Part 6 (1/2)

The Interpreter shook his head doubtfully. ”Bobby will probably reserve his judgment for a while, on the possible chance of another ride in your car.”

”Tell me about them,” said Helen.

”Are you really interested?”

She flushed a little as she answered, ”I am at least curious.”

”Why?”

”Perhaps because of your interest in them,” she retorted. ”Who are they?”

The Interpreter did not answer for a moment; then, with his dark eyes fixed on the heavy cloud of smoke that hung above the Mill and overshadowed the Flats, he said, slowly, ”They are Sam Whaley's children. Their father works--when he works--in your father's Mill. I knew both Sam and his wife before they were married. She was a bright girl, with fine instincts for the best things of life and a capacity for great happiness. Sam was a good worker in those days, and their marriage promised well. Then he became interested in the wrong sort of what is called socialism, and began to a.s.sociate with a certain element that does not value homes and children very highly. The man is honest, and fairly capable, up to a certain point; but there never was much capacity there for clear thinking. He is one of those who always follow the leader who yells the loudest and he mistakes vituperation for argument. He is strong on loyalty to cla.s.s, but is not so particular as he might be when it comes to choosing his cla.s.s. And so, for several years now, in every little difference between the workmen and the management, Sam has been too ready to quit his job and let his wife and children go hungry for the good of the cause, while he vociferates loudly against the cruelty of all who refuse to offer their families as sacrifice on the altar of his particular and impracticable ideas.”

”And his wife--the mother of his children--the girl with fine instincts for the best things and a capacity for great happiness--what of her?”

demanded Helen.

The Interpreter pointed toward the Flats. ”She lives down there,” he said, sadly. ”You have seen her children.”

The young woman turned again to the porch railing and looked down on the wretched dwellings of the Flats below.

”It is strange,” she said, presently, as if speaking to herself, ”but that poor woman makes me think of mother. Mother is like that, isn't she? I mean,” she added, quickly, ”in her instincts and in her capacity for happiness.”

”Yes,” agreed the Interpreter, ”your mother is like that.”

She faced him once more, to say thoughtfully, but with decisive warmth, ”It is a shame the way such children--I mean the children of such people as this man Whaley--are being educated in lawlessness. Those youngsters are nothing less than juvenile anarchists. They will grow up a menace to our government, to society, to our homes, and to everything that is decent and right. They are taught to hate work. And they fairly revel in their hatred of every one and every thing that is not of their own miserable cla.s.s.”

There was a note of gentle authority in the Interpreter's deep voice, and in his dark eyes there was a look of patient sorrow, as he replied, ”Yes, Helen, all that you say of our Bobbies and Maggies is true. But have you ever considered whether it might not be equally true of the children of wealth?”

”Is the possession of what we call wealth a crime?” the young woman asked, bitterly. ”Is poverty _always_ such a virtue?”

The Interpreter answered, ”I mean, child, that wealth which comes unearned from the industries of life--that wealth for which no service is rendered--for which no equivalent in human strength, mental or physical, is returned. Are not the children of such conditions being educated in lawlessness when the influence of their money so often permits them to break our laws with impunity? Are they not a menace to our government when they coerce and bribe our public servants to enact laws and enforce measures that are for the advantage of a few favored ones and against the welfare of our people as a whole? Are they not a menace to society when they would limit the meaning of the very word to their own select circles and cliques? Are they not a menace to our homes by the standards of morals that too often govern their daily living? For that hatred of cla.s.s taught the Bobbies and Maggies of the Flats, Helen, these other children are taught an intolerance and contempt for everything that is not of their cla.s.s--an intolerance and contempt that breed cla.s.s hatred as surely as blow flies breed maggots.”

For some time the silence was broken only by the dull, droning voice of the Mill. They listened as they would have listened to the first low moaning of the wind that might rise later into a destructive storm.

The Interpreter spoke again. ”Helen, this nation cannot tolerate one standard of citizens.h.i.+p for one cla.s.s and a totally different standard for another. Whatever is right for the children of the hill, yonder, is right for the children of the Flats, down there.”

Helen asked, abruptly, ”Is there any truth in all this talk about coming trouble with the labor unions?”

The man in the wheel chair did not answer immediately. Then he replied, gravely, with another question, ”And who is it that says there is going to be trouble again, Helen?”

”John says everybody is expecting it. And Mr. McIver is so sure that he is already preparing for it at his factory. _He_ says it will be the worst industrial war that Millsburgh has ever experienced--that it must be a fight to the finish this time--that nothing but starvation will bring the working cla.s.ses to their senses.”

”Yes,” agreed the Interpreter, thoughtfully, ”McIver would say just that. And many of our labor agitators would declare, in exactly the same spirit, that nothing but the final and absolute downfall of the employer cla.s.s can ever end the struggle. I wonder what little Bobby and Maggie Whaley and their mother would say if they could have their way about it, Helen?”

Helen Ward's face flushed as she said in a low, deliberate voice, ”Father agrees with Mr. McIver--you know how bitter he is against the unions?”

”Yes, I know.”

”But John says that Mr. McIver, with his talk of force and of starving helpless women and children, is as bad as this man Jake Vodell who has come to Millsburgh to organize a strike. It is really brother's att.i.tude toward the workmen and their unions and his disagreement with Mr. McIver's views that make father as--as he is.”