, attempted to force John into line. But the younger man refused to enlist in any class war against his loyal fellow workmen.
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