Book: Helen of the Old House

H >> Harold Bell Wright >> Helen of the Old House




When Mary came in and they saw her face, they knew that Charlie was
right. She tried to return their greetings in her usual manner but
failed pitifully and hurried on to her room.

The two men looked at each other without a word.

Presently Mary returned and told them a part of her evening's
experience. Soon after her father and brother had left the house for
the meeting of their union, a boy from the Flats came with the word
that the wife of one of Jake Vodell's followers was very ill. Mary,
knowing the desperate need of the case but fearing to be alone in that
neighborhood at night, had telephoned John at the Mill and he had taken
her in his car to the place. 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. But, in spite of
their efforts, the fighting methods of McIver and Vodell scored another
point, that they each might claim with equal reason as in his favor--to
God knows what end.

"I can't understand why you Mill men let them go on," Mary cried, with
a sudden outburst of feeling, as she finished her story. "You could
fight for the women and children during the war. Whenever there is a
shipwreck the papers are always full of the heroism of the men who cry
'women and children first!' Why can't some one think of the women and
children in these strikes? They are just as innocent as the women and
children of Belgium. Why don't you talk on the streets and hold mass
meetings and drive Jake Vodell and that beast McIver out of the
country?"

"Jake Vodell and McIver are both hoping that some one will do just
that, Mary," returned Captain Charlie. "They would like nothing better
than for some one to start a riot. You see, dear, an open clash would
result in bloodshed--the troops would be called in by McIver, which is
exactly what he wants. Vodell would provoke an attack on the soldiers,
some one would be killed, and we would have exactly the sort of war
against the government that he and his brotherhood are working for."

The old workman spoke. "Charlie is right, daughter; these troubles will
never be settled by McIver's way nor Vodell's way. They will be settled
by the employers like John getting together and driving the McIvers out
of business--and the employees like Charlie here and a lot of the men
in our union getting together with John and his crowd and sending the
Jake Vodells back to whatever country they came from." When her father
spoke John's name, the young woman's face colored with a quick blush.
The next moment, unable to control her overwrought emotions, she burst
into tears and started to leave the room. But at the door Captain
Charlie caught her in his arms and held her close until the first
violence of her grief was over.

When she had a little of her usual calmness, her brother whispered, "I
know all about it, dear."

She raised her head from his shoulder and looked at him with tearful
doubt. "You know about--about John?" she said, wonderingly.

"Yes," he whispered, with an encouraging smile, "I know--father and I
were talking about it before you came home. I am going to leave you
with him now. You must tell father, you know. Goodnight,
dear--good-night, father."

Slowly Mary turned back into the room. The old workman, sitting there
in his big chair, held out his arms. With a little cry she ran to him
as she had gone to him all the years of her life.

When she had told him all--how John that very evening on their way home
from the Flats had asked her to be his wife--and how she, in spite of
her love for him, had forced herself to answer, "No," Pete Martin sat
with his head bowed as one deep in thought.

Mary, knowing her father's slow way, waited.

When the old workman spoke at last it was almost as though, unconscious
of his daughter's presence, he talked to himself. "Your mother and I
used to think in the old days when you children were growing up
together that some time perhaps the two families would be united. But
when we watched Adam getting rich and saw what his money was doing to
him and to his home, we got to be rather glad that you children were
separated. We were so happy ourselves in our own little home here that
we envied no man. We did not want wealth even for you and Charlie when
we saw all that went with it. We did not dream that Adam's success
could ever stand in the way of our children's happiness like this. But
I guess that is the way it is, daughter. I remember the Interpreter's
saying once that no man had a right to make even himself miserable
because no man could be miserable alone."

The old workman's voice grew still more reflective. "It was the new
process that made Adam rich. He was no better man at the bench than I.
I never considered him as my superior. He happened to be born with a
different kind of a brain, that is all. And he thought more of money,
while I cared more for other things. But there is a good reason why his
money should not be permitted to stand between his children and my
children. There is a lot of truth, after all, in Jake Vodell's talk
about the rights of men who work with their hands. The law upholds Adam
Ward in his possessions, I know. And it would uphold him Just the same
if my children were starving. But the law don't make it right. There
should be some way to make a man do what is right--law or no law. You
and John--"

"Father!" cried Mary, alarmed at his words. "Surely you are not going
to hold with Jake Vodell about such things. What do you mean about
making a man do what is right--law or no law?"

"There, there, daughter," said the old workman, smiling. "I was just
thinking out loud, I guess. It will be all right for you and John. Run
along to bed now, and don't let a worry come, even into your dreams."

"I would rather give John up a thousand times than have you like Jake
Vodell," she said. "You shan't even _think_ that way."



When she was gone, Peter Martin filled and lighted his pipe again, and
for another hour sat alone.

Whether or not his thoughts bore any relation to the doctrines of Jake
Vodell, they led the old workman, on the following day, to pay a visit
to Adam Ward at his home on the hill.




CHAPTER XXII

OLD FRIENDS


It was Sunday morning and the church bells were ringing over the little
city as the old workman climbed the hill to Adam Ward's estate.

There was a touch of frost in the air. The hillside back of the
interpreter's hut was brown. But the sun was bright and warm and in
every quarter of the city the people were going to their appointed
places of worship. The voice of the Mill was silenced.

Pete wondered if he would find Adam at home. He had not thought about
it when he left the cottage--his mind had been so filled with the
object of his visit to the man who had once been his working comrade
and friend.

But Adam Ward was not at church.

The Mill owner's habits of worship were very simply regulated. If the
minister said things that pleased him, and showed a properly humble
gratification at Adam's presence in the temple of God, Adam attended
divine services. If the reverend teacher in the pulpit so far forgot
himself as to say anything that jarred Adam's peculiar spiritual
sensitiveness, or failed to greet this particular member of his flock
with proper deference, Adam stayed at home and stopped his subscription
to the cause. Nor did he ever fail to inform his pastor and the
officers of the congregation as to the reason for his nonattendance;
always, at the time, assuring them that whenever the minister would
preach the truths that he wanted to hear, his weekly offerings to the
Lord would be renewed. Thus Adam Ward was just and honest in his
religious life as he was in his business dealings. He was ready always,
to pay for that which he received, but, as a matter of principle, he
was careful always to receive exactly what he paid for.

This Sunday morning Adam Ward was at home.

When Pete reached the entrance to the estate the heavy gates were
closed. As Mary's father stood in doubt before the iron barrier a man
appeared on the inside.

"Good-morning, Uncle Pete," he said, in hearty greeting, when he saw
who it was that sought admittance.

"Good-morning, Henry--and what are you doing in there?" returned the
workman, who had known the man from his boyhood.

The other grinned. "Oh, I'm one of the guards at this institution now."

Pete looked at him blankly. "Guards? What are you guarding, Henry?"

Standing close to the iron bars of the gate, Henry glanced over his
shoulder before he answered in a low, cautious tone, "Adam."

The old workman was shocked. "What! you don't mean it!" He shook his
grizzly head sadly. "I hadn't heard that he was that bad."

Henry laughed. "We're not keepin' the old boy in, Uncle Pete--not yet.
So far, our orders are only to keep people out. Dangerous people, I
mean--the kind that might want to run away with the castle, or steal a
look at the fountain, or sneak a smell of the flowers or something--y'
understand."

Pete smiled. "How do you like your job, Henry?"

"Oh, it's all right just now when the strike is on. But was you wantin'
to come in, Uncle Pete, or just passing' by?"

"I wanted to see Adam if I could."

The man swung open the gate. "Help yourself, Uncle Pete, just so you
don't stick a knife into him or blow him up with a bomb or poison him
or something." He pointed toward that part of the grounds where Helen
had watched her father from the arbor. "You'll find him over there
somewhere, I think. I saw him headed that way a few minutes ago. The
rest of the family are gone to church."

"Is Adam's life really threatened, Henry?" asked Pete, as he stepped
inside and the gates were closed behind him.

"Search me," returned the guard, indifferently. "I expect if the truth
were known it ought to be by rights. He sure enough thinks it is,
though. Why, Uncle Pete, there can't a butterfly flit over these
grounds that Adam ain't a yellin' how there's an aeroplane a sailin'
around lookin' fer a chance to drop a monkey wrench on his head or
something."

"Poor Adam!" murmured the old workman. "What a way to live!"

"Live?" echoed the guard. "It ain't livin' at all--it's just bein' in
hell before your time, that's what it is--if you ask me."

* * * * *

When Peter Martin, making his slow way through the beautiful grounds,
first caught sight of his old bench mate, Adam was pacing slowly to and
fro across a sunny open space of lawn. As he walked, the Mill owner was
talking to himself and moving his arms and hands in those continuous
gestures that seemed so necessary to any expression of his thoughts.
Once Pete heard him laugh. And something in the mirthless sound made
the old workman pause. It was then that Adam saw him.

There was no mistaking the sudden fear that for a moment seemed to
paralyze the man. His gray face turned a sickly white, his eyes were
staring, his jaw dropped, his body shook as if with a chill. He looked
about as if he would call for help, and started as if to seek safety in
flight.

"Good-morning, Adam Ward," said Pete Martin.

And at the gentle kindliness in the workman's voice Adam's manner, with
a suddenness that was startling, changed. With an elaborate show of
friendliness he came eagerly forward. His gray face, twitching with
nervous excitement, beamed with joyous welcome. As he hurried across
the bit of lawn between them, he waved his arms and rubbed his hands
together in an apparent ecstasy of gladness at this opportunity to
receive such an honored guest. His voice trembled with high-pitched
assurance of his happiness in the occasion. He laughed as one who could
not contain himself.

"Well, well, well--to think that you have actually come to see me at
last." He grasped the workman's hand in both his own with a grip that
was excessive in its hearty energy. With affectionate familiarity he
almost shouted, "You old scoundrel! I can't believe it is you. Where
have you been keeping yourself? How are Charlie and Mary? Lord, but
it's good to see you here in my own home like this."

While Pete was trying to make some adequate reply to this effusive and
startling reception, Adam looked cautiously about to see if there were
any chance observers lurking near.

Satisfied that no one was watching, he said, nervously, "Come on, let's
sit over here where we can talk." And with his hand on Pete's arm, he
led his caller to lawn chairs that were in the open, well beyond
hearing of any curious ear in the shrubbery.

Giving the workman opportunity for no more than an occasional
monosyllable in reply, he poured forth a flood of information about his
estate: The architectural features of his house--the cost; the
loveliness of his trees--the cost; the coloring of his flowers--the
cost; the magnificence of his view, And all the while he studied his
caller's face with sharp, furtive glances, trying to find some clew to
the purpose of the workman's visit.

Peter Martin's steady eyes, save for occasional glances at the objects
of Adam's interest as Adam pointed them out, were fixed on the Mill
owner with a half-wondering, half-pitying expression. Adam's evident
nervousness increased. He talked of his Mill--how he had built it up
from nothing almost, to its present magnitude--of the city and what he
had done for the people.

The old workman listened without comment.

At last, apparently unable to endure the suspense a moment longer, Adam
Ward said, nervously, "Well, Pete, out with it! What do you want? I can
guess what you are here for. We might as well get done with it."

In his slow, thoughtful manner of speech that was so different from the
Mill owner's agitated expressions, the old workman said, "I have wanted
for nothing, Adam. We have been contented and happy in our little home.
But now," he paused as if his thoughts were loath to form themselves
into words.

The last vestige of pretense left Adam Ward's face as suddenly as if he
had literally dropped a mask. "It's a good thing you have been
satisfied," he said, coldly. "You had better continue to be. You know
that you owe everything you have in the world to me! You need not
expect anything more."

"Have you not made a big profit on every hour's work that I have done
in your Mill, Adam?"

"Whatever profit I have or have not made on your work is none of your
business, sir," retorted Adam. "I have given you a job all these years.
I could have thrown you out. You haven't a thing on earth that you did
not buy with the checks you received from me. I have worn myself
out--made an invalid of myself--building up the business that has
enabled you and the rest of my employees to make a living. Every cent
that I ever received from that new process I put back into the Mill.
You have had more out of it than I ever did."

Peter Martin looked slowly about at the evidence of Adam Ward's wealth.
When he again faced the owner of the estate he spoke as if doubting
that he had heard him clearly. "But the Mill is yours, Adam?" he said,
at last. "And all this is yours. How--where did it come from?"

"Certainly the Mill is mine. Didn't I make it what it is? As for the
place here--it came from the profits of my business, of course. You
know I was nothing but a common workman when I started out."

"I know," returned Pete. "And it was the new process that enabled you
to get control of the Mill--to buy it and build it up--wasn't it? If
you hadn't happened to have had the process the Mill would have made
all this for some one else, wouldn't it? We never dreamed that the
process would grow into such a big thing for anybody when we used to
talk it over in the old days, did we, Adam?"

Adam Ward looked cautiously around at the shrubbery that encircled the
bit of lawn. There was no one to be seen within hearing distance.

When he faced his companion again the Mill owner's eyes were blazing,
but he controlled his voice by a supreme effort of will. "Look here,
Pete, I'm not going even to discuss that matter with you. I have kept
you on at the Mill and taken care of you all these years because of our
old friendship and because I was sorry for you. But if you don't
appreciate what I have done for you, if you attempt to start any talk
or anything I'll throw you and Charlie out of your jobs to-morrow. And
I'll fix it, too, so you will never either of you get another day's
work in Millsburgh. That process is my property. No one has any
interest in the patents in any way. I have it tied up so tight that all
the courts in the world couldn't take it away from me. Law is law and I
propose to keep what the law says is mine. I have thousands of dollars
to spend in defense of my legal rights where you have dimes. You
needn't whine about moral obligations either. The only obligations that
are of any force in business are legal! If you haven't brains enough to
look after your own interests you can't expect any one else to look
after them for you."

When Adam Ward finished his countenance was distorted with hate and
fear. Before this simple, kindly old workman, in whose honest soul
there was no shadow of a wish to harm any one in any way, the Mill
owner was like a creature of evil at bay.

"I did not come to talk of the past, Adam Ward," said Pete, sadly. "And
I didn't come to threaten you or to ask anything for myself."

At the gentle sadness of his old friend's manner and words, Adam's eyes
gleamed with vicious triumph. "Well, out with it!" he demanded,
harshly. "What are you here for?"

"Your boy and my girl love each other, Adam."

An ugly grin twisted the gray lips of Pete's employer.

But Mary's father went on as though he had not seen. "The children were
raised together, Adam. I have always thought of John almost as if he
were my own son. It seems exactly right that he should want Mary and
that she should want him. There is no man in the world I would rather
it would be."

Adam listened, still grinning, as the old workman continued in his
slow, quiet speech.

"I never cared before for all that the new process made for you. You
wanted money--I didn't. But it don't seem right that what you
have--considering how you got it--should stand in the way of Mary's
happiness. I understand that there is nothing I can do about it, but I
thought that, considering everything, you might be willing to--"

Adam Ward laughed aloud--laughed until the tears of his insane glee
filled his eyes. "So that's your game," he said, at last, when he could
speak. "You hadn't brains enough to protect yourself to start out with
and you have found out that you haven't a chance in the world against
me in the courts. So you try to make it by setting your girl up to
catch John."

"You must stop that sort of talk, Adam Ward." Peter Martin was on his
feet, and there was that in his usually stolid countenance which made
the Mill owner shrink back. "I was a fool, as you say. But my mistake
was that I trusted you. I believed in your pretended friendship for me.
I thought you were as honest and honorable as you seemed to be. I
didn't know that your religion was all such a rotten sham. I have never
cared that you grew rich while I remained poor. All these years I have
been sorry for you because I have had so much of the happiness and
contentment and peace that you have lost. But you must understand, sir,
that there are some things that I will do in defense of my children
that I would not do in defense of myself."

Adam, white and trembling, drew still farther away. "Be careful," he
cried, "I can call half a dozen men before you can move."

Pete continued as if the other had not spoken. "There is no reason in
the world why John and Mary should not marry."

Adam Ward's insane hatred for the workman and his evil joy over this
opportunity to make his old comrade suffer was stronger even than his
fear. With another snarling laugh he retorted, viciously, "There is the
best reason in the world why they will never marry. _I_ am the reason,
Pete Martin! And I'd like to see you try to do anything about it."

Mary's father answered, slowly, "I do not understand your hatred for
me, Adam. All these years I have been loyal to you. I have never talked
of our affairs to any one--"

Adam interrupted him with a burst of uncontrollable rage. "_Talk_, you
fool! Talk all you please. Tell everybody anything you like. Who will
believe you? You will only get yourself laughed at for being the
short-sighted idiot you were. That process is patented in my name. I
own it. You don't need to keep still on my account, but I tell you
again that if you do try to start anything I'll ruin you and I'll ruin
your children." Suddenly, as if in fear that his rage would carry him
too far, his manner changed and he spoke with forced coldness. "I am
sorry that I cannot continue this interview, Pete. You have all that
you will ever get from me--children or no children. Go on about your
business as usual and you may hold your job in the Mill as long as you
are able to do your work. I had thought that I might give you some sort
of a little pension when you got too old to keep up your end with the
rest of the men."

And then Adam Ward added the crowning insolent expression of his insane
and arrogant egotism. With a pious smirk of his gray, twitching face,
he said, "I want you to know, too, Pete, that you can approach me any
time without any feeling of humiliation."

He turned abruptly away and a moment later the old workman, watching,
saw him disappear behind some tall bushes.

As Pete Martin went slowly back to the entrance gate he did not know
that the owner of the estate was watching him. From bush to bush Adam
crept with the stealthy care of a wild creature, following its
prey--never taking his eyes from his victim, save for quick glances
here and there to see that he himself was not observed. Not until Pete
had passed from sight down the hill road did Adam appear openly. Then,
going to the watchman at the gate, he berated him for admitting the old
workman and threatened him with the loss of his position if he so
offended Again.

* * * * *

When Peter Martin arrived home he found Jake Vodell and Charlie
discussing the industrial situation. The strike leader had come once
more to try to enlist the support of the old workman and his son in his
war against the employer class.




CHAPTER XXIII

A LAST CHANCE


Jake Vodell greeted the old workman cordially. "You have been to church
this fine morning, I suppose, heh?" he said, with a sneering laugh that
revealed how little his interview with Captain Charlie was contributing
to his satisfaction.

"No," returned Pete. "I did not attend church this morning--I do go,
though, generally."

"Oh-ho! you worship the God of your good master Adam Ward, I suppose."

But Pete Martin was in no way disturbed by the man's sarcasm. "No," he
said, slowly, "I do not think that Adam and I worship the same God."

"Is it so? But when the son goes to war so bravely and fights for his
masters one would expect the father to say his prayers to his masters'
God, heh?"

Captain Charlie retorted, sharply, "The men who fought in the war
fought for this nation--for every citizen in it. We fought for McIver
just as we fought for Sam Whaley. Our loyalty in this industrial
question is exactly the same. We will save the industries of this
country for every citizen alike because our national life is at stake.
Did you ever hear of a sailor refusing to man the pumps on a sinking
ship because the vessel was not his personal property?"

"Bah!" growled Jake Vodell. "Your profession of loyalty to your country
amuses me. _Your_ country! It is McIver's country--Adam Ward's country,
I tell you. It is my little band of live, aggressive heroes who are the
loyal ones. We are the ones who will save the industries, but we will
save them for the laboring people alone. And you shirkers in your Mill
workers' union are willing to stand aside and let us do your fighting
for you. Have you no pride for your class at all?"

"Oh, yes," returned Captain Charlie, "we have plenty of class pride.
Only you see, Vodell, we don't consider ourselves in your class. You
are no more loyal to the principles of our American unions than you are
to the principles of our government. You don't represent our unions.
You represent something foreign to the interests of every American
citizen. You are trying to use our unions in your business, that is
all. And because you manage to get hold of a few poor fellows like Sam
Whaley, you think you can lead the working people. If you really think
our loyalty to our country is a joke, drop in at an American Legion
meeting some evening--bring along your foreign flag and all your
foreign friends. I'll promise you a welcome that will, I think,
convince you that we have some class pride after all."

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