At the sound of the manager's voice the mob hesitated. In all that maddened crowd there was not a soul in ignorance of John Ward's comradeship with his fellow workmen. In spite of Jake Vodell's careful teaching--in spite of his devilish skill in using McIver as an example in his appeals and arguments inciting their hatred against all employers as a class, they were checked in their madness by the presence of Captain Charlie's friend. But it was only for the moment. The members of Vodell's inner circle were at work among them. John had spoken but a few sentences when he was interrupted by voices from the crowd. "Tell us where your old man got this Mill that he says is his?" "Where did Adam get his castle on the hill?" "We and our families live in shanties." "Who paid for your automobile, John?" "We and our children walk." As the manager, ignoring the voices, continued his appeal, the interruptions came with more frequency, accompanied now by groans, shouts, hisses and derisive laughter. "You're all right, John, but you're in with the wrong bunch." "We're going to run things for a while now and give you a chance to do some real work." The police pleaded with them. The mob jeered, "Go get a job with McIver's gunmen. Go find the man who murdered Captain Charlie." Once more the growling undertones swelled into a roar. "Come on--come on--we've had enough talk--let's do something." As the crowd surged again toward the Mill doors, there was a forward movement of the close-packed group of workmen about the ear. John, leaning over them, said, sharply, "No--no--not that--men, not that!" Then suddenly the movement of the mob toward the Mill was again checked as Peter Martin raised his voice. "If you won't listen to Mr. Ward," said the old man, when he had caught their attention, "perhaps you'll not mind hearin' me." In the stillness of the uncertain moment, a voice answered, "Go ahead, Uncle Pete!" Standing on the seat of the automobile, the kindly old workman looked down into the grim faces of his comrades. And, as they saw him there and thought of Captain Charlie, a deep breath of feeling swept over the throng. In his slow, thoughtful way the veteran of the Mill spoke. "There'll be no one among you, I'm thinkin', that'll dare say as how I don't belong to the workin' class. An' there'll be no man that'll deny my right to be heard in any meeting of Millsburgh working men. I helped the Interpreter to organize the first union that was ever started in this city--and so far we've managed to carry on our union work without any help from outsiders who have no real right to call themselves American citizens even--much less to dictate to us American workmen." There was a stir among Vodell's followers. A voice rose but was silenced by the muttered protest which it caused. Jake Vodell, quick to grasp the feeling of the crowd, was making his way toward his goods box rostrum. Here and there he paused a moment to whisper to one of his inner circle.