"
The Interpreter laughed. "And Sam Whaley's children, they come too."
"Oh, yes, that is better. I know Sam Whaley. He is a good man who will
be a great help to me. But I do not understand this woman business."
"I have known Miss Ward ever since she was born; I worked in the Mill
at the same bench with her father and Peter Martin," said the man in
the wheel chair, with quiet dignity.
"I see. It is not so bad sometimes to have a friend or two among these
millionaires when there is no danger of it being misunderstood. But
this man, who was once a workman and who deserted his class--this
traitor, her father--does he also call on you, Mr. Interpreter?"
"Once in a great while," answered the Interpreter.
Jake Vodell laughed knowingly. "When he wants something, heh?" Then,
with an air of taking up the real business of his visit to the little
hut on the cliff, he said, "Suppose now you tell me something about
this son of Adam Ward. You have known him since he was a boy too--the
same as the girl?"
"Yes," said the Interpreter, "I have known John Ward all his life."
Something in the old basket maker's voice made Jake Vodell look at him
sharply and the agitator's black brows were scowling as he said,
"So--you are friends with him, too, I guess, heh?"
"I am, sir; and so is Captain Charlie Martin, who is the head of our
Mill workers' union, as you may have heard.
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