Jake Vodell's black brows were raised with quickened interest. "This new process was a discovery then? It was not the result of research and experiment?" The Interpreter seemed to answer reluctantly. "It was an accidental discovery, as many such things are." The agitator must have noticed that the old basket maker did not wish to talk of Adam Ward's patented process, but he continued his questions. "Peter Martin was working in the Mill at the time of this wonderful discovery, was he?" "Yes." "Oh! and Peter and Adam were friends, too?" "Yes." The Interpreter's guest shrugged his shoulders and scowled his righteous indignation. "And all these years that Adam Ward has been building up this Mill that grinds the bodies and souls of his fellow men into riches for himself and makes from the life blood of his employees the dollars that his son and daughter spend in wicked luxury--all these years his old friend Peter Martin has toiled for him exactly as the rest of his slaves have toiled. Bah! And still the priests and preachers make the people believe there is a God of Justice." The Interpreter replied, slowly, "It may be after all, sir, that Peter Martin is richer than Adam Ward." "How richer?" demanded the other. "When he lives in a poor little house, with no servants, no automobiles, no luxuries of any kind, and must work every day in the Mill with his son, while his daughter Mary slaves at the housekeeping for her father and brother! Look at Adam Ward and his great castle of a home--look at his possessions--at the fortune he will leave his children. Bah! Mr. Interpreter, do not talk to me such foolishness." "Is it foolishness to count happiness as wealth?" asked the Interpreter. "Happiness?" growled the other. "Is there such a thing? What does the laboring man know of happiness?" And the Interpreter answered, "Peter Martin, in the honorable peace and contentment of his useful years, and in the love of his family and friends, is the happiest man I have ever known. While Adam Ward--" Jake Vodell sprang to his feet as if the Interpreter's words exhausted his patience, while he spoke as one moved by a spirit of contemptuous intolerance. "You talk like a sentimental old woman. How is it possible that there should be happiness and contentment anywhere when all is injustice and slavery under this abominable capitalist system? First we shall have liberty--freedom--equality--then perhaps we may begin to talk of happiness. Is Sam Whaley and his friends who live down there in their miserable hovels--is Sam Whaley happy?"