Obedient to the habit of years, the Mill owner looked
at his watch. In his mind he saw the day force
trooping from the building and the night shift coming
in. Throughout the entire city, in office and
shop and store and home, the people ordered their
days by the sound of that whistle, and Adam Ward had
been very proud of this recognition accorded him.
Wearily, as one exhausted by a day of hard labor,
this man who so feared the power of the Interpreter
looked up at his daughter. “I wish I could
rest,” he said.
WHILE THE PEOPLE SLEEP
The Interpreter’s hands were busy with his basket
weaving; his mind seemingly was occupied more with
other things. Frequently he paused to look up
from his work and, with his eyes fixed on the Mill,
the Flats and the homes on the hillside, apparently
considered the life that lay before him and of which
he had been for so many years an interested observer
and student. On the opposite side of the table,
silent Billy was engaged with something that had to
do with the manufacturing interests of their strange
partnership.
When Jake Vodell reached the landing at the top of
the stairway, he stopped to look about the place with
curious, alert interest, noting with quick glances
every object in the immediate vicinity of the hut,
as if fixing them in his mind. Satisfied at last
by the thoroughness of his inspection, he went toward
the house, but his step on the board walk made no
sound. At the outer door of the little hut the
man halted again, and again he looked quickly about
the premises. Apparently there was no one at
home. Silently he entered the room and the next
instant discovered the two men on the porch.
The Interpreter’s attention at the moment was
fixed upon his work and he remained unaware of the
intruder’s presence, while Jake Vodell, standing
in the doorway, regarded the old basket maker curiously,
with a contemptuous smile on his bearded lips.
But Billy Rand saw him. A moment he looked at
the man in the doorway inquiringly, as he would have
regarded any one of the Interpreter’s many visitors;
then the deaf and dumb man’s expression changed.
Glancing quickly at his still unobserving companion,
he caught up a hatchet that lay among the tools on
the table and, with a movement that was not unlike
the guarding action of a huge mastiff, rose to his
feet. His face was a picture of animal rage;
his teeth were bared, his eyes gleamed, his every
muscle was tense.
The man in the doorway was evidently no coward, but
the smile vanished from his heavy face and his right
hand went quickly inside his vest. “What’s
the matter with you?” he said, sharply, as Billy
started toward him with deliberate menace in his movement.
At the sound of the man’s voice the Interpreter
looked up. One glance and the old basket maker
caught the wheels of his chair and with a quick, strong
movement rolled himself between the two men—so
close to Billy that he caught his defender by the
arm. Facing his enraged companion, the Interpreter
talked to him rapidly in their sign language and held
out his hand for the hatchet. The silent Billy
reluctantly surrendered the weapon and drew back to
his place on the other side of the table, where he
sat glaring at the stranger in angry watchfulness.
