a great many of the Western fruit camps, around the canneries of Michigan and New York, in the cranberry marshes of New England, behind the oyster canneries of the Gulf Coast, wherever unskilled labor gathered in large numbers for short periods of work. If the employers considered the worker at all, they argued that he could stand it for a little while. But the employers forgot that the migratory worker leaves one camp only to go to another of the same kind, that the very nature of his calling compels him to spend the best part of the year in temporary shacks, in vermin-infested bunk houses, in leaky tents, or under the open sky, the miserable chain being broken only by the fetid ten-cent lodging of the winter. Strikes of common laborers on temporary jobs out in the country have been rare in the past. The men lacked cohesion, organization, leadership. The hop-picking hordes had worked uncomplainingly under unchanging conditions. for twenty seasons. There would have been no riot last year, if a new element had not stirred the Wheatland camp into action. Professional agitators, fanatical enemies of the social order, lifted their heads in the camp, scenting trouble. They watched the growing discontent of the pickers with an unholy joy. They began to work. They carried the flame of reckless hatred from tent to tent. Though barely a score of them carried the verbal torch, they worked rapidly, thoroughly. Picking began on Wednesday; by Saturday the camp was aglow with smoldering rancor. There were mass meetings in the evening, harangued by sulphurous effective spouters. Demands were formulated, threats uttered. On Sunday the polyglot meetings continued. "Blackie" Ford, self-constituted leader, was fanning the glow of hatred, counseling force, urging armed resistance, when the ranch owner and the sheriff's posse appeared upon the ground in automobiles. The sheriff shouldered his way through the throng, reached out for the soap-box speaker. The mob snarled, surged forward, trampled the sheriff underfoot, kicked him into insensibility. A country constable-"to scare the crowd"-fired a shot into the air. Instantly guns barked, (Continued on page 938) AMERICANS AT PRACTICE This picture was taken during a comparatively slow moment, but. nevertheless, the leading pony shows tremendous strain as he is checked to enable his rider to strike the ball. The pony just behind and to the left is loping rapidly. but his whole figure is one of ease. The game depends in a large measure on the animals, but the British players themselves were plainly superior to the American in both the engagements that resulted in the lifting of the cup, without taking the mounts into consideration. MONTE WATERBURY He has always been a popular hero and he filled his place at number two almost faultlessly. The other members of the team were Rene La Montagne, one; L. Waterbury. three; Devereux Milburn, back. OUR TWELVE GREAT SCIENTISTS IV. SURGEON-GENERAL By Arthur B. Krock This article, the fourth in the series, "The Twelve Great Scientists," is an intimate study of the remarkable surgeon and sanitarian. As has been previously explained, twelve names were selected as the greatest American scientists, by a thousand of their most distinguished colleagues. This vote was taken at the special request of the editors of TECHNICAL WORLD MAGAZINE. In order, so far, the following have been covered: Professor A. Michelson Dr. Alexis Carrel, and Colonel Goethals.-The Editors. A T first, I tried to find out things about Gorgas from Gorgas, but I gave it up. I beheld in him a man who could not talk about himself. Then I asked friends about him (he has no enemies, at least none who will confess the fact); and they at once fell to talking about his charming manner, his love of humanity, his sympathy with suffering and sorrow. It was difficult to get them off this strain, but at length one man who had worked with the little army doctor for ten years said, thoughtfully: "He is the most thorough man I knew." ever That started the character clinic. "He never loses sight of his objective," analyzed another. "He is absolutely unmoved by slights, praise, success, defeat anything except sickness and suffering," spoke up a third. "He loves his joke; and folks would rather go to his house than anywhere else on the Zone," chimed in a fourth. Well, here was the personality of the "man who made the canal possible" coming out at last. The quiet, whitehaired, white-mustached army doctor, with the bronzed wrinkled face and gentle voice was a positive sort, after all. He had interests, apparently, other than the mosquito, the rat, and the tropic house fly. And I began to take an interest in William C. Gorgas, the man, where before I had only been concerned with Surgeon-General Gorgas. the greatest sanitarian in the world's history. As everybody knows, there have been personal controversies in Panama. Between Sibert, who built the permanent structures on the Zone at Gatun, and Goethals, who supervised all the work, no love is lost. The dead Gailliard had his differences with Goethals, too. And these differences permeated the lives of the men and, although they did not interfere with the work or, in any particular, affect the loyalty of the organization to the country, they disturbed the several |