Part 31 (2/2)

When the old basket maker spoke again, that note of strange and solemn authority was in his voice. ”Listen, Adam Ward! In the ideals, the heroism, the suffering, the sacrifice of the war--in sh.e.l.l hole and trench and b.l.o.o.d.y No Man's Land, the sons of men have found again the G.o.d that you and men like you had banished from the Mill. Your boy and Pete Martin's boy, with more thousands of their comrades than men of your mind realize, have come back from the war fields of France to enthrone G.o.d once more in the industrial world. And it shall come that every forge and furnace and anvil and machine shall be an organ to His praise--that every suit of overalls shall be a priestly robe of ministering service. And this G.o.d that you banished from the Mill and that is to be by your son restored to His throne and served by a priesthood of united employers and employees, shall bear a new name, Adam Ward, and that name shall be WORK.”

Awed by the strange majesty of the Interpreter's voice, Adam Ward could only whisper fearfully, ”Work--the name of G.o.d shall be Work!” ”Ay, Adam Ward, WORK--and why not? Does not the work of the world express the ideals, the purpose, the needs, the life, the _oneness_ of the world's humanity, even as a flower expresses the plant that puts it forth? And is not G.o.d the ultimate flowering of the human plant?”

The Mill owner spoke with timid hesitation, ”Could I--do you think--could I, perhaps, help to, as you say, put G.o.d back into the Mill?”

”Your part in the building of the Mill is finished, Adam Ward,” came the solemn answer. ”You have made many contracts with men, sir; you should now make a contract with your G.o.d.”

The owner of the new process sprang to his feet with an exclamation of fear. As one who sees a thing of horror in the dark, he drew back, trembling.

That deep, inexorable voice of sorrowful authority went on, ”Make a contract with your G.o.d, Adam Ward; make a contract with your G.o.d.”

With a wild cry of terror Adam Ward fled into the night.

The Interpreter in his wheel chair looked up at the stars.

It seems scarcely possible that the old basket maker could have foreseen the tragic effect of his words--and yet--

CHAPTER XX

THE PEOPLE'S AMERICA

At his evening meetings on the street, Jake Vodell with stirring oratory kindled the fire of his cause. In the councils of the unions, through individuals and groups, with clever arguments and inflaming literature, he sought recruits. With stinging sarcasm and withering scorn he taunted the laboring people--told them they were fools and cowards to submit to the degrading slavery of their capitalist owners.

With biting invective and blistering epithet he pictured their employer enemies as the brutal and ruthless destroyers of their homes. With thrilling eloquence he fanned the flames of cla.s.s hatred, inspired the loyalty of his followers to himself and held out to them golden promises of reward if they would prove themselves men and take that which belonged to them.

But the Mill workers' union, as an organization, was steadfast in its refusal to be dominated by this agitator who was so clearly antagonistic to every principle of American citizens.h.i.+p. Jake Vodell could neither lead nor drive them into a strike that was so evidently called in the interests of his cause. And more and more the agitator was compelled to recognize the powerful influence of the Interpreter.

It was not long before he went to the hut on the cliff with a positive demand for the old basket maker's open support.

”I do not know why it is,” he said, ”that a poor old cripple like you should have such power among men, but I know it is so. You shall tell this Captain Charlie and his crowd of fools that they must help me to win for the laboring people their freedom. You shall, for me, enlist these Mill men in the cause.”

The Interpreter asked, gravely, ”And when you have accomplished this that you call freedom--when you have gained this equality that you talk about--how will your brotherhood be governed?”

Jake Vodell scowled as he gazed at the man in the wheel chair with quick suspicion. ”Governed?”

”Yes,” returned the Interpreter. ”Without organization of some sort nothing can be done. No industries can be carried on without the concerted effort which is organization. Without the industry that is necessary to human life the free people you picture cannot exist.

Without government--which means law and the enforcement of law--organization of any kind is impossible.”

”There will have to be organization, certainly,” answered Vodell.

”Then, there will be leaders, directors, managers with authority to whom the people must surrender themselves as individuals,” said the Interpreter, quietly. ”An organization without leaders.h.i.+p is impossible.”

The agitator's voice was triumphant, as he said, ”Certainly there will be leaders. And their authority will be unquestioned. And these leaders will be those who have led the people out of the miserable bondage of their present condition.”

The Interpreter's voice had a new note in it now, as he said, ”In other words, sir, what you propose is simply to subst.i.tute _yourself_ for McIver. You propose to the people that they overthrow their present leaders in the industries of their nation in order that you and your fellow agitators may become their masters. You demand that the citizens of America abolish their national government and in its place accept you and your fellows as their rulers? What a.s.surance can you give the people, sir, that under your rule they will have more freedom for self-government, more opportunities for self-advancement and prosperity and happiness than they have at present?”

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