OLD FRIENDS
It was Sunday morning and the church bells were ringing over the little
city as the old workman climbed the hill to Adam Ward's estate.
There was a touch of frost in the air. The hillside back of the
interpreter's hut was brown. But the sun was bright and warm and in
every quarter of the city the people were going to their appointed
places of worship. The voice of the Mill was silenced.
Pete wondered if he would find Adam at home. He had not thought about
it when he left the cottage--his mind had been so filled with the
object of his visit to the man who had once been his working comrade
and friend.
But Adam Ward was not at church.
The Mill owner's habits of worship were very simply regulated. If the
minister said things that pleased him, and showed a properly humble
gratification at Adam's presence in the temple of God, Adam attended
divine services. If the reverend teacher in the pulpit so far forgot
himself as to say anything that jarred Adam's peculiar spiritual
sensitiveness, or failed to greet this particular member of his flock
with proper deference, Adam stayed at home and stopped his subscription
to the cause. Nor did he ever fail to inform his pastor and the
officers of the congregation as to the reason for his nonattendance;
always, at the time, assuring them that whenever the minister would
preach the truths that he wanted to hear, his weekly offerings to the
Lord would be renewed. Thus Adam Ward was just and honest in his
religious life as he was in his business dealings. He was ready always,
to pay for that which he received, but, as a matter of principle, he
was careful always to receive exactly what he paid for.
This Sunday morning Adam Ward was at home.
When Pete reached the entrance to the estate the heavy gates were
closed. As Mary's father stood in doubt before the iron barrier a man
appeared on the inside.
"Good-morning, Uncle Pete," he said, in hearty greeting, when he saw
who it was that sought admittance.
"Good-morning, Henry--and what are you doing in there?" returned the
workman, who had known the man from his boyhood.
The other grinned. "Oh, I'm one of the guards at this institution now."
Pete looked at him blankly. "Guards? What are you guarding, Henry?"
Standing close to the iron bars of the gate, Henry glanced over his
shoulder before he answered in a low, cautious tone, "Adam."
The old workman was shocked. "What! you don't mean it!" He shook his
grizzly head sadly. "I hadn't heard that he was that bad."
Henry laughed. "We're not keepin' the old boy in, Uncle Pete--not yet.
So far, our orders are only to keep people out. Dangerous people, I
mean--the kind that might want to run away with the castle, or steal a
look at the fountain, or sneak a smell of the flowers or something--y'
understand."
Pete smiled. "How do you like your job, Henry?"
"Oh, it's all right just now when the strike is on. But was you wantin'
to come in, Uncle Pete, or just passing' by?"
"I wanted to see Adam if I could."
The man swung open the gate. "Help yourself, Uncle Pete, just so you
don't stick a knife into him or blow him up with a bomb or poison him
or something." He pointed toward that part of the grounds where Helen
had watched her father from the arbor. "You'll find him over there
somewhere, I think. I saw him headed that way a few minutes ago. The
rest of the family are gone to church."
"Is Adam's life really threatened, Henry?" asked Pete, as he stepped
inside and the gates were closed behind him.
"Search me," returned the guard, indifferently. "I expect if the truth
were known it ought to be by rights. He sure enough thinks it is,
though. Why, Uncle Pete, there can't a butterfly flit over these
grounds that Adam ain't a yellin' how there's an aeroplane a sailin'
around lookin' fer a chance to drop a monkey wrench on his head or
something."
"Poor Adam!" murmured the old workman. "What a way to live!"
"Live?" echoed the guard. "It ain't livin' at all--it's just bein' in
hell before your time, that's what it is--if you ask me."
* * * * *
When Peter Martin, making his slow way through the beautiful grounds,
first caught sight of his old bench mate, Adam was pacing slowly to and
fro across a sunny open space of lawn. As he walked, the Mill owner was
talking to himself and moving his arms and hands in those continuous
gestures that seemed so necessary to any expression of his thoughts.
Once Pete heard him laugh. And something in the mirthless sound made
the old workman pause. It was then that Adam saw him.
There was no mistaking the sudden fear that for a moment seemed to
paralyze the man. His gray face turned a sickly white, his eyes were
staring, his jaw dropped, his body shook as if with a chill. He looked
about as if he would call for help, and started as if to seek safety in
flight.
"Good-morning, Adam Ward," said Pete Martin.
And at the gentle kindliness in the workman's voice Adam's manner, with
a suddenness that was startling, changed. With an elaborate show of
friendliness he came eagerly forward. His gray face, twitching with
nervous excitement, beamed with joyous welcome. As he hurried across
the bit of lawn between them, he waved his arms and rubbed his hands
together in an apparent ecstasy of gladness at this opportunity to
receive such an honored guest. His voice trembled with high-pitched
assurance of his happiness in the occasion. He laughed as one who could
not contain himself.
"Well, well, well--to think that you have actually come to see me at
last." He grasped the workman's hand in both his own with a grip that
was excessive in its hearty energy. With affectionate familiarity he
almost shouted, "You old scoundrel! I can't believe it is you. Where
have you been keeping yourself? How are Charlie and Mary? Lord, but
it's good to see you here in my own home like this."
While Pete was trying to make some adequate reply to this effusive and
startling reception, Adam looked cautiously about to see if there were
any chance observers lurking near.
Satisfied that no one was watching, he said, nervously, "Come on, let's
sit over here where we can talk." And with his hand on Pete's arm, he
led his caller to lawn chairs that were in the open, well beyond
hearing of any curious ear in the shrubbery.
Giving the workman opportunity for no more than an occasional
monosyllable in reply, he poured forth a flood of information about his
estate: The architectural features of his house--the cost; the
loveliness of his trees--the cost; the coloring of his flowers--the
cost; the magnificence of his view, And all the while he studied his
caller's face with sharp, furtive glances, trying to find some clew to
the purpose of the workman's visit.
Peter Martin's steady eyes, save for occasional glances at the objects
of Adam's interest as Adam pointed them out, were fixed on the Mill
owner with a half-wondering, half-pitying expression. Adam's evident
nervousness increased. He talked of his Mill--how he had built it up
from nothing almost, to its present magnitude--of the city and what he
had done for the people.
The old workman listened without comment.
At last, apparently unable to endure the suspense a moment longer, Adam
Ward said, nervously, "Well, Pete, out with it! What do you want? I can
guess what you are here for. We might as well get done with it."
In his slow, thoughtful manner of speech that was so different from the
Mill owner's agitated expressions, the old workman said, "I have wanted
for nothing, Adam. We have been contented and happy in our little home.
But now," he paused as if his thoughts were loath to form themselves
into words.
The last vestige of pretense left Adam Ward's face as suddenly as if he
had literally dropped a mask. "It's a good thing you have been
satisfied," he said, coldly. "You had better continue to be. You know
that you owe everything you have in the world to me! You need not
expect anything more."
"Have you not made a big profit on every hour's work that I have done
in your Mill, Adam?"
"Whatever profit I have or have not made on your work is none of your
business, sir," retorted Adam. "I have given you a job all these years.
I could have thrown you out. You haven't a thing on earth that you did
not buy with the checks you received from me. I have worn myself
out--made an invalid of myself--building up the business that has
enabled you and the rest of my employees to make a living. Every cent
that I ever received from that new process I put back into the Mill.
You have had more out of it than I ever did."
Peter Martin looked slowly about at the evidence of Adam Ward's wealth.
When he again faced the owner of the estate he spoke as if doubting
that he had heard him clearly. "But the Mill is yours, Adam?" he said,
at last. "And all this is yours. How--where did it come from?"
"Certainly the Mill is mine. Didn't I make it what it is? As for the
place here--it came from the profits of my business, of course. You
know I was nothing but a common workman when I started out."
"I know," returned Pete. "And it was the new process that enabled you
to get control of the Mill--to buy it and build it up--wasn't it? If
you hadn't happened to have had the process the Mill would have made
all this for some one else, wouldn't it? We never dreamed that the
process would grow into such a big thing for anybody when we used to
talk it over in the old days, did we, Adam?"
Adam Ward looked cautiously around at the shrubbery that encircled the
bit of lawn. There was no one to be seen within hearing distance.
When he faced his companion again the Mill owner's eyes were blazing,
but he controlled his voice by a supreme effort of will. "Look here,
Pete, I'm not going even to discuss that matter with you. I have kept
you on at the Mill and taken care of you all these years because of our
old friendship and because I was sorry for you. But if you don't
appreciate what I have done for you, if you attempt to start any talk
or anything I'll throw you and Charlie out of your jobs to-morrow. And
I'll fix it, too, so you will never either of you get another day's
work in Millsburgh. That process is my property. No one has any
interest in the patents in any way. I have it tied up so tight that all
the courts in the world couldn't take it away from me. Law is law and I
propose to keep what the law says is mine. I have thousands of dollars
to spend in defense of my legal rights where you have dimes. You
needn't whine about moral obligations either. The only obligations that
are of any force in business are legal! If you haven't brains enough to
look after your own interests you can't expect any one else to look
after them for you."
When Adam Ward finished his countenance was distorted with hate and
fear. Before this simple, kindly old workman, in whose honest soul
there was no shadow of a wish to harm any one in any way, the Mill
owner was like a creature of evil at bay.
"I did not come to talk of the past, Adam Ward," said Pete, sadly. "And
I didn't come to threaten you or to ask anything for myself."
At the gentle sadness of his old friend's manner and words, Adam's eyes
gleamed with vicious triumph. "Well, out with it!" he demanded,
harshly. "What are you here for?"
"Your boy and my girl love each other, Adam."
An ugly grin twisted the gray lips of Pete's employer.
But Mary's father went on as though he had not seen. "The children were
raised together, Adam. I have always thought of John almost as if he
were my own son. It seems exactly right that he should want Mary and
that she should want him. There is no man in the world I would rather
it would be."
Adam listened, still grinning, as the old workman continued in his
slow, quiet speech.
"I never cared before for all that the new process made for you. You
wanted money--I didn't. But it don't seem right that what you
have--considering how you got it--should stand in the way of Mary's
happiness. I understand that there is nothing I can do about it, but I
thought that, considering everything, you might be willing to--"
Adam Ward laughed aloud--laughed until the tears of his insane glee
filled his eyes. "So that's your game," he said, at last, when he could
speak. "You hadn't brains enough to protect yourself to start out with
and you have found out that you haven't a chance in the world against
me in the courts. So you try to make it by setting your girl up to
catch John."
"You must stop that sort of talk, Adam Ward." Peter Martin was on his
feet, and there was that in his usually stolid countenance which made
the Mill owner shrink back. "I was a fool, as you say. But my mistake
was that I trusted you. I believed in your pretended friendship for me.
I thought you were as honest and honorable as you seemed to be. I
didn't know that your religion was all such a rotten sham. I have never
cared that you grew rich while I remained poor. All these years I have
been sorry for you because I have had so much of the happiness and
contentment and peace that you have lost. But you must understand, sir,
that there are some things that I will do in defense of my children
that I would not do in defense of myself."
Adam, white and trembling, drew still farther away. "Be careful," he
cried, "I can call half a dozen men before you can move."
Pete continued as if the other had not spoken. "There is no reason in
the world why John and Mary should not marry."
Adam Ward's insane hatred for the workman and his evil joy over this
opportunity to make his old comrade suffer was stronger even than his
fear. With another snarling laugh he retorted, viciously, "There is the
best reason in the world why they will never marry. _I_ am the reason,
Pete Martin! And I'd like to see you try to do anything about it."
Mary's father answered, slowly, "I do not understand your hatred for
me, Adam. All these years I have been loyal to you. I have never talked
of our affairs to any one--"
Adam interrupted him with a burst of uncontrollable rage. "_Talk_, you
fool! Talk all you please. Tell everybody anything you like. Who will
believe you? You will only get yourself laughed at for being the
short-sighted idiot you were. That process is patented in my name. I
own it. You don't need to keep still on my account, but I tell you
again that if you do try to start anything I'll ruin you and I'll ruin
your children." Suddenly, as if in fear that his rage would carry him
too far, his manner changed and he spoke with forced coldness. "I am
sorry that I cannot continue this interview, Pete. You have all that
you will ever get from me--children or no children. Go on about your
business as usual and you may hold your job in the Mill as long as you
are able to do your work. I had thought that I might give you some sort
of a little pension when you got too old to keep up your end with the
rest of the men."
And then Adam Ward added the crowning insolent expression of his insane
and arrogant egotism. With a pious smirk of his gray, twitching face,
he said, "I want you to know, too, Pete, that you can approach me any
time without any feeling of humiliation."
He turned abruptly away and a moment later the old workman, watching,
saw him disappear behind some tall bushes.
As Pete Martin went slowly back to the entrance gate he did not know
that the owner of the estate was watching him. From bush to bush Adam
crept with the stealthy care of a wild creature, following its
prey--never taking his eyes from his victim, save for quick glances
here and there to see that he himself was not observed. Not until Pete
had passed from sight down the hill road did Adam appear openly. Then,
going to the watchman at the gate, he berated him for admitting the old
workman and threatened him with the loss of his position if he so
offended Again.
* * * * *
When Peter Martin arrived home he found Jake Vodell and Charlie
discussing the industrial situation. The strike leader had come once
more to try to enlist the support of the old workman and his son in his
war against the employer class.