"I have," agreed the man in the wheel chair; "I find it a great blessing at times. It is the only thing that preserves my sense of humor. It is not always easy to preserve one's sense of humor, is it, Adam Ward?"
When the Mill owner answered, his voice, more than his words, told how determined he was to hold his ground of pleasant, friendly comradeship, at least until he had gained the object of his visit.
"Don't you ever get lonesome up here? Sort of gloomy, ain't it—especially at nights?"
"Oh, no," returned the Interpreter; "I have many interesting callers; there are always my work and my books and always, night and day, I have our Mill over there."
"Heh! What! Our Mill! Where? Oh, I see—yes—our Mill—that's good! Our Mill!"
"Surely you will admit that I have some small interest in the Mill where we once worked side by side, will you not, Adam?"
"Oh, yes," laughed Adam, helping on the jest. "But let me see—I don't exactly recall the amount of your investment—what was it you put in?"
"Two good legs, Adam Ward, two good legs," returned the old basket maker.
Again Adam Ward was at a loss for an answer. In the shadowy presence of that old man in the wheel chair the Mill owner was as a wayward child embarrassed before a kindly master.
When the Interpreter spoke again his deep voice was colored with gentle patience.