I had to
become a citizen when the war came, you see, or they would have sent me
away. But for that I would make myself a citizen of some cannibal
country first." The old basket maker's dark eyes blazed with quick
fire and he lifted himself with sudden strength to a more erect
position in his wheel chair. But when he spoke his deep voice was calm
and steady. "You have been in our little city nearly a month, I
understand."
"Just about. I have been looking around, getting acquainted, studying
the situation. One must be very careful to know the right men, you
understand. It pays, I find, to go a little slow at first. We will go
fast enough later." His thick lips parted in a meaning grin.
The Interpreter's hands gripped the wheels of his chair.
"Everybody tells me I should see you," the agitator continued.
"Everywhere it is the same. They all talk of the Interpreter. 'Go to
the Interpreter,' they say. When they told me that this great
Interpreter is an old white-headed fellow without any legs, I laughed
and said, 'What can he do to help the laboring man? He is not good for
anything but to sit in a wheel chair and make baskets all the day. I
need _men_.' But they all answer the same thing, 'Go and see the
Interpreter.' And so I am here.
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