some melted pig iron, making it a white heat, to the amazement of the onlookers. A blacksmith seized a piece of the refined iron, cooled it, and with his hammer made in twenty minutes a perfect horseshoe. He flung it at the feet of the iron men, who could not believe their eyesight; seizing a second scrap of the iron, he made nails and fastened the shoe to the foot of a horse. Pig iron, which cannot be hammered into anything, had been changed into malleable iron, or something very much like it, without the use of an ounce of fuel. Surely, the feat was too absurd. Seeing was not believing. "Some crank'll be burnin' ice next," said one. The iron-men shook their heads and went home to boast in after years that they had seen the first public production of "Bessemer" steel in the world. But now came a form of opposition that Kelly could not defy. His father-in-law said: "Quit this foolishness or repay the capital I have advanced." His Cincinnati customers wrote: "We understand that you have adopted a new-fangled way of refining your iron. Is this so? We want our iron made in the regular way or not at all." About the same time Kelly's ore gave out. New mines had to be dug. Instead of making ten tons a day, he made two. He surrendered. He became outwardly a level-headed, practical, conservative iron-maker, and won back the confidence of his partners and customers. Then one night he took his machinery three miles back into a secluded part of the forest and set it up. Like Galileo, he said: "Nevertheless, air is fuel!" No one knew of this secret spot except the two English iron-workers whom he brought out frequently to help him. Then came the panic of 1857, and Kelly was one of the thousands who toppled over into bankruptcy. But even at the lowest point of defeat and poverty, he persevered. Without wasting a day in self-pity, he went at once to the Cambria Iron Works, at Johnstown, Pennsylvania, and secured permission from Morrell, the general superintendent, to make experiments there. "I'll give you that corner of the yard and young Geer to help you," said Morrell. In a short time Kelly had built his eighth converter the first that really deserved the name and was ready to make a public demonstration. About two hundred shopmen gathered around his queer-looking apparatus. Many of them were puddlers, whose occupation would be gone if Kelly succeeded. Fear often makes men scoff, and the puddlers had always been the loudest in ridiculing the "Irish crank." "I want the strongest blast you can blow," said Kelly to Leibfreit, the old German engineer. "All right," answered Leibfreit. "I'll give you plenty!" Partly to oblige and partly for a joke Leibfreit goaded his blowing engine to its best, hung a weight on the safety-valve, and blew such a blast that the whole contents of the converter went flying out in a tornado of sparks. The air, it must be remembered, will take away, first, the impurities in the iron and, second, the iron. itself, if the blast is too strong or too long continued. This spectacular failure filled the two hundred shopmen with delight. For days one could hear in all parts of the works roars of laughter at "Kelly's fireworks." In fact, it was a ten-years' joke in the iron trade. In a few days Kelly was ready for a second trial, this time with less blast. The process lasted more than half an hour, and was thoroughly unique. To every practical iron-maker, it was the height of absurdity. Kelly stood coatless and absorbed beside his converter, an anvil by his side and a small hammer in his hand. When the sparks began to fly, he ran here and there, picking them up and hammering them upon his anvil. For half an hour every spark crumbled under the blow. Then came one that flattened out like dough, proving that the impurities had blown out. Immediately Kelly tilted the converter and poured out the contents. Taking a small piece, he cooled it and hammered it into a thin plate on his anvil, proving that it was not cast iron. Once more he had shown that cold air does not chill molten iron, but purifies it with amazing rapidity if blown through the iron for the proper length of time. His process was not complete, but subsequent improvements were comparatively easy to make. Kelly was now honored and rewarded. The "crank" suddenly became a recognized genius. By 1870 he had received thirty thousand dollars in royalties; after his patent was renewed he received about four hundred and fifty thousand more. When more than seventy years of age Kelly retired and spent his last days at Louisville. Few who saw the quiet, pleasant-faced old gentleman in his daily walks knew who he was or what he had accomplished. Yet, in 1888, when he died, it was largely by reason of his process that the United States had become the supreme steel-making nation in the world. 4. THE CONQUEST OF THE AIR HAROLD TROWBRIDGE PULSIFER The first heavier-than-air machine to fly by its own power was the invention of Samuel P. Langley. This machine, which made its first successful flight in 1896, was driven by a steam-engine. It carried no passenger. The chief credit for the development of the airplane of today, which is driven by a gas-engine, belongs to Wilbur and Orville Wright. Profiting by the studies and experiments of Langley, these two brothers, after years of effort, built a machine which in 1903 made a successful flight of 852 feet. The airplane has since been so perfected that a non-stop flight was made across the Atlantic in 1919, and a flight around the world was completed in 1924. In this poem, the author pictures the glory of this recent conquest by man. With a thunder-driven heart And the shimmer of new wings, I, a worm that was, upstart, I have heard the singing stars, Lo, the argosies of Spain As they plowed the naked brine, Like to mine. Soaring from the clinging sod, Met the tempest and the gale Where the white moon-riven cloud Wrapped the splendor of my sail In a shroud. Where the ghost of winter fled I have trailed the summer south, I have dogged the ranging sun Till the world became a scroll; Other winged men may come, Pierce the heavens, chart the sky, Sound an echo to my drum Ere I die. I alone have seen the earth, Deified! 5. THE SKYSCRAPER RAY STANNARD BAKER "A steel bridge standing on end, with passenger cars running up and down within it.” This is the definition of a "skyscraper" given by an architect who is as famous for his speech as he is for his tall buildings. It seems odd to speak of any building as an invention, since there have been buildings almost as long as there have been men; and yet the very fact and curious enough it is when you come to think of it that the skyscraper is truly more a bridge than a building, and that cars do actually run on perpendicular tracks within it, makes it one of the very greatest feats of the inventor. For thousands of years every large building in the world was constructed with enormous walls of masonry to hold up the inner framework of floors and partitions. It was a substantial and worthy method of construction, and there seemed no need of changing it. But one day a daring builder astonished the world by reversing this order of construction, and building an inner framework strong enough to hold up the outside walls of masonry. The invention was instantly successful. In 1880 there was not a "skyscraper" in the world; to-day there are scores of them in American cities, the heights varying from seven stories up to sixty, making them by all odds the greatest structures reared by the hand of man. Every invention has its reason for being. Unless it is needed, it does not appear. So with the skyscraper. Great cities had grown with a rapidity unknown anywhere in the world; business centers were much overcrowded. Property owners said: We can't spread out, so we must go up. In New York single acres were worth millions of dollars. Land of this value covered with buildings of ordinary height could not be made to pay. Moreover, engineering and the various processes of steel construction had been advancing at great strides; steel was comparatively cheap, and a light skeleton framework cost less in the beginning and required less room than immense masonry walls. And, lastly, and |