Not until John Ward had assured himself that his father was safely in
his room and apparently sleeping at last, did he go to his own
apartment.
But the new manager of the Mill did not at once retire. He did not even
turn on the lights. For a long time he stood at the darkened window,
looking out into the night. "What was it?" he asked himself again and
again. "What was it his father feared?"
In the distance he could see a tiny spot of light shining high against
the shadowy hillside above the darkness of the Flats. It was a lighted
window in the Interpreter's hut.
* * * * *
As they sat in the night on the balcony porch, Jake Vodell said harshly
to the old basket maker, "You shall tell me about this Adam Ward,
comrade. I hear many things. From what you say of your friendship with
him in the years when he was a workman in the Mill and from your
friendship with his son and daughter you must know better than any one
else. Is it true that it was his new patented process that made him so
rich?"
"The new process was undoubtedly the foundation of his success,"
answered the Interpreter, "but it was the man's peculiar genius that
enabled him to recognize the real value of the process and to foresee
how it would revolutionize the industry.
Pages:
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188