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Updated: October 7, 2025
Vodell drew the bolt. Sam Whaley entered. "My kids told me you wanted me," said the workman. Long into the night, on the balcony porch of the hut on the cliff, John Ward and Captain Charlie Martin talked with the Interpreter. As they talked, they watched the lights of the Mill, the Flats, the business streets, and the homes. It was pay day at the Mill.
"Will the Mill workers' union go out on a sympathetic strike?" "No." The Mill owner drew a long breath of relief. "I judged you would know." The Interpreter did not answer. Adam spoke with more confidence. "I suppose you know this agitator Jake Vodell?" "I know who he is," replied the Interpreter.
Jake Vodell, as he looked down upon the seemingly helpless old man in the wheel chair, was thinking, "It would be safer if this old basket maker were not permitted to speak these things to others his influence, after all, is a thing to consider." "No, Jake Vodell," said the Interpreter gently, "you won't do it. Billy Rand is watching us.
Then, with a sigh of relief, he muttered, "It's all right, John; just one of my nervous attacks. It's gone now." Changing the subject abruptly, he said, "I must warn you, my boy keep away from the Interpreter. Have nothing to do with him; he is dangerous. And watch out for Pete Martin and Charlie, too. They are all three together. This agitator, Jake Vodell, is going to make trouble.
She stared with dull, listless eyes at the squalid homes of her neighbors across the street. The Interpreter had described the woman to Helen "a girl with fine instincts for the best things of life and a capacity for great happiness." In a room back of a pool hall of ill-repute, the man Jake Vodell sat in conference with three others of his brotherhood. A peculiar knock sounded at the door.
He relies upon the hunger and cold and sickness of the women and children for his victory. And Jake Vodell relies upon the suffering in the families of his followers for that desperate frenzy of class hatred, without which he cannot gain his end. Does McIver want for anything? No! Is Jake Vodell in need? No! It is not the imperialistic leaders in these industrial wars who pay the price.
But there was one in that great crowd to whom the words of Jake Vodell meant nothing. Silent Billy Rand, pushing his way through the press of men, searched face after face with simple, untiring purpose. A squad of police arrived. Vodell, calling attention to them, facetiously invited the guardians of the law to a seat of honor on the rostrum. The crowd laughed.
The woman, in the agonies of childbirth, was alone with her three little girls. The husband and father was somewhere helping Jake Vodell in the agitator's noble effort to bring happiness to the laboring class. While Mary was doing what she could in the wretched home, John went for a doctor, and to bring fuel and blankets and food and other things that were needed.
Jake Vodell laughed understandingly. "Oh-ho, so that is it? Maybe you like to see my credentials before we talk?" The Interpreter held up a hand in protest. "Your reputation is sufficient, Mr. Vodell." The man acknowledged the compliment as he construed it with a shrug and a pleased laugh. "And all that is said of you by the laboring class in your little city is sufficient," he returned.
Members of the Mill workers' union were openly branded as cowards and traitors to their class. The suffering among the women and children became acute. But Jake Vodell was a master who demanded of his disciples most heroic loyalty, without a thought of the cost to them. McIver put an armed guard about his factory and boasted that he could live without work.
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