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Updated: June 28, 2025
"I was out for a walk that is all. I do walk sometimes, you know." She turned to Mary. "Really, to hear this brother of mine, one would think me a helpless invalid and this part of Millsburgh a very dangerous community." Mary forced a smile, but the light in her eyes was not the light of happiness and her cheeks were still a burning red. "Don't you think we should go now, John?" suggested Helen.
That tiny house high on the cliff at the head of the old, zigzag stairway, up which the children now climbed with many doubtful stops and questioning fears, is a landmark of interest not only to Millsburgh but to the country people for miles around.
Considering our recent demonstration, I guess you'll all agree that a lot of us need to be protected by the rest of us from all of us. And now all we have to do is to work. And I'd like to see Jake Vodell or any other foreign agitator try to start another industrial war in Millsburgh."
While his fellow townsmen were discussing him at the cigar stand, and men everywhere in Millsburgh were commenting on his determination to break the strikers to his will at any cost, McIver, at his office, was concluding a conference with a little company of his fellow employers. It was nearly dark when the conference finally ended and the men went their several ways.
With his never-failing fund of stories, his ultimate acquaintance with the fairies, his ready understanding of their childish interests, and his joyous comradeship in their sports, he won his own peculiar place in their hearts. It was during the second year of his residence in Millsburgh that he adopted the deaf and dumb orphan boy, Billy Rand.
His face was flushed and eager, his eyes were glowing, as he himself was possessed of the Big Idea which he strove to put into words. And Captain Charlie's pipe was forgotten as he watched his friend and listened. This John Ward was a John Ward that few people in Millsburgh knew. But Captain Charlie knew him. Captain Charlie had seen him tested in all the ways that war tests men.
The Interpreter heard him plunging down the stairs. The roar of his automobile died away in the distance. In an early morning extra edition, the Millsburgh Clarion announced the death of two of the most prominent citizens. James McIver was killed in the explosion that burned his factory. Adam Ward's body was found in a secluded corner of his beautiful estate. He died by his own hand.
He knew that if Jake Vodell could win them, such disaster as the people of Millsburgh had never seen would result. The interest and sympathy of Helen, the comradeship of Captain Charlie, and the strength of the Interpreter gave him courage and hope. But there was nothing that he could do. He felt as he had felt sometimes in France when he was called upon to stand and wait.
When McIver characterized Vodell as an anarchist and stated that the unions were back of him and his schemes against the government, John retorted warmly that the statement was false and an insult to many of the most loyal citizens in Millsburgh. There were individual members of the unions who were followers of Jake Vodell, certainly.
The man was at no pains to conceal his satisfaction. "I am known, yes." "It is odd," said the Interpreter, "but your face seems familiar to me, as if I had met you before." "You have heard me speak somewhere, maybe, heh?" "No, it cannot be that. You have never been in Millsburgh before, have you?" "No." "It is strange," mused the old basket maker. "It is the papers," returned Vodell with a shrug.
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