not compelled to face the scorching furnaces; we do
not have to forge the iron that resists the invading cyclone and the
leveling earthquake. We could quit cold and let wild nature kick
us about at will. We could have cities of wood to be wiped out by
conflagrations; we could build houses of mud and sticks for the gales to
unroof like a Hottentot village. We could bridge our small rivers with
logs and be flood-bound when the rains descended. We could live by
wheelbarrow transit like the Chinaman and leave to some braver race the
task of belting the world with railroads and bridging the seas with iron
boats.

Nobody compels us to stand shoulder to shoulder and fight off nature's
calamities as the French fought off their oppressor at Verdun. I repeat,
we could let nature oppress us as she oppresses the meek Chinese--let
her whip us with cold, drought, flood, isolation and famine.

We chose to resist as the French resisted--because we are men. Nature
can chase the measly savage fleeing naked through the bush. But nature
can't run us ragged when all we have to do is put up a hard fight and
conquer her. The iron workers are civilization's shock troops grappling
with tyrannous nature on her own ground and conquering new territory in
which man can live in safety and peace. Steel houses with glass windows
are born of his efforts. There is a glory in this fight; man feels a
sense of grandeur. We are robbing no one. From the harsh bosom of the
hills we wring the iron milk that makes us strong. Nature is no kind
mother; she resists with flood and earthquake, drought and cyclone.
Nature is fierce and formidable, but fierce is man's soul to subdue her.
The stubborn earth is iron, but man is iron too.

CHAPTER XVIII. ON BEING A GOOD GUESSER

The charge which I have been kneading in my furnace has now "come to
nature," the stringy sponge of pure iron is separating from the slag.
The "balling" of this sponge into three loaves is a task that occupies
from ten to fifteen minutes. The particles of iron glowing in this
spongy mass are partly welded together; they are sticky and stringy
and as the cooling continues they are rolled up into wads like popcorn
balls. The charge, which lost part of its original weight by the
draining off of slag, now weighs five hundred fifty to six hundred
pounds. I am balling it into three parts of equal weight. If the charge
is six hundred pounds, each of my balls must weigh exactly two hundred
poun