Book: Helen of the Old House

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




"Yes," returned Helen, "he is my father."

"Gee!" ejaculated Bobby. "An' is he always like that?"

"Oh, no, indeed," returned Helen, quickly. "Father is really kind and
good, but he--he is sick now and not wholly himself, you see."

"Huh," said Bobby. "He didn't act very sick to me. What's ailin' him?"

Helen answered slowly, "I--we don't just know what it is. The doctors
say it is a nervous trouble."

"An' does he--does he ever whip yer?" asked Maggie.

In spite of the pain in her heart, Helen smiled. "No--never."

"Our dad gits mad, too, sometimes," said Bobby. "But, gee! he ain't
never like that. Dad, he wouldn't care if somebody just looked into our
yard. We wasn't a-hurtin' nothin'--just a-lookin'--that's all. Yer
can't hurt nothin' just a-lookin', can yer?"

"I am sorry," said Helen.

"Be yer happy?" asked Maggie, suddenly, with disconcerting directness.

"Why!" replied Helen, "I--What makes you ask such a funny question?"

Maggie was too much embarrassed at her own boldness to answer, and
Bobby came to her rescue.

"She wants to know because the Interpreter, he tole us about a princess
what lived in a castle an' wasn't happy 'til the fairy told her how to
find the jewel of happiness; an' Mag, here, she thinks it's you."

"And where did the princess find the jewel of happiness?" asked Helen.

Little Maggie's anxiety to help overcame her timidity and she answered
precisely, "On the shores of the sea of life which was not far from the
castle where the beautiful princess lived."

Helen looked toward the Flats, the Mill, and the homes in the
neighborhood of the old house. "The shores of the sea of life," she
repeated, thoughtfully. "I see."

"Yes," continued Maggie, with her tired little face alight, and her
eyes big with excited eagerness, "but the beautiful princess, she
didn't know that there jewel of happiness when she seen it."

"No?" said Helen, smiling at her little teacher.

"No--an' so she picked up all the bright, shiny stones what was no good
at all, 'til the fairy showed her how the real jewel she was a-wantin'
was an old, ugly, dirt-colored thing what didn't look like any jewel,
no more 'n nothin'."

"Oh, I see!" said Helen again. And Bobby thought that she looked at
them as though she were thinking very hard.

"Yer forgot something Mag," said the boy, suddenly.

"I ain't neither," returned his sister, with unusual boldness. "Yer
shut up an' see." Then, to Helen, "Is yer heart kind, lady?"

"I--I hope so, dear," returned the disconcerted Helen. "Why?"

"Because, if it is, then the fairies will help yer find the real jewel
of happiness, 'cause that was the reason, yer see, it all
happened--'cause the beautiful princess's heart was kind." She turned
to Bobby triumphantly, "There, ain't that like the Interpreter said?"

"Uh-huh," agreed the boy. "But yer needn't to worry--her heart's all
right. Didn't she give us that there grand ride in her swell
autermobile?"

Little Maggie's embarrassment suddenly returned.

"Did you really enjoy the ride?" asked Helen.

Bobby answered, "I'll say we did. Gee! but yer ought to a seen us
puttin' it all over everybody in the Flats."

Something in the boy's answer brought another smile to Helen's lips,
but it was not a smile of happiness.

"I really must go now," she said, rising. "Thank you for telling me
about the happiness jewel. Don't you think that it is time for you to
be running along home? Your mother will be wondering where you are,
won't she?"

"Uh-huh," agreed Bobby.

But Maggie's mind was fixed upon more important things than the time of
day. With an effort, she forced herself to say, "If the fairy comes to
yer will yer tell me about it, sometime? I ain't never seen one myself
an'--an'--"

"You poor little mite!" said Helen. "Yes, indeed, I will tell you about
it if the fairy comes. And I will tell the fairy about you, too. But,
who knows, perhaps the happiness fairy will visit you first, and you
can tell her about me."

And something that shone in the beautiful face of the young woman, or
something that sang in her voice, made little Maggie sure--deep down
inside--that her princess lady would find the jewel of happiness, just
as the Interpreter had said. But neither the child of the Flats, nor
the daughter of the big house on the hill knew that the jewel of
happiness was, even at that moment, within reach of the princess lady's
hand.


When Helen had disappeared from their sight, the two children started
on their way down the hill toward the dingy Flats.

"Gee," said Bobby, "won't we have something to tell the kids now? Gee!
We'll sure make 'em sore they wasn't along. Think of us a-talkin' to
old Adam Ward's daughter, herself. Gee! Some stunt--I'll tell the
world."

They had reached the foot of the old stairway and were discussing
whether or not they dared prolong their absence from home by paying a
visit to the Interpreter, when a man appeared on the road from town.
Bobby caught sight of the approaching stranger first, and the boy's
freckled countenance lighted with excited interest and admiration.

"Hully Gee!" he exclaimed, catching Maggie by the arm. "Would yer look
who's a-comin'!"

The man was not, in his general appearance, one to inspire a feeling of
confidence. He was a little above medium height, with fat shoulders, a
thick neck, and dark, heavy features with coarse lips showing through a
black beard trimmed to a point, and small black eyes set close above a
large nose with flaring nostrils. His clothing was good, and he carried
himself with assurance. But altogether there was about him the
unmistakable air of a foreigner.

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!"

The man came on to the foot of the stairs and stopped before the
children. For a long moment he looked them over with speculative
interest. "Well," he said, abruptly, "and who are you? That you belong
in this neighborhood it is easy to see."

"We're Bobby and Maggie Whaley," answered the boy.

The man's black eyebrows were lifted, and he nodded his head
reflectively. "Oh-ho, you are Sam Whaley's kids, heh?"

"Uh-huh," returned Bobby. "An' I know who yer are, too."

"So?" said the man.

"Uh-huh, yer Jake Vodell, the feller what's a-goin' to make all the big
bugs hunt their holes, and give us poor folks a chance. Gee, but I'd
like to be you!"

The man showed his strong white teeth in a pleased smile. "You are all
right, kid," he returned. "I think, maybe, you will play a big part in
the cause sometime--when you grow up."

Bobby swelled out his chest with pride at this good word from his hero.
"I'm big enough right now to put a stick o' danermite under old Adam
Ward's castle, up there on the hill."

Little Maggie caught her brother's arm. "Bobby, yer ain't a-goin'--"

The man laughed. "That's the stuff, kid," he said. "But you better let
jobs like that alone--until you are a bit older, heh?"

"Mag an' me has been up there to the castle all this afternoon,"
bragged the boy. "An' we talked with old Adam's daughter, too, an'--an'
everything."

The man stared at him. "What is this you tell me?"

"It's so," returned Bobby, stoutly, "ain't it, Mag? An' the other day
Helen Ward, she give us a ride, in her autermobile--while she was
a-visitin' with the Interpreter up there."

Jake Vodell's black brows were drawn together in a frown of
disapproval. "So this Adam Ward's daughter, too, calls on the
Interpreter, heh! Many people, it seems, go to this Interpreter." To
Bobby he said suddenly, "Look here, it will be better if you kids stay
away from such people--it will get you nothing to work yourselves in
with those who are not of your own class!"

"Yes, sir," returned Bobby, dutifully.

"I will tell you what you can do, though," continued the man. "You can
tell your father that I want him at the meeting to-night. Think you can
remember, heh?"

"Yer bet I can," replied the boy. "But where'll I tell him the meetin'
is?"

"Never you mind that," returned the other. "You just tell him I want
him--he will know where. And now be on your way."

To Bobby's utter amazement, Jake Vodell went quickly up the steps that
led to the Interpreter's hut.

"Gee!" exclaimed the wondering urchin. "What do yer know about that,
Mag? He's a-goin' to see our old Interpreter. Gee! I guess the
Interpreter's one of us all right. Jake Vodell wouldn't be a-goin' to
see him if he wasn't."

As they trudged away through the black dust, the boy added, "Darn it
all, Mag, if the Interpreter _is_ one of us what's the princess lady
goin' to see him for?"




CHAPTER VII

THE HIDDEN THING


Hiding in the shrubbery, Adam Ward chuckled and grinned with strange
glee as he listened to his wife calling for him. Here and there about
the grounds she searched anxiously; but the man kept himself hidden and
enjoyed her distress. At last, when she had come so near that discovery
was certain, he suddenly stepped out from the bushes and, facing her,
waited expectantly.

And now, by some miracle, Adam Ward's countenance was transformed--his
eyes were gentle, his gray face calm and kindly. His smile became the
affectionate greeting of a man who, past the middle years of life, is
steadfast in his love for the mother of his grown-up children.

Mrs. Ward had been, in the years of her young womanhood, as beautiful
as her daughter Helen. But her face was lined now with care and
shadowed by sadness, as though with the success of her husband there
had come, also, regrets and disappointments which she had suffered in
silence and alone.

She returned Adam's smile of greeting, when she saw him standing there,
but that note of anxiety was still in her voice as she said gently,
"Where in the world have you been? I have looked all over the place for
you."

He laughed as he went to her--a laugh of good comradeship. "I was just
sitting over there under that tree," he answered. "I heard you when you
called the first time, but thought I would let you hunt a while. The
exercise will do you good--keep you from getting too fat in your old
age."

She laughed with him, and answered, "Well, you can just come and talk
to me now, while I rest."

Arm in arm, they went to the rustic seat in the shade of the tree
where, a few minutes before, he had so aimlessly broken the twigs.

But when they were seated the man frowned with displeasure. "Alice, I
wish to goodness there was some way to make these men about the place
keep a closer watch of things."

She glanced at him quickly. "Has something gone wrong, Adam?"

"Nothing more than usual," he answered, harshly. "There are always a
lot of prowlers around. But they don't stay long when I get after
them." He laughed, shortly--a mirthless, shamefaced laugh.

"I am sorry you were annoyed," she said, gently.

"Annoyed!" he returned, with the manner of a petulant child. "I'll
annoy _them_. I tell you I am not going to stand for a lot of people's
coming here, sneaking and prying around to see what they can see. If
anybody wants to enjoy a place like this let him work for it as I
have."

She waited a while before she said, as if feeling her way toward a
definite point, "It has been hard work, hasn't it, Adam? Almost too
hard, I fear. Did you ever ask yourself if, after all, it is really
worth the cost?"

"Worth the cost! I am not in the habit of paying more than things are
worth. This place cost me exactly--"

She interrupted him, quietly, "I don't mean that, dear. I was not
thinking of the money. I was thinking of what it has all cost in work
and worry and--and other things."

"It has all been for you and the children, Alice," he answered,
wearily; and there was that in his voice and face which brought the
tears to her eyes. "You know that, so far as I am personally concerned,
it doesn't mean a thing in the world to me. I don't know anything
outside of the Mill myself."

She put her hand on his arm with a caressing touch. "I know--I
know--and that is just what troubles me. Perhaps if you would share it
more--I mean if you could enjoy it more--I might feel different about
it. We were all so happy, Adam, in the old house."

When he made no reply to this but sat with his eyes fixed on the ground
she said, pleadingly, "Won't you put aside all the cares and worries of
the Mill now, and just be happy with us, Adam?"

The man moved uneasily.

"You know what the doctors say," she continued, gently. "You really--"

He interrupted impatiently, "The doctors are a set of fools. I'll show
them!"

She persisted with gentle patience. "But even if the doctors are wrong
about your health, still there is no reason why you should not rest
after all your years of hard work. I am sure we have everything in the
world that any one could possibly want. There is not the shadow of a
necessity to make you go on wearing your life out as you have been
doing."

"Much you know about what is necessary for me to do," he retorted. "A
man isn't going to let the business that he has been all his life
building up go to smash just because he has made money enough to keep
him without work for the rest of his days."

"There are other things that can go to smash besides business, Adam,"
she returned, sadly. "And I am sure that the Mill will be safe enough
now in John's hands."

"John!" he exclaimed, bitterly. "It's John and his crazy ideas that I
am afraid of."

She returned, quickly, with a mother's pride, "Why, Adam! You have said
so many times how wonderfully well John was doing, and what a splendid
head he had for business details and management. It was only last week
that you told me John was more capable now than some of the men that
have been in the office with you for several years."

Adam Ward rose and paced uneasily up and down before her. "You don't
understand at all, Alice. It is not John's business ability or his
willingness to get into the harness that worries me. It is the fool
notions that he picked up somewhere over there in the war--there, and
from that meddlesome old socialist basket maker."

"Just what notions do you mean, Adam? Is it John's friendship with
Charlie Martin that you fear?"

"His friendship with young Martin is only part of it. I am afraid of
his attitude toward the whole industrial situation. Haven't you heard
his wild, impracticable and dangerous theories of applying, as he says,
the ideals of patriotism, and love of country, and duty to humanity,
and sacrifice, and heroism, and God knows what other nonsense, to the
work of the world? You know as well as I do how he talks about the
comradeship of the mills and factories and workshops being like the
comradeship of the trenches and camps and battlefields. His notions of
the relation between an employer and his employees would be funny if
they were not so dangerous. Look at his sympathy with the unions! And
yet I have shown him on my books where this union business has cost me
hundreds of thousands of dollars! Comradeship! Loyalty! I tell you I
know what I'm talking about from experience. The only way to handle the
working class is to keep them where they belong. Give them the least
chance to think you are easy and they are on your neck. If I had my way
I'd hold them to their jobs at the muzzle of a machine gun. McIver has
the right idea. He is getting himself in shape right now for the
biggest fight with labor that he has ever had. Everybody knows that
agitator Jake Vodell is here to make trouble. The laboring classes have
had a long spell of good times now and they're ripe for anything. All
they need is a start and this anarchist is here to start them. And
John, instead of lining up with McIver and getting ready to fight them
to a finish, is spending his time hobnobbing with Charlie Martin and
listening to that old fool Interpreter."

"Come, dear," she said, soothingly. "Come and sit down here with me.
Don't let's worry about what may happen."

He obeyed her with the manner of a fretful child. And presently, as she
talked, the cloud lifted from his gray, haggard face, and he grew calm.
Soon, when she made some smiling remark, he even smiled back at her
with the affectionate companionship of their years.

"You will try not to worry about things so much, won't you, Adam?" she
said, at last. "For my sake, won't you?"

"But I tell you, Alice, there is serious trouble ahead."

"Perhaps that is all the more reason why you should retire now," she
urged. He stirred uneasily, but she continued, "Just suppose the worst
that could possibly happen should happen, suppose you even had to give
up the Mill to Pete Martin and the men, suppose you lost the new
process and everything, and we were obliged to give up our home here
and go back to live in the old house--it would still be better than
losing you, dear. Don't you know that to have you well and strong would
be more to Helen and John and to me than anything else could possibly
be?"

Mrs. Ward knew, as the words left her lips, that she had said the wrong
thing. She had heard him rave about his ownership of the new process
too many times not to know--while any mention of his old workman friend
Peter Martin always threw him into a rage. But in her anxiety the
forbidden words had escaped her.

She drew back with a little gasp of fear at the swift change that came
over his face. As if she had touched a hidden spring in his being the
man's countenance was darkened by furious hatred and desperate fear.
His trembling lips were ashen; the muscles of his face twitched and
worked; his eyes blazed with a vicious anger beyond all control.
Springing to his feet, he faced her with a snarling exclamation, and in
a voice shaking with passion, cried, "Pete Martin! What is he? Who is
he? Everything he has in the world he owes to me. Haven't I kept him in
work all these years? Haven't I paid him every cent of his wages? Look
at his home. Not many working men have been able to own a place like
that. What would he have done without the money I have given him every
pay day? I could have turned him out long ago--kicked him out of a job
without a cent. He's had all that's coming to him--every penny. _I_
built up the Mill. That new process is mine--it's patented in my name.
I have had the best lawyers I could hire to protect it on every
possible point. If it hadn't been for my business brain there wouldn't
be any new process. What could Pete Martin have done with it--the fool
has no more business sense than a baby. I introduced it--I exploited
it--I built it up and made it worth what it is, and there isn't a court
in the world that wouldn't say I have a legal right to it."

In vain Mrs. Ward tried to soothe him with reassuring words, pleading
with him to be calm.

"I know they're after me," he raved. "They have tried all sorts of
tricks. There is always some sneaking spy watching for a chance to get
me, but I'll fix them. I built the business up and I can tear it down.
Let them try to take anything away from me if they dare. I'll burn the
Mill and the whole town before I'll give up one cent of my legal rights
to Pete Martin or any of his tribe."

Forgetting his companion, the man suddenly started off across the
grounds, waving his arms and shaking his fists in wild gestures as he
continued his tirade against his old fellow workman. Mrs. Ward knew
from experience the uselessness of trying to interfere until he had
exhausted himself.

* * * * *

As Helen was returning to the house after her talk with the children,
she saw her mother coming slowly from that part of the grounds where
the young woman had watched her father. It was evident, even at a
distance, that Mrs. Ward was greatly distressed. When the young woman
reached her mother's side, Mrs. Ward said, simply, "Your father,
dear--he is terribly upset. Go to him, Helen, you can always do more
for him than any one else--he needs you."

It was not an easy task for Helen Ward to face her father just then. As
she went in search of him she tried to put from her mind all that she
had seen and to remember only that he was ill. She found him in the
most distant and lonely part of the grounds, sitting with his face
buried in his hands--a figure of hopeless despair.

While still some distance away, she forced herself to call cheerily,
"Hello, father."

As he raised his head, she turned to pick a few flowers from a near-by
bed. When he had had a moment to regain, in a measure, his
self-control, she went toward him, arranging her blossoms with careful
attention.

Adam Ward watched his daughter as she drew near, much as a condemned
man might have watched through the grating of a prison window.

"What is it, father?" she asked, gently, when she had come close to his
side. "Another one of your dreadful nervous headaches?"

He put a shaking hand to his brow. "Yes," he said wearily.

"I am so sorry," she returned, sitting down beside him. "You have been
thinking too hard again, haven't you?"

"Yes, I guess I have been thinking too hard."

"But you're going to stop all that now, aren't you?" she continued,
cheerily. "You're just going to forget the old Mill, and do nothing but
rest and play with me."

"Could I learn to play, do you think, Helen?"

"Why, of course you could, father, with me to teach you. That's the
best thing I do, you know."

He watched her closely. "And you don't think that I--that I am no
longer capable of managing my affairs?"

She laughed gayly. "What a silly question--_you_ capable--_you_,
father, the best brain--the best business executive in Millsburgh. You
know that is what everybody says of you. You are just tired, and need a
good rest, that is all."

The man's drooping shoulders lifted and his face brightened as he said,
slowly, "I guess perhaps you are right, daughter."

"I am sure of it," she returned, eagerly. Then she added brightly, as
if prompted by a sudden inspiration, "I'll tell you what you do--ask
the Interpreter."

"Ask the Interpreter!"

She nodded, smiling as if she had put a puzzling conundrum to him.

"You mean for me to ask that paralyzed old basket maker's advice? You
mean, ask him if I should retire from business?"

Again she nodded with a little laugh; but under her laughter there was
a note of earnestness.

"And don't you know," he said, "that it is the Interpreter who is at
the bottom of all my trouble?"

"Father!"

"The Interpreter, I tell you, is back of the whole thing. He is the
brains of the labor organizations in Millsburgh and has been for years.
Why, it was the Interpreter who organized the first union in this
district. He has done more to build them up than all the others put
together. Pete Martin and Charlie, the ringleaders of the Mill workers'
union, are only his active lieutenants. I haven't a doubt but that he
is responsible for this agitator Jake Vodell's coming to Millsburgh.
That miserable shack on the cliff is the real headquarters of labor in
this part of the country. Your Interpreter is a fine one for _me_ to go
to for advice. His hut is a fine place for your brother to spend his
spare time. It would be a fine thing, right now, with this man Vodell
in town, for me to resign and leave the Mill in the hands of John, who
is already in the hands of the Interpreter and the Martins and their
Mill workers' union!"

As Adam finished, the deep sonorous tones of the great Mill whistle
sounded over the community. It was the signal for the closing of the
day's work.

Obedient to the habit of years, the Mill owner looked at his watch. In
his mind he saw the day force trooping from the building and the night
shift coming in. Throughout the entire city, in office and shop and
store and home, the people ordered their days by the sound of that
whistle, and Adam Ward had been very proud of this recognition accorded
him.

Wearily, as one exhausted by a day of hard labor, this man who so
feared the power of the Interpreter looked up at his daughter. "I wish
I could rest," he said.




CHAPTER VIII

WHILE THE PEOPLE SLEEP


The Interpreter's hands were busy with his basket weaving; his mind
seemingly was occupied more with other things. Frequently he paused to
look up from his work and, with his eyes fixed on the Mill, the Flats
and the homes on the hillside, apparently considered the life that lay
before him and of which he had been for so many years an interested
observer and student. On the opposite side of the table, silent Billy
was engaged with something that had to do with the manufacturing
interests of their strange partnership.

When Jake Vodell reached the landing at the top of the stairway, he
stopped to look about the place with curious, alert interest, noting
with quick glances every object in the immediate vicinity of the hut,
as if fixing them in his mind. Satisfied at last by the thoroughness of
his inspection, he went toward the house, but his step on the board
walk made no sound. At the outer door of the little hut the man halted
again, and again he looked quickly about the premises. Apparently there
was no one at home. Silently he entered the room and the next instant
discovered the two men on the porch.

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