From his position across the street Jake Vodell suddenly interrupted the old workman with a rapid fire of questions and insinuations and appeals to the mob.
Peter Martin, poorly equipped for a duel of words with such a master of the art, was silenced.
Slowly the mob swung again to the agitator. Under the spell of his influence they were responding once more to his call, when a big automobile rolled swiftly up to the edge of the crowd and stopped.
John Ward was the first to recognize his sister's car. With a word to the men near him he sprang to the ground and ran forward. The loyal workmen went with him.
In the surprise of the moment, not knowing what was about to happen, Jake Vodell stood silent. In breathless suspense every eye in the crowd was fixed upon that little group about Helen's car.
Another moment and the assembled workmen witnessed a sight that they will never forget. Down the lane that opened as if by magic through the mass of men came the loyal members of the Mill workers' union. High on their shoulders they carried the Interpreter.
In a silence, deep as the stillness of death, they bore him through those close-packed walls of humanity, straight to the big doors of the Mill. With their backs against the building they held him high--face to face with Jake Vodell and the mob that the agitator was swaying to his will.
The old basket maker's head was bare and against the dark background of the dingy walls his venerable face with its crown of silvery hair was as the face of a prophet.
They did not cheer. In silent awe they stood with tense, upturned faces.
A voice, low but clear and distinct, cut the stillness.
The Interpreter's deep voice--kindly but charged with strange authority--swept over them.
"Workmen--what are you doing here? Are you toys that you give yourselves as playthings into the hands of this man who chooses to use you in his game? Are you children to be led by his idle words and moved by his foolish dreams? Are you men or are you cattle to be stampeded by him, without reason, to your own destruction? Would you, at this stranger's bidding, dig a pit for your fancied enemies and fall into it yourselves?"
Not a man in that great crowd of workmen moved. In breathless silence they stood awed by the majesty of the old basket maker's presence--hushed by the sorrowful authority of his voice.