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Updated: October 7, 2025
Wherever there are the poor laboring men who must fight for their rights, I go. The mines, shops, mills, factories it is all the same to me. I go wherever I can serve the Cause. I have been in America now ten years, nearly eleven." "You are not, then, a citizen of this country?" Jake Vodell laughed contemptuously.
Down through the ringing ages of the future this day will be forever celebrated as the day that signals the dawning of a new era in the industrial world of uh-wow! Stop it!" Captain Charlie was ticklish and the toe of Mary's slippered foot had found a vital spot among his ribs. "You sound like that Jake Vodell," she said.
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.
Jake Vodell is not conducting his campaign by the Golden Rule." "I know, Jim, but I could not go to Jake Vodell as I have come to you could I? And I could not talk to the poor, foolish strikers who are so terribly deceived by him. Don't you suppose, Jim, that most of the strikers think they are right?" The man stirred uneasily. "I can't help what they think.
Bobby continued in an excited whisper, "That there's Jake Vodell we've heard Dad an' the men talkin' so much about. He's the guy what's a-goin' to put the fear of God into the Mill bosses and rich folks. He's a-goin' to take away old Adam Ward's money an' Mill, an' autermobiles, an' house an' everything, an' divide 'em all up 'mong us poor workin' folks. Gee, but he's a big gun, I'm tellin' yer!"
With an oath the other returned, "I tell you that McIver or his hired gunmen did it so they could lay the blame on the strikers and so turn the Mill workers' union against us. That is what the Mill men believe." "That is what you want them to believe. It is an old trick, Vodell. You have used it before." The agitator's eyes narrowed under his scowling brows.
The Interpreter answered, solemnly, "I say that but for you and such men as you, Adam Ward, Jake Vodell could never gain a hearing in any American city." Adam Ward laughed harshly. But the old basket maker continued as if he had not heard. "Every act of your business career, sir, has been a refusal to recognize those who have worked with you.
But this man, who was once a workman and who deserted his class this traitor, her father does he also call on you, Mr. Interpreter?" "Once in a great while," answered the Interpreter. Jake Vodell laughed knowingly. "When he wants something, heh?"
The opposing theory, which was skillfully advanced by Jake Vodell himself and fostered by his followers, was that the mysterious assassin was an agent of McIver's and that the deed was committed for the very purpose of charging the strikers with the crime and thus turning public sympathy against them.
No one of her own people knew where she was. She had heard terrible things of Jake Vodell and his creed of terrorism. McIver had pressed it upon her mind that the strikers were all alike in their lawlessness. What if Sam Whaley should return to find her there? She listened listened. A faint, moaning sound came from the next room.
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