come to me like this
Again Adam Ward was at a loss for an answer. In the shadowy presence of that old man in the wheel chair the Mill owner was as a wayward child embarrassed before a kindly master.
When the Interpreter spoke again his deep voice was colored with gentle patience.
"Why have you come to me like this, Adam Ward? What is it that you want?"
Adam moved uneasily. "Why–nothing particular–I just thought I would call–happened to be going by and saw your light."
There had been no light in the hut that evening. The Interpreter waited. The surrounding darkness of the night seemed filled with warring spirits from the gloomy Flats, the mighty Mill, the glittering streets and stores and the cheerfully lighted homes.
Adam tried to make his voice sound casual, but he could not altogether cover the nervous intensity of his interest, as he asked the question that was so vital to the entire community. "Will the Mill workers’ union go out on a sympathetic strike?"
"No."
The Mill owner drew a long breath of relief. "I judged you would know."
The Interpreter did not answer.
Adam spoke with more confidence. "I suppose you know this agitator Jake Vodell?"
"I know who he is," replied the Interpreter. "He is a well-known representative of a foreign society that is seeking, through the working people of this country, to extend its influence and strengthen its power."
"The unions are going too far," said Adam. "The people won’t stand for their bringing in a man like Vodell to preach anarchy and stir up all kinds of trouble."
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