Book: Helen of the Old House

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




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.

"Why should your fellow workmen not hate you, sir?" continued the old
basket maker. "You hold yourself apart, superior, of a class distinct
and separate. Your creed of class is intolerance. Your very business
policy is a declaration of class war. Your boast that you can live
without the working people is madness. You can no more live without
them than they can live without you. You can no more deny the mutual
dependence of employer and employee with safety to yourself than Samson
of old could pull down the pillars of the temple without being himself
buried in the ruins."

By an effort of will McIver strove to throw off the feeling that
possessed him. He spoke as one determined to assert himself. "We cannot
recognize the rights of Jake Vodell and his lawless followers to
dictate to us in our business. It would mean ruin, not only of our
industries, but of our government."

"Exactly so," agreed the Interpreter. "And yet, sir, you claim for
yourself the right to live by the same spirit of imperialism that
animates Vodell. You make the identical class distinction that he
makes. You appeal to the same class intolerance and hatred. You and
Jake Vodell have together brought about this industrial war in
Millsburgh. The community itself--labor unions and business men
alike--is responsible for tolerating the imperialism that you and this
alien agitator, in opposition to each other, advocate. The community is
paying the price."

The factory owner flushed. "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. With more respect in his manner than
he had so far shown, he said, courteously, "May I ask why Jake Vodell
comes to you?"

The Interpreter replied, sadly, as one who accepts the fact of his
failure, "For the same reason that McIver came."

McIver started with surprise. "You know why I came to you?"

The man in the wheel chair looked steadily into his visitor's eyes. "I
know that you are not personally responsible for the death of the
workman, Captain Martin."

McIver sprang to his feet. He fairly gasped as the flood of questions
raised by the Interpreter's words swept over him.

"You--you know who killed Charlie Martin?" he demanded at last.

The old basket maker did not answer.

"If you know," cried McIver, "why in God's name do you not tell the
people? Surely, sir, you are not ignorant of the danger that threatens
this community. The death of this union man has given Vodell just the
opportunity he needed and he is using it. If you dare to shield the
guilty man--whoever he is--you will--"

"Peace, McIver! This community will not be plunged into the horrors of
a class war such as you rightly fear. There are yet enough sane and
loyal American citizens in Millsburgh to extinguish the fire that you
and Jake Vodell have started."

* * * * *

When Jake Vodell came to the Interpreter's hut shortly after McIver had
left, he was clearly in a state of nervous excitement.

"Well," he said, shortly, "I am here--what do you want--why did you
send for me?"

The Interpreter spoke deliberately with his eyes fixed upon the dark
face of the agitator. "Vodell, I have told you twice that your campaign
in Millsburgh was a failure. Your coming to this community was a
mistake. Your refusal to recognize the power of the thing that made
your defeat certain was a mistake. You have now made your third and
final mistake."

"A mistake! Hah--that is what you think. You do not know. I tell you
that I have turned a trick that will win for me the game. Already the
people are rallying to me. I have put McIver at last in a hole from
which he will not escape. The Mill workers are ready _now_ to do
anything I say. You will see--to-morrow I will have these employers and
all their capitalist class eating out of my hand. To me they shall beg
for mercy. I--I will dictate the terms to them and they will pay. You
may take my word--they will pay."

The man paced to and fro with the triumphant air of a conqueror, and
his voice rang with his exultation.

"No, Jake Vodell," said the Interpreter, calmly. "You are deceiving
yourself. Your dreams are as vain as your mistake is fatal."

The man faced the old basket maker suddenly, as if arrested by a
possible meaning in the Interpreter's words that had not at first
caught his attention.

"And what is this mistake that I have made?" he growled.

The answer came with solemn portent. "You have killed the wrong man."

The agitator was stunned. His mouth opened as if he would speak, but no
word came from his trembling lips. He drew back as if to escape.

The old man in the wheel chair continued, sadly, "_I_ am the one you
should have killed--I am the cause of your failure to gain the support
of the Mill workers' union."

The strike leader recovered himself with a shrug of his heavy
shoulders.

"So that is it," he sneered; "you would accuse me of shooting your
Captain Charlie, heh?"

"You have accused yourself, sir."

"But how?"

"By the use you are making of Captain Charlie's death. If you did not
know who committed the crime--if you did not feel sure that the
identity of the assassin would remain a mystery to the people--you
would not dare risk charging the employers with it."

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. "Look here," he
growled, "I do not like this talk of yours. Perhaps you had better
prove what you charge, heh?"

"Please God, I will prove it," came the calm answer.

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. If you make a move to do what you are thinking,
Billy will kill you."

The Interpreter raised his hand and his silent companion came quickly
to stand beside his chair.

With a shrug of his shoulders Vodell drew back a few steps toward the
door.

"Bah! Why should I waste my time with a crippled old basket maker--I
have work to do. If you watch from the window of your shanty you will
see to-morrow whether or not the Mill workers are with me. I will make
for you a demonstration that will be known through the country. I told
you at the first that the working people would find out who is their
friend. Now you shall see what they will do to the enemies of their
class. Who can say, Mr. Interpreter, perhaps your miserable hut so high
up here would make a good torch to signal the beginning of the show,
heh?"

When the door had closed behind Jake Vodell, the Interpreter said,
aloud, "So he has set to-morrow night for his demonstration. We must
work fast, Billy--there is no time to lose."

With his hands he asked his companion for paper and pencil. When Billy
brought them he wrote a few words and folding the message gave it to
the big man who stood waiting.

For a few minutes they talked together in their silent way. Then Billy
Rand put the Interpreter's message carefully in his pocket and
hurriedly left the hut.

* * * * *

That evening Jake Vodell addressed the largest crowd that had yet
assembled at his street meetings. With characteristic eloquence the
agitator pictured Captain Charlie as a martyr to the unprincipled
schemes of the employer class.

"McIver and his crew are charging the strikers with this crime in order
to set our union brothers against us," he shouted. "They think that by
setting up a division among us they can win. They know that if the
working people stand together, true to their class, loyal to their
comrades, they will rule the world. Why don't the police produce the
murderer of Captain Charlie? I will tell you the answer, my brother
workmen: it is because the law and the officers of the law are under
the control of those who do not want the murderer produced--that is
why. They dare not produce him. The life of a poor working man--what is
that to these masters of crime who acknowledge no law but the laws they
make for themselves. You workers have no laws. A slave knows no justice
but the whim of his master. Think of the mothers and children in your
homes--you slaves who create the wealth of your lords and masters. And
now they have taken the life of one of your truest and most loyal union
leaders. Where will they stop? If you do not stand like men against
these cruel outrages what have you to hope for? You know as well as I
that no workman in Millsburgh would raise his hand against such a
fellow worker as Captain Charlie Martin."

While the agitator was speaking, Billy Rand moved quickly here and
there through the crowd, as if searching for some one.

After the mass meeting on the street there was a meeting of the Mill
workers' union.

Later, Vodell's inner circle met in the room back of Dago Bill's pool
hall.

It was midnight when Billy Rand finally returned to the waiting
Interpreter.

Evidently he had failed in the mission entrusted to him by the old
basket maker.

The next morning, Billy Rand again went forth with the Interpreter's
message.




CHAPTER XXVIII

THE MOB AND THE MILL


On the morning following the day of the funeral scarcely half of the
usual force of workmen appeared at the Mill. The men who did choose to
work were forced to pass a picket line of strikers who with jeers and
threats and arguments sought to turn them from their purpose.

The death of Captain Charlie, by defining more clearly the two lines of
public sentiment, had increased Jake Vodell's strength materially, but
the Mill workers' union had not yet officially declared for the
sympathetic strike that would deliver the community wholly into the
hands of the agitator. The Mill men, who were still opposed to Jake
Vodell's leadership and coolly refused to hold the employers guilty of
the death of Captain Charlie upon the mere unsupported assertions of
the strike leader, were therefore free to continue their work. This
action of the members of the Mill workers' union who were loyal to
John, however, quite naturally increased the feeling of their comrades
who had accepted Vodell's version of the murder. Thus, the final crisis
of the industrial battle centered about the Mill.

Every hour that John Ward could keep the Mill running lessened Vodell's
chances of final victory. The strike leader knew that if these days
immediately following Captain Charlie's death passed without closing
the Mill, his cause was lost. The workmen were now aroused to the
highest pitch of excitement. The agitator realized that if they were
not committed by some action to his cause before the fever of their
madness began to abate, his followers would, day by day, in ever
increasing numbers go back to work under John. The successful operation
of the Mill was a demonstration to the public that Vodell's campaign
against the employers was not endorsed by the better and stronger
element of employees. To the mind of the strike leader a counter
demonstration was imperative. To that immediate end the man now bent
every effort.

All day the members of the agitator's inner circle were active. When
evening came, a small company of men gathered in a vacant store
building not far from the Mill. There was little talk among them. When
one did speak it was to utter a mere commonplace or perhaps to greet
some newcomer. They were as men who meet at a given place by agreement
to carry out some definite and carefully laid plan. Moment by moment
the company grew in numbers until the gathering assumed such
proportions that it overflowed the building and filled the street. And
now, scattered through the steadily growing crowd, the members of that
inner circle were busy with exhortations and arguments preparing the
workmen for what was to follow.

Presently from the direction of the strike headquarters came another
company with Jake Vodell himself in their midst. These had assembled at
the strike headquarters. Without pausing they swept on down the street
toward the Mill, taking with them the crowd that was waiting at the old
store. Scarcely had they reached the front of the large main building
when they were joined by still another crowd that had been gathering in
the neighborhood of McIver's factory. Thus, with startling suddenness,
a great company of workmen was assembled at the Mill.

But a large part of that company had yet to be molded to Vodell's
purpose. Many had gone to the designated places in response to the
simple announcement that a labor meeting would be held there. Only
those of the agitator's trusted inner circle had known of the plan to
unite these smaller gatherings in one great mass meeting. Only these
chosen few knew the real purpose of that meeting. There were hundreds
of workmen in that throng who were opposed to Vodell and his methods,
but they were unorganized, with no knowledge of the strike leader's
plans. And so it had been easy for the members of that inner circle to
lead these separate smaller gatherings to the larger assembly in front
of the Mill.

To accomplish the full purpose of his demonstration against the
employer class, the strike leader must make it appear to the public as
the united action of the working people of Millsburgh. The requirements
of his profession made Jake Vodell a master of mob psychology. With the
leaven of his chosen inner circle and the temper of the many strikers
whose nerves were already strained to the breaking point by their weeks
of privation, the agitator was confident that he could bend the
assembled multitude to his will. Those who were opposed to his
leadership and to his methods--disorganized and taken by surprise as
they were--would be helpless. At the same time their presence in the
mob would appear to give their sanction and support to whatever was
accomplished.

Quickly word of the gathering spread throughout the community. From
every direction--from the Flats, from the neighborhood of the Martin
home--and from the more distant parts of the city--men were moving
toward the Mill. With every moment the crowd increased in size.
Everywhere among the mass of men Vodell's helpers were busy.

A block away an automobile stopped at the curb in front of a deserted
house. A man left the car, and, keeping well out of the light from the
street lamps, walked swiftly to the outskirts of the mob. With his face
hidden by the turned-up collar of his overcoat and the brim of his hat
pulled low, he moved here and there in the thin edge of the multitude.

The agitator, standing on a goods box on the street opposite the big
doors of the main Mill building, began his address. As one man, the
hundreds of assembled workmen turned toward the leader of the strike. A
hush fell over them. 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.

At that moment Billy Rand caught sight of the face he was seeking. When
the Interpreter's messenger grasped his arm, the man, who was standing
well back in the edge of the crowd, started with fear. Billy thrust the
note into his hand. As he read the message he shook so that the paper
rattled in his fingers. Helplessly he looked about. He seemed paralyzed
with horror. Again Billy Rand grasped his arm and this time drew him
aside, out of the crowd.

Helpless and shaken, the man made no effort to resist, as the
Interpreter's deaf and dumb companion hurried him away down the street.

At the foot of the zigzag stairway Billy's charge sank down on the
lower step, as if he had no strength to go on. Without a moment's pause
Billy lifted him to his feet and almost carried him up the stairs and
into the hut to place him, cowering and whimpering, before the man in
the wheel chair.

* * * * *

John and Helen had gone to the Martin cottage that evening to spend an
hour with the old workman and his daughter. They had just arrived when
the telephone rang.

It was the watchman at the Mill. He had called John at the Ward home,
and Mrs. Ward had directed him to call the cottage.

In a few words John told the others of the crowd at the Mill. He must
go at once.

"But not alone, boy," said Peter Martin. "This is no more your job than
'tis mine."

As they were leaving, John said hurriedly to Helen, "Telephone Tom to
come for you at once and take Mary home with you. Mother may need you,
and Mary must not be left here alone. I'll bring Uncle Pete home with
me."

A moment later the old workman and the general manager, in John's
roadster, were on their way to the Mill.

When Tom arrived at the cottage with Helen's car the two young women
were ready. They were entering the automobile when Billy Rand appeared.
It was evident from his labored breathing that he had been running, but
his face betrayed no excitement. With a pleased smile, as one who would
say, "Luckily I got here just in time," he handed a folded paper to
Mary.

By the light of the automobile lamp she read the Interpreter's message
aloud to Helen."

"Telephone John to come to me at once with a big car. If you can't get
John tell Helen."

For an instant they looked at each other questioningly. Then Helen
spoke to the chauffeur. "To the Interpreter's, Tom." She indicated to
Billy Rand that he was to go with them.

* * * * *

It was not Jake Vodell's purpose to call openly in his address to the
assembled workmen for an attack on the Mill. Such a demonstration
against the employer class was indeed the purpose of the gathering, but
it must come as the spontaneous outburst from the men themselves. His
speech was planned merely to lay the kindling for the fire. The actual
lighting of the blaze would follow later. The conflagration, too, would
be started simultaneously from so many different points in the crowd
that no one individual could be singled out as having incited the riot.

The agitator was still speaking when John and Peter Martin arrived on
the scene. Quietly and carefully John drove through the outskirts of
the crowd to a point close to the wall and not far from the main door
of the building, nearly opposite the speaker. Stopping the motor the
two men sat in the car listening to Vodell's address.

The agitator did not call attention to the presence of the manager of
the Mill as he had to the police, nor was there any noticeable break in
his speech. But throughout the great throng there was a movement--a
ripple of excitement--as the men looked toward John and the old
workman, and turned each to his neighbor with low-spoken comments. And
then, from every part of the crowd, the agitator saw individuals moving
quietly toward the manager's car until between the two men in the
automobile and the main body of the speaker's audience a small compact
group of workmen stood shoulder to shoulder. They were the men of the
Mill workers' union who had refused to follow Jake Vodell. And every
man, as he took his place, greeted John and the old workman with a low
word, or a nod and a smile. The agitator concluded his address, and
amid the shouts and applause left his place on the goods box to move
about among his followers.

Presently, a low murmur arose like a growling undertone. Now and then a
voice was raised sharply in characteristic threat or epithet against
the employer class. The murmur swelled into a heavy menacing roar. The
crowd, shaken by some invisible inner force, swayed to and fro. A
shrill yell rang out and at the signal scores of hoarse voices were
raised in shouts of mad defiance--threats and calls for action. As the
whirling waters of a maelstrom are drawn to the central point, the mob
was massed before the doors of the Mill.

The little squad of police was struggling forward. John Ward sprang to
his feet. The loyal union men about the car stood fast.

At the sound of the manager's voice the mob hesitated. In all that
maddened crowd there was not a soul in ignorance of John Ward's
comradeship with his fellow workmen. In spite of Jake Vodell's careful
teaching--in spite of his devilish skill in using McIver as an example
in his appeals and arguments inciting their hatred against all
employers as a class, they were checked in their madness by the
presence of Captain Charlie's friend.

But it was only for the moment. The members of Vodell's inner circle
were at work among them. John had spoken but a few sentences when he
was interrupted by voices from the crowd.

"Tell us where your old man got this Mill that he says is his?"

"Where did Adam get his castle on the hill?"

"We and our families live in shanties."

"Who paid for your automobile, John?"

"We and our children walk."

As the manager, ignoring the voices, continued his appeal, the
interruptions came with more frequency, accompanied now by groans,
shouts, hisses and derisive laughter.

"You're all right, John, but you're in with the wrong bunch."

"We're going to run things for a while now and give you a chance to do
some real work."

The police pleaded with them. The mob jeered, "Go get a job with
McIver's gunmen. Go find the man who murdered Captain Charlie."

Once more the growling undertones swelled into a roar. "Come on--come
on--we've had enough talk--let's do something."

As the crowd surged again toward the Mill doors, there was a forward
movement of the close-packed group of workmen about the ear. John,
leaning over them, said, sharply, "No--no--not that--men, not that!"

Then suddenly the movement of the mob toward the Mill was again checked
as Peter Martin raised his voice. "If you won't listen to Mr. Ward,"
said the old man, when he had caught their attention, "perhaps you'll
not mind hearin' me."

In the stillness of the uncertain moment, a voice answered, "Go ahead,
Uncle Pete!"

Standing on the seat of the automobile, the kindly old workman looked
down into the grim faces of his comrades. And, as they saw him there
and thought of Captain Charlie, a deep breath of feeling swept over the
throng.

In his slow, thoughtful way the veteran of the Mill spoke. "There'll be
no one among you, I'm thinkin', that'll dare say as how I don't belong
to the workin' class. An' there'll be no man that'll deny my right to
be heard in any meeting of Millsburgh working men. I helped the
Interpreter to organize the first union that was ever started in this
city--and so far we've managed to carry on our union work without any
help from outsiders who have no real right to call themselves American
citizens even--much less to dictate to us American workmen."

There was a stir among Vodell's followers. A voice rose but was
silenced by the muttered protest which it caused. Jake Vodell, quick to
grasp the feeling of the crowd, was making his way toward his goods box
rostrum. Here and there he paused a moment to whisper to one of his
inner circle.

The old workman continued, "You all know the principles that my boy
Charlie stood for. You know that he was just as much against employers
like McIver as he was against men like this agitator who is leading you
into this trouble here to-night. Jake Vodell has made you believe that
my boy was killed by the employer class. But I tell you men that
Charlie had no better friend in the world than his employer, John Ward.
And I tell you that John and Charlie were working together here for the
best interests of us all--just as they were together in France. You
know what my boy would say if he was here to-night. He would say just
what I am saying. He would tell you that we workmen have got to stand
by the employers who stand by us. He would tell you that we American
union workmen must protect ourselves and our country against this
anarchy and lawlessness that has got you men here to-night so all
excited and beside yourselves that you don't know what you're doing. In
Captain Charlie's name I ask you men to break up this mob and go
quietly to your homes where you can think this thing over. We--"

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