It is unnecessary to tell the reader what cellulose is since he now holds a specimen of it in his hand, pretty pure cellulose except for the sizing and the specks of carbon that mar the whiteness of its surface. This utilization of cellulose is the chief cause of the difference between the modern world and the ancient, for what is called the invention of printing is essentially the inventing of paper. The Romans made type to stamp their coins and lead pipes with and if they had had paper to print upon the world might have escaped the Dark Ages. But the clay tablets of the Babylonians were cumbersome; the wax tablets of the Greeks were perishable; the papyrus of the Egyptians was fragile; parchment was expensive and penning was slow, so it was not until literature was put on a paper basis that democratic education became possible. At the present time sheepskin is only used for diplomas, treaties and other antiquated documents. And even if your diploma is written in Latin it is likely to be made of sulfated cellulose.

The textile industry has followed the same law of development that I have indicated in the other industries. Here again we find the three stages of progress, (1) utilization of natural products, (2) cultivation of natural products, (3) manufacture of artificial products. The ancients were dependent upon plants, animals and insects for their fibers. China used silk, Greece and Rome used wool, Egypt used flax and India used cotton. In the course of cultivation for three thousand years the animal and vegetable fibers were lengthened and strengthened and cheapened. But at last man has risen to the level of the worm and can spin threads to suit himself. He can now rival the wasp in the making of paper. He is no longer dependent upon the flax and the cotton plant, but grinds up trees to get his cellulose. A New York newspaper uses up nearly 2000 acres of forest a year. The United States grinds up about five million cords of wood a year in the manufacture of pulp for paper and other purposes.

In making "mechanical pulp" the blocks of wood, mostly spruce and hemlock, are simply pressed sidewise of the grain against wet grindstones. But in wood fiber the cellulose is in part combined with lignin, which is worse than useless. To break up the ligno-cellulose combine chemicals are used. The logs for this are not ground fine, but cut up by disk chippers. The chips are digested for several hours under heat and pressure with acid or alkali. There are three processes in vogue. In the most common process the reagent is calcium sulfite, made by passing sulfur fumes (SO_{2}) into lime water. In another process a solution of caustic of soda is used to disintegrate the wood. The third, known as the "sulfate" process, should rather be called the sulfide process since the active agent is an alkaline solution of sodium sulfide made by roasting sodium sulfate with the carbonaceous matter extracted from the wood. This sulfate process, though the most recent of the three, is being increasingly employed in this country, for by means of it the resinous pine wood of the South can be worked up and the final product, known as kraft paper because it is strong, is used for wrapping.

But whatever the process we get nearly pure cellulose which, as you can see by examining this page under a microscope, consists of a tangled web of thin white fibers, the remains of the original cell walls. Owing to the severe treatment it has undergone wood pulp paper does not last so long as the linen rag paper used by our ancestors. The pages of the newspapers, magazines and books printed nowadays are likely to become brown and brittle in a few years, no great loss for the most part since they have served their purpose, though it is a pity that a few copies of the worst of them could not be printed on permanent paper for preservation in libraries so that future generations could congratulate themselves on their progress in civilization.

But in our absorption in the printed page we must not forget the other uses of paper. The paper clothing, so often prophesied, has not yet arrived. Even paper collars have gone out of fashion—if they ever were in. In Germany during the war paper was used for socks, shirts and shoes as well as handkerchiefs and napkins but it could not stand wear and washing. Our sanitary engineers have set us to drinking out of sharp-edged paper cups and we blot our faces instead of wiping them. Twine is spun of paper and furniture made of the twine, a rival of rattan. Cloth and matting woven of paper yarn are being used for burlap and grass in the making of bags and suitcases.

Here, however, we are not so much interested in manufactures of cellulose itself, that is, wood, paper and cotton, as we are in its chemical derivatives. Cellulose, as we can see from the symbol, C_{6}H_{10}O_{5}, is composed of the three elements of carbon, hydrogen and oxygen. These are present in the same proportion as in starch (C_{6}H_{10}O_{5}), while glucose or grape sugar (C_{6}H_{12}O_{6}) has one molecule of water more. But glucose is soluble in cold water and starch is soluble in hot, while cellulose is soluble in neither. Consequently cellulose cannot serve us for food, although some of the vegetarian animals, notably the goat, have a digestive apparatus that can handle it. In Finland and Germany birch wood pulp and straw were used not only as an ingredient of cattle food but also put into war bread. It is not likely, however, that the human stomach even under the pressure of famine is able to get much nutriment out of sawdust. But by digesting with dilute acid sawdust can be transformed into sugars and these by fermentation into alcohol, so it would be possible for a man after he has read his morning paper to get drunk on it.

If the cellulose, instead of being digested a long time in dilute acid, is dipped into a solution of sulfuric acid (50 to 80 per cent.) and then washed and dried it acquires a hard, tough and translucent coating that makes it water-proof and grease-proof. This is the "parchment paper" that has largely replaced sheepskin. Strong alkali has a similar effect to strong acid. In 1844 John Mercer, a Lancashire calico printer, discovered that by passing cotton cloth or yarn through a cold 30 per cent. solution of caustic soda the fiber is shortened and strengthened. For over forty years little attention was paid to this discovery, but when it was found that if the material was stretched so that it could not shrink on drying the twisted ribbons of the cotton fiber were changed into smooth-walled cylinders like silk, the process came into general use and nowadays much that passes for silk is "mercerized" cotton.

Another step was taken when Cross of London discovered that when the mercerized cotton was treated with carbon disulfide it was dissolved to a yellow liquid. This liquid contains the cellulose in solution as a cellulose xanthate and on acidifying or heating the cellulose is recovered in a hydrated form. If this yellow solution of cellulose is squirted out of tubes through extremely minute holes into acidulated water, each tiny stream becomes instantly solidified into a silky thread which may be spun and woven like that ejected from the spinneret of the silkworm. The origin of natural silk, if we think about it, rather detracts from the pleasure of wearing it, and if "he who needlessly sets foot upon a worm" is to be avoided as a friend we must hope that the advance of the artificial silk industry will be rapid enough to relieve us of the necessity of boiling thousands of baby worms in their cradles whenever we want silk stockings.

On a plain rush hurdle a silkworm lay When a proud young princess came that way. The haughty daughter of a lordly king Threw a sidelong glance at the humble thing, Little thinking she walked in pride In the winding sheet where the silkworm died.

But so far we have not reached a stage where we can altogether dispense with the services of the silkworm. The viscose threads made by the process look as well as silk, but they are not so strong, especially when wet.

Besides the viscose method there are several other methods of getting cellulose into solution so that artificial fibers may be made from it. A strong solution of zinc chloride will serve and this process used to be employed for making the threads to be charred into carbon filaments for incandescent bulbs. Cellulose is also soluble in an ammoniacal solution of copper hydroxide. The liquid thus formed is squirted through a fine nozzle into a precipitating solution of caustic soda and glucose, which brings back the cellulose to its original form.

In the chapter on explosives I explained how cellulose treated with nitric acid in the presence of sulfuric acid was nitrated. The cellulose molecule having three hydroxyl (—OH) groups, can take up one, two or three nitrate groups (—ONO_{2}). The higher nitrates are known as guncotton and form the basis of modern dynamite and smokeless powder. The lower nitrates, known as pyroxylin, are less explosive, although still very inflammable. All these nitrates are, like the original cellulose, insoluble in water, but unlike the original cellulose, soluble in a mixture of ether and alcohol. The solution is called collodion and is now in common use to spread a new skin over a wound. The great war might be traced back to Nobel's cut finger. Alfred Nobel was a Swedish chemist—and a pacifist. One day while working in the laboratory he cut his finger, as chemists are apt to do, and, again as chemists are apt to do, he dissolved some guncotton in ether-alcohol and swabbed it on the wound. At this point, however, his conduct diverges from the ordinary, for instead of standing idle, impatiently waving his hand in the air to dry the film as most people, including chemists, are apt to do, he put his mind on it and it occurred to him that this sticky stuff, slowly hardening to an elastic mass, might be just the thing he was hunting as an absorbent and solidifier of nitroglycerin. So instead of throwing away the extra collodion that he had made he mixed it with nitroglycerin and found that it set to a jelly. The "blasting gelatin" thus discovered proved to be so insensitive to shock that it could be safely transported or fired from a cannon. This was the first of the high explosives that have been the chief factor in modern warfare.

But on the whole, collodion has healed more wounds than it has caused besides being of infinite service to mankind otherwise. It has made modern photography possible, for the film we use in the camera and moving picture projector consists of a gelatin coating on a pyroxylin backing. If collodion is forced through fine glass tubes instead of through a slit, it comes out a thread instead of a film. If the collodion jet is run into a vat of cold water the ether and alcohol dissolve; if it is run into a chamber of warm air they evaporate. The thread of nitrated cellulose may be rendered less inflammable by taking out the nitrate groups by treatment with ammonium or calcium sulfide. This restores the original cellulose, but now it is an endless thread of any desired thickness, whereas the native fiber was in size and length adapted to the needs of the cottonseed instead of the needs of man. The old motto, "If you want a thing done the way you want it you must do it yourself," explains why the chemist has been called in to supplement the work of nature in catering to human wants.

Instead of nitric acid we may use strong acetic acid to dissolve the cotton. The resulting cellulose acetates are less inflammable than the nitrates, but they are more brittle and more expensive. Motion picture films made from them can be used in any hall without the necessity of imprisoning the operator in a fire-proof box where if anything happens he can burn up all by himself without disturbing the audience. The cellulose acetates are being used for auto goggles and gas masks as well as for windows in leather curtains and transparent coverings for index cards. A new use that has lately become important is the varnishing of aeroplane wings, as it does not readily absorb water or catch fire and makes the cloth taut and air-tight. Aeroplane wings can be made of cellulose acetate sheets as transparent as those of a dragon-fly and not easy to see against the sky.

The nitrates, sulfates and acetates are the salts or esters of the respective acids, but recently true ethers or oxides of cellulose have been prepared that may prove still better since they contain no acid radicle and are neutral and stable.

These are in brief the chief processes for making what is commonly but quite improperly called "artificial silk." They are not the same substance as silkworm silk and ought not to be—though they sometimes are—sold as such. They are none of them as strong as the silk fiber when wet, although if I should venture to say which of the various makes weakens the most on wetting I should get myself into trouble. I will only say that if you have a grudge against some fisherman give him a fly line of artificial silk, 'most any kind.

The nitrate process was discovered by Count Hilaire de Chardonnet while he was at the Polytechnic School of Paris, and he devoted his life and his fortune trying to perfect it. Samples of the artificial silk were exhibited at the Paris Exposition in 1889 and two years later he started a factory at Basancon. In 1892, Cross and Bevan, English chemists, discovered the viscose or xanthate process, and later the acetate process. But although all four of these processes were invented in France and England, Germany reaped most benefit from the new industry, which was bringing into that country $6,000,000 a year before the war. The largest producer in the world was the Vereinigte Glanzstoff-Fabriken of Elberfeld, which was paying annual dividends of 34 per cent. in 1914.

The raw materials, as may be seen, are cheap and abundant, merely cellulose, salt, sulfur, carbon, air and water. Any kind of cellulose can be used, cotton waste, rags, paper, or even wood pulp. The processes are various, the names of the products are numerous and the uses are innumerable. Even the most inattentive must have noticed the widespread employment of these new forms of cellulose. We can buy from a street barrow for fifteen cents near-silk neckties that look as well as those sold for seventy-five. As for wear—well, they all of them wear till after we get tired of wearing them. Paper "vulcanized" by being run through a 30 per cent. solution of zinc chloride and subjected to hydraulic pressure comes out hard and horny and may be used for trunks and suit cases. Viscose tubes for sausage containers are more sanitary and appetizing than the customary casings. Viscose replaces ramie or cotton in the Welsbach gas mantles. Viscose film, transparent and a thousandth of an inch thick (cellophane), serves for candy wrappers. Cellulose acetate cylinders spun out of larger orifices than silk are trying—not very successfully as yet—to compete with hog's bristles and horsehair. Stir powdered metals into the cellulose solution and you have the Bayko yarn. Bayko (from the manufacturers, Farbenfabriken vorm. Friedr. Bayer and Company) is one of those telescoped names like Socony, Nylic, Fominco, Alco, Ropeco, Ripans, Penn-Yan, Anzac, Dagor, Dora and Cadets, which will be the despair of future philologers.



Soluble cellulose may enable us in time to dispense with the weaver as well as the silkworm. It may by one operation give us fabrics instead of threads. A machine has been invented for manufacturing net and lace, the liquid material being poured on one side of a roller and the fabric being reeled off on the other side. The process seems capable of indefinite extension and application to various sorts of woven, knit and reticulated goods. The raw material is cotton waste and the finished fabric is a good substitute for silk. As in the process of making artificial silk the cellulose is dissolved in a cupro-ammoniacal solution, but instead of being forced out through minute openings to form threads, as in that process, the paste is allowed to flow upon a revolving cylinder which is engraved with the pattern of the desired textile. A scraper removes the excess and the turning of the cylinder brings the paste in the engraved lines down into a bath which solidifies it.

Tulle or net is now what is chiefly being turned out, but the engraved design may be as elaborate and artistic as desired, and various materials can be used. Since the threads wherever they cross are united, the fabric is naturally stronger than the ordinary. It is all of a piece and not composed of parts. In short, we seem to be on the eve of a revolution in textiles that is the same as that taking place in building materials. Our concrete structures, however great, are all one stone. They are not built up out of blocks, but cast as a whole.

Lace has always been the aristocrat among textiles. It has maintained its exclusiveness hitherto by being based upon hand labor. In no other way could one get so much painful, patient toil put into such a light and portable form. A filmy thing twined about a neck or dropping from a wrist represented years of work by poor peasant girls or pallid, unpaid nuns. A visit to a lace factory, even to the public rooms where the wornout women were not to be seen, is enough to make one resolve never to purchase any such thing made by hand again. But our good resolutions do not last long and in time we forget the strained eyes and bowed backs, or, what is worse, value our bit of lace all the more because it means that some poor woman has put her life and health into it, netting and weaving, purling and knotting, twining and twisting, throwing and drawing, thread by thread, day after day, until her eyes can no longer see and her fingers have become stiffened.

But man is not naturally cruel. He does not really enjoy being a slave driver, either of human or animal slaves, although he can be hardened to it with shocking ease if there seems no other way of getting what he wants. So he usually welcomes that Great Liberator, the Machine. He prefers to drive the tireless engine than to whip the straining horses. He had rather see the farmer riding at ease in a mowing machine than bending his back over a scythe.

The Machine is not only the Great Liberator, it is the Great Leveler also. It is the most powerful of the forces for democracy. An aristocracy can hardly be maintained except by distinction in dress, and distinction in dress can only be maintained by sumptuary laws or costliness. Sumptuary laws are unconstitutional in this country, hence the stress laid upon costliness. But machinery tends to bring styles and fabrics within the reach of all. The shopgirl is almost as well dressed on the street as her rich customer. The man who buys ready-made clothing is only a few weeks behind the vanguard of the fashion. There is often no difference perceptible to the ordinary eye between cheap and high-priced clothing once the price tag is off. Jewels as a portable form of concentrated costliness have been in favor from the earliest ages, but now they are losing their factitious value through the advance of invention. Rubies of unprecedented size, not imitation, but genuine rubies, can now be manufactured at reasonable rates. And now we may hope that lace may soon be within the reach of all, not merely lace of the established forms, but new and more varied and intricate and beautiful designs, such as the imagination has been able to conceive, but the hand cannot execute.

Dissolving nitrocellulose in ether and alcohol we get the collodion varnish that we are all familiar with since we have used it on our cut fingers. Spread it on cloth instead of your skin and it makes a very good leather substitute. As we all know to our cost the number of animals to be skinned has not increased so rapidly in recent years as the number of feet to be shod. After having gone barefoot for a million years or so the majority of mankind have decided to wear shoes and this change in fashion comes at a time, roughly speaking, when pasture land is getting scarce. Also there are books to be bound and other new things to be done for which leather is needed. The war has intensified the stringency; so has feminine fashion. The conventions require that the shoe-tops extend nearly to skirt-bottom and this means that an inch or so must be added to the shoe-top every year. Consequent to this rise in leather we have to pay as much for one shoe as we used to pay for a pair.

Here, then, is a chance for Necessity to exercise her maternal function. And she has responded nobly. A progeny of new substances have been brought forth and, what is most encouraging to see, they are no longer trying to worm their way into favor as surreptitious surrogates under the names of "leatheret," "leatherine," "leatheroid" and "leather-this-or-that" but come out boldly under names of their own coinage and declare themselves not an imitation, not even a substitute, but "better than leather." This policy has had the curious result of compelling the cowhide men to take full pages in the magazines to call attention to the forgotten virtues of good old-fashioned sole-leather! There are now upon the market synthetic shoes that a vegetarian could wear with a clear conscience. The soles are made of some rubber composition; the uppers of cellulose fabric (canvas) coated with a cellulose solution such as I have described.

Each firm keeps its own process for such substance a dead secret, but without prying into these we can learn enough to satisfy our legitimate curiosity. The first of the artificial fabrics was the old-fashioned and still indispensable oil-cloth, that is canvas painted or printed with linseed oil carrying the desired pigments. Linseed oil belongs to the class of compounds that the chemist calls "unsaturated" and the psychologist would call "unsatisfied." They take up oxygen from the air and become solid, hence are called the "drying oils," although this does not mean that they lose water, for they have not any to lose. Later, ground cork was mixed with the linseed oil and then it went by its Latin name, "linoleum."

The next step was to cut loose altogether from the natural oils and use for the varnish a solution of some of the cellulose esters, usually the nitrate (pyroxylin or guncotton), more rarely the acetate. As a solvent the ether-alcohol mixture forming collodion was, as we have seen, the first to be employed, but now various other solvents are in use, among them castor oil, methyl alcohol, acetone, and the acetates of amyl or ethyl. Some of these will be recognized as belonging to the fruit essences that we considered in Chapter V, and doubtless most of us have perceived an odor as of over-ripe pears, bananas or apples mysteriously emanating from a newly lacquered radiator. With powdered bronze, imitation gold, aluminum or something of the kind a metallic finish can be put on any surface.

Canvas coated or impregnated with such soluble cellulose gives us new flexible and durable fabrics that have other advantages over leather besides being cheaper and more abundant. Without such material for curtains and cushions the automobile business would have been sorely hampered. It promises to provide us with a book binding that will not crumble to powder in the course of twenty years. Linen collars may be water-proofed and possibly Dame Fashion—being a fickle lady—may some day relent and let us wear such sanitary and economical neckwear. For shoes, purses, belts and the like the cellulose varnish or veneer is usually colored and stamped to resemble the grain of any kind of leather desired, even snake or alligator.

If instead of dissolving the cellulose nitrate and spreading it on fabric we combine it with camphor we get celluloid, a plastic solid capable of innumerable applications. But that is another story and must be reserved for the next chapter.

But before leaving the subject of cellulose proper I must refer back again to its chief source, wood. We inherited from the Indians a well-wooded continent. But the pioneer carried an ax on his shoulder and began using it immediately. For three hundred years the trees have been cut down faster than they could grow, first to clear the land, next for fuel, then for lumber and lastly for paper. Consequently we are within sight of a shortage of wood as we are of coal and oil. But the coal and oil are irrecoverable while the wood may be regrown, though it would require another three hundred years and more to grow some of the trees we have cut down. For fuel a pound of coal is about equal to two pounds of wood, and a pound of gasoline to three pounds of wood in heating value, so there would be a great loss in efficiency and economy if the world had to go back to a wood basis. But when that time shall come, as, of course, it must come some time, the wood will doubtless not be burned in its natural state but will be converted into hydrogen and carbon monoxide in a gas producer or will be distilled in closed ovens giving charcoal and gas and saving the by-products, the tar and acid liquors. As it is now the lumberman wastes two-thirds of every tree he cuts down. The rest is left in the forest as stump and tops or thrown out at the mill as sawdust and slabs. The slabs and other scraps may be used as fuel or worked up into small wood articles like laths and clothes-pins. The sawdust is burned or left to rot. But it is possible, although it may not be profitable, to save all this waste.

In a former chapter I showed the advantages of the introduction of by-product coke-ovens. The same principle applies to wood as to coal. If a cord of wood (128 cubic feet) is subjected to a process of destructive distillation it yields about 50 bushels of charcoal, 11,500 cubic feet of gas, 25 gallons of tar, 10 gallons of crude wood alcohol and 200 pounds of crude acetate of lime. Resinous woods such as pine and fir distilled with steam give turpentine and rosin. The acetate of lime gives acetic acid and acetone. The wood (methyl) alcohol is almost as useful as grain (ethyl) alcohol in arts and industry and has the advantage of killing off those who drink it promptly instead of slowly.

The chemist is an economical soul. He is never content until he has converted every kind of waste product into some kind of profitable by-product. He now has his glittering eye fixed upon the mountains of sawdust that pile up about the lumber mills. He also has a notion that he can beat lumber for some purposes.



VII

SYNTHETIC PLASTICS

In the last chapter I told how Alfred Nobel cut his finger and, daubing it over with collodion, was led to the discovery of high explosive, dynamite. I remarked that the first part of this process—the hurting and the healing of the finger—might happen to anybody but not everybody would be led to discovery thereby. That is true enough, but we must not think that the Swedish chemist was the only observant man in the world. About this same time a young man in Albany, named John Wesley Hyatt, got a sore finger and resorted to the same remedy and was led to as great a discovery. His father was a blacksmith and his education was confined to what he could get at the seminary of Eddytown, New York, before he was sixteen. At that age he set out for the West to make his fortune. He made it, but after a long, hard struggle. His trade of typesetter gave him a living in Illinois, New York or wherever he wanted to go, but he was not content with his wages or his hours. However, he did not strike to reduce his hours or increase his wages. On the contrary, he increased his working time and used it to increase his income. He spent his nights and Sundays in making billiard balls, not at all the sort of thing you would expect of a young man of his Christian name. But working with billiard balls is more profitable than playing with them—though that is not the sort of thing you would expect a man of my surname to say. Hyatt had seen in the papers an offer of a prize of $10,000 for the discovery of a satisfactory substitute for ivory in the making of billiard balls and he set out to get that prize. I don't know whether he ever got it or not, but I have in my hand a newly published circular announcing that Mr. Hyatt has now perfected a process for making billiard balls "better than ivory." Meantime he has turned out several hundred other inventions, many of them much more useful and profitable, but I imagine that he takes less satisfaction in any of them than he does in having solved the problem that he undertook fifty years ago.

The reason for the prize was that the game on the billiard table was getting more popular and the game in the African jungle was getting scarcer, especially elephants having tusks more than 2-7/16 inches in diameter. The raising of elephants is not an industry that promises as quick returns as raising chickens or Belgian hares. To make a ball having exactly the weight, color and resiliency to which billiard players have become accustomed seemed an impossibility. Hyatt tried compressed wood, but while he did not succeed in making billiard balls he did build up a profitable business in stamped checkers and dominoes.

Setting type in the way they did it in the sixties was hard on the hands. And if the skin got worn thin or broken the dirty lead type were liable to infect the fingers. One day in 1863 Hyatt, finding his fingers were getting raw, went to the cupboard where was kept the "liquid cuticle" used by the printers. But when he got there he found it was bare, for the vial had tipped over—you know how easily they tip over—and the collodion had run out and solidified on the shelf. Possibly Hyatt was annoyed, but if so he did not waste time raging around the office to find out who tipped over that bottle. Instead he pulled off from the wood a bit of the dried film as big as his thumb nail and examined it with that "'satiable curtiosity," as Kipling calls it, which is characteristic of the born inventor. He found it tough and elastic and it occurred to him that it might be worth $10,000. It turned out to be worth many times that.

Collodion, as I have explained in previous chapters, is a solution in ether and alcohol of guncotton (otherwise known as pyroxylin or nitrocellulose), which is made by the action of nitric acid on cotton. Hyatt tried mixing the collodion with ivory powder, also using it to cover balls of the necessary weight and solidity, but they did not work very well and besides were explosive. A Colorado saloon keeper wrote in to complain that one of the billiard players had touched a ball with a lighted cigar, which set it off and every man in the room had drawn his gun.

The trouble with the dissolved guncotton was that it could not be molded. It did not swell up and set; it merely dried up and shrunk. When the solvent evaporated it left a wrinkled, shriveled, horny film, satisfactory to the surgeon but not to the man who wanted to make balls and hairpins and knife handles out of it. In England Alexander Parkes began working on the problem in 1855 and stuck to it for ten years before he, or rather his backers, gave up. He tried mixing in various things to stiffen up the pyroxylin. Of these, camphor, which he tried in 1865, worked the best, but since he used castor oil to soften the mass articles made of "parkesine" did not hold up in all weathers.

Another Englishman, Daniel Spill, an associate of Parkes, took up the problem where he had dropped it and turned out a better product, "xylonite," though still sticking to the idea that castor oil was necessary to get the two solids, the guncotton and the camphor, together.

But Hyatt, hearing that camphor could be used and not knowing enough about what others had done to follow their false trails, simply mixed his camphor and guncotton together without any solvent and put the mixture in a hot press. The two solids dissolved one another and when the press was opened there was a clear, solid, homogeneous block of—what he named—"celluloid." The problem was solved and in the simplest imaginable way. Tissue paper, that is, cellulose, is treated with nitric acid in the presence of sulfuric acid. The nitration is not carried so far as to produce the guncotton used in explosives but only far enough to make a soluble nitrocellulose or pyroxylin. This is pulped and mixed with half the quantity of camphor, pressed into cakes and dried. If this mixture is put into steam-heated molds and subjected to hydraulic pressure it takes any desired form. The process remains essentially the same as was worked out by the Hyatt brothers in the factory they set up in Newark in 1872 and some of their original machines are still in use. But this protean plastic takes innumerable forms and almost as many names. Each factory has its own secrets and lays claim to peculiar merits. The fundamental product itself is not patented, so trade names are copyrighted to protect the product. I have already mentioned three, "parkesine," "xylonite" and "celluloid," and I may add, without exhausting the list of species belonging to this genus, "viscoloid," "lithoxyl," "fiberloid," "coraline," "eburite," "pulveroid," "ivorine," "pergamoid," "duroid," "ivortus," "crystalloid," "transparene," "litnoid," "petroid," "pasbosene," "cellonite" and "pyralin."

Celluloid can be given any color or colors by mixing in aniline dyes or metallic pigments. The color may be confined to the surface or to the interior or pervade the whole. If the nitrated tissue paper is bleached the celluloid is transparent or colorless. In that case it is necessary to add an antacid such as urea to prevent its getting yellow or opaque. To make it opaque and less inflammable oxides or chlorides of zinc, aluminum, magnesium, etc., are mixed in.

Without going into the question of their variations and relative merits we may consider the advantages of the pyroxylin plastics in general. Here we have a new substance, the product of the creative genius of man, and therefore adaptable to his needs. It is hard but light, tough but elastic, easily made and tolerably cheap. Heated to the boiling point of water it becomes soft and flexible. It can be turned, carved, ground, polished, bent, pressed, stamped, molded or blown. To make a block of any desired size simply pile up the sheets and put them in a hot press. To get sheets of any desired thickness, simply shave them off the block. To make a tube of any desired size, shape or thickness squirt out the mixture through a ring-shaped hole or roll the sheets around a hot bar. Cut the tube into sections and you have rings to be shaped and stamped into box bodies or napkin rings. Print words or pictures on a celluloid sheet, put a thin transparent sheet over it and weld them together, then you have something like the horn book of our ancestors, but better.

Nowadays such things as celluloid and pyralin can be sold under their own name, but in the early days the artificial plastics, like every new thing, had to resort to camouflage, a very humiliating expedient since in some cases they were better than the material they were forced to imitate. Tortoise shell, for instance, cracks, splits and twists, but a "tortoise shell" comb of celluloid looks as well and lasts better. Horn articles are limited to size of the ceratinous appendages that can be borne on the animal's head, but an imitation of horn can be made of any thickness by wrapping celluloid sheets about a cone. Ivory, which also has a laminated structure, may be imitated by rolling together alternate white opaque and colorless translucent sheets. Some of the sheets are wrinkled in order to produce the knots and irregularities of the grain of natural ivory. Man's chief difficulty in all such work is to imitate the imperfections of nature. His whites are too white, his surfaces are too smooth, his shapes are too regular, his products are too pure.

The precious red coral of the Mediterranean can be perfectly imitated by taking a cast of a coral branch and filling in the mold with celluloid of the same color and hardness. The clear luster of amber, the dead black of ebony, the cloudiness of onyx, the opalescence of alabaster, the glow of carnelian—once confined to the selfish enjoyment of the rich—are now within the reach of every one, thanks to this chameleon material. Mosaics may be multiplied indefinitely by laying together sheets and sticks of celluloid, suitably cut and colored to make up the picture, fusing the mass, and then shaving off thin layers from the end. That chef d'oeuvre of the Venetian glass makers, the Battle of Isus, from the House of the Faun in Pompeii, can be reproduced as fast as the machine can shave them off the block. And the tesserae do not fall out like those you bought on the Rialto.

The process thus does for mosaics, ivory and coral what printing does for pictures. It is a mechanical multiplier and only by such means can we ever attain to a state of democratic luxury. The product, in cases where the imitation is accurate, is equally valuable except to those who delight in thinking that coral insects, Italian craftsmen and elephants have been laboring for years to put a trinket into their hands. The Lord may be trusted to deal with such selfish souls according to their deserts.

But it is very low praise for a synthetic product that it can pass itself off, more or less acceptably, as a natural product. If that is all we could do without it. It must be an improvement in some respects on anything to be found in nature or it does not represent a real advance. So celluloid and its congeners are not confined to the shapes of shell and coral and crystal, or to the grain of ivory and wood and horn, the colors of amber and amethyst and lapis lazuli, but can be given forms and textures and tints that were never known before 1869.

Let me see now, have I mentioned all the uses of celluloid? Oh, no, there are handles for canes, umbrellas, mirrors and brushes, knives, whistles, toys, blown animals, card cases, chains, charms, brooches, badges, bracelets, rings, book bindings, hairpins, campaign buttons, cuff and collar buttons, cuffs, collars and dickies, tags, cups, knobs, paper cutters, picture frames, chessmen, pool balls, ping pong balls, piano keys, dental plates, masks for disfigured faces, penholders, eyeglass frames, goggles, playing cards—and you can carry on the list as far as you like.

Celluloid has its disadvantages. You may mold, you may color the stuff as you will, the scent of the camphor will cling around it still. This is not usually objectionable except where the celluloid is trying to pass itself off for something else, in which case it deserves no sympathy. It is attacked and dissolved by hot acids and alkalies. It softens up when heated, which is handy in shaping it though not so desirable afterward. But the worst of its failings is its combustibility. It is not explosive, but it takes fire from a flame and burns furiously with clouds of black smoke.

But celluloid is only one of many plastic substances that have been introduced to the present generation. A new and important group of them is now being opened up, the so-called "condensation products." If you will take down any old volume of chemical research you will find occasionally words to this effect: "The reaction resulted in nothing but an insoluble resin which was not further investigated." Such a passage would be marked with a tear if chemists were given to crying over their failures. For it is the epitaph of a buried hope. It likely meant the loss of months of labor. The reason the chemist did not do anything further with the gummy stuff that stuck up his test tube was because he did not know what to do with it. It could not be dissolved, it could not be crystallized, it could not be distilled, therefore it could not be purified, analyzed and identified.

What had happened was in most cases this. The molecule of the compound that the chemist was trying to make had combined with others of its kind to form a molecule too big to be managed by such means. Financiers call the process a "merger." Chemists call it "polymerization." The resin was a molecular trust, indissoluble, uncontrollable and contaminating everything it touched.

But chemists—like governments—have learned wisdom in recent years. They have not yet discovered in all cases how to undo the process of polymerization, or, if you prefer the financial phrase, how to unscramble the eggs. But they have found that these molecular mergers are very useful things in their way. For instance there is a liquid known as isoprene (C{5}H{8}). This on heating or standing turns into a gum, that is nothing less than rubber, which is some multiple of C{5}H{8}.

For another instance there is formaldehyde, an acrid smelling gas, used as a disinfectant. This has the simplest possible formula for a carbohydrate, CH{2}O. But in the leaf of a plant this molecule multiplies itself by six and turns into a sweet solid glucose (C{6}H{12}O{6}), or with the loss of water into starch (C{6}H{10}O{5}) or cellulose (C{6}H{10}O{5}).

But formaldehyde is so insatiate that it not only combines with itself but seizes upon other substances, particularly those having an acquisitive nature like its own. Such a substance is carbolic acid (phenol) which, as we all know, is used as a disinfectant like formaldehyde because it, too, has the power of attacking decomposable organic matter. Now Prof. Adolf von Baeyer discovered in 1872 that when phenol and formaldehyde were brought into contact they seized upon one another and formed a combine of unusual tenacity, that is, a resin. But as I have said, chemists in those days were shy of resins. Kleeberg in 1891 tried to make something out of it and W.H. Story in 1895 went so far as to name the product "resinite," but nothing came of it until 1909 when L.H. Baekeland undertook a serious and systematic study of this reaction in New York. Baekeland was a Belgian chemist, born at Ghent in 1863 and professor at Bruges. While a student at Ghent he took up photography as a hobby and began to work on the problem of doing away with the dark-room by producing a printing paper that could be developed under ordinary light. When he came over to America in 1889 he brought his idea with him and four years later turned out "Velox," with which doubtless the reader is familiar. Velox was never patented because, as Dr. Baekeland explained in his speech of acceptance of the Perkin medal from the chemists of America, lawsuits are too expensive. Manufacturers seem to be coming generally to the opinion that a synthetic name copyrighted as a trademark affords better protection than a patent.

Later Dr. Baekeland turned his attention to the phenol condensation products, working gradually up from test tubes to ton vats according to his motto: "Make your mistakes on a small scale and your profits on a large scale." He found that when equal weights of phenol and formaldehyde were mixed and warmed in the presence of an alkaline catalytic agent the solution separated into two layers, the upper aqueous and the lower a resinous precipitate. This resin was soft, viscous and soluble in alcohol or acetone. But if it was heated under pressure it changed into another and a new kind of resin that was hard, inelastic, unplastic, infusible and insoluble. The chemical name of this product is "polymerized oxybenzyl methylene glycol anhydride," but nobody calls it that, not even chemists. It is called "Bakelite" after its inventor.

The two stages in its preparation are convenient in many ways. For instance, porous wood may be soaked in the soft resin and then by heat and pressure it is changed to the bakelite form and the wood comes out with a hard finish that may be given the brilliant polish of Japanese lacquer. Paper, cardboard, cloth, wood pulp, sawdust, asbestos and the like may be impregnated with the resin, producing tough and hard material suitable for various purposes. Brass work painted with it and then baked at 300 deg. F. acquires a lacquered surface that is unaffected by soap. Forced in powder or sheet form into molds under a pressure of 1200 to 2000 pounds to the square inch it takes the most delicate impressions. Billiard balls of bakelite are claimed to be better than ivory because, having no grain, they do not swell unequally with heat and humidity and so lose their sphericity. Pipestems and beads of bakelite have the clear brilliancy of amber and greater strength. Fountain pens made of it are transparent so you can see how much ink you have left. A new and enlarging field for bakelite and allied products is the making of noiseless gears for automobiles and other machinery, also of air-plane propellers.

Celluloid is more plastic and elastic than bakelite. It is therefore more easily worked in sheets and small objects. Celluloid can be made perfectly transparent and colorless while bakelite is confined to the range between a clear amber and an opaque brown or black. On the other hand bakelite has the advantage in being tasteless, odorless, inert, insoluble and non-inflammable. This last quality and its high electrical resistance give bakelite its chief field of usefulness. Electricity was discovered by the Greeks, who found that amber (electron) when rubbed would pick up straws. This means simply that amber, like all such resinous substances, natural or artificial, is a non-conductor or di-electric and does not carry off and scatter the electricity collected on the surface by the friction. Bakelite is used in its liquid form for impregnating coils to keep the wires from shortcircuiting and in its solid form for commutators, magnetos, switch blocks, distributors, and all sorts of electrical apparatus for automobiles, telephones, wireless telegraphy, electric lighting, etc.

Bakelite, however, is only one of an indefinite number of such condensation products. As Baeyer said long ago: "It seems that all the aldehydes will, under suitable circumstances, unite with the aromatic hydrocarbons to form resins." So instead of phenol, other coal tar products such as cresol, naphthol or benzene itself may be used. The carbon links (-CH_{2}-, methylene) necessary to hook these carbon rings together may be obtained from other substances than the aldehydes, for instance from the amines, or ammonia derivatives. Three chemists, L.V. Kedman, A.J. Weith and F.P. Broek, working in 1910 on the Industrial Fellowships of the late Robert Kennedy Duncan at the University of Kansas, developed a process using formin instead of formaldehyde. Formin—or, if you insist upon its full name, hexa-methylene-tetramine—is a sugar-like substance with a fish-like smell. This mixed with crystallized carbolic acid and slightly warmed melts to a golden liquid that sets on pouring into molds. It is still plastic and can be bent into any desired shape, but on further heating it becomes hard without the need of pressure. Ammonia is given off in this process instead of water which is the by-product in the case of formaldehyde. The product is similar to bakelite, exactly how similar is a question that the courts will have to decide. The inventors threatened to call it Phenyl-endeka-saligeno-saligenin, but, rightly fearing that this would interfere with its salability, they have named it "redmanol."

A phenolic condensation product closely related to bakelite and redmanol is condensite, the invention of Jonas Walter Aylesworth. Aylesworth was trained in what he referred to as "the greatest university of the world, the Edison laboratory." He entered this university at the age of nineteen at a salary of $3 a week, but Edison soon found that he had in his new boy an assistant who could stand being shut up in the laboratory working day and night as long as he could. After nine years of close association with Edison he set up a little laboratory in his own back yard to work out new plastics. He found that by acting on naphthalene—the moth-ball stuff—with chlorine he got a series of useful products called "halowaxes." The lower chlorinated products are oils, which may be used for impregnating paper or soft wood, making it non-inflammable and impregnable to water. If four atoms of chlorine enter the naphthalene molecule the product is a hard wax that rings like a metal.

Condensite is anhydrous and infusible, and like its rivals finds its chief employment in the insulation parts of electrical apparatus. The records of the Edison phonograph are made of it. So are the buttons of our blue-jackets. The Government at the outbreak of the war ordered 40,000 goggles in condensite frames to protect the eyes of our gunners from the glare and acid fumes.

The various synthetics played an important part in the war. According to an ancient military pun the endurance of soldiers depends upon the strength of their soles. The new compound rubber soles were found useful in our army and the Germans attribute their success in making a little leather go a long way during the late war to the use of a new synthetic tanning material known as "neradol." There are various forms of this. Some are phenolic condensation products of formaldehyde like those we have been considering, but some use coal-tar compounds having no phenol groups, such as naphthalene sulfonic acid. These are now being made in England under such names as "paradol," "cresyntan" and "syntan." They have the advantage of the natural tannins such as bark in that they are of known strength and can be varied to suit.

This very grasping compound, formaldehyde, will attack almost anything, even molecules many times its size. Gelatinous and albuminous substances of all sorts are solidified by it. Glue, skimmed milk, blood, eggs, yeast, brewer's slops, may by this magic agent be rescued from waste and reappear in our buttons, hairpins, roofing, phonographs, shoes or shoe-polish. The French have made great use of casein hardened by formaldehyde into what is known as "galalith" (i.e., milkstone). This is harder than celluloid and non-inflammable, but has the disadvantages of being more brittle and of absorbing moisture. A mixture of casein and celluloid has something of the merits of both.

The Japanese, as we should expect, are using the juice of the soy bean, familiar as a condiment to all who patronize chop-sueys or use Worcestershire sauce. The soy glucine coagulated by formalin gives a plastic said to be better and cheaper than celluloid. Its inventor, S. Sato, of Sendai University, has named it, according to American precedent, "Satolite," and has organized a million-dollar Satolite Company at Mukojima.

The algin extracted from the Pacific kelp can be used as a rubber surrogate for water-proofing cloth. When combined with heavier alkaline bases it forms a tough and elastic substance that can be rolled into transparent sheets like celluloid or turned into buttons and knife handles.

In Australia when the war shut off the supply of tin the Government commission appointed to devise means of preserving fruits recommended the use of cardboard containers varnished with "magramite." This is a name the Australians coined for synthetic resin made from phenol and formaldehyde like bakelite. Magramite dissolved in alcohol is painted on the cardboard cans and when these are stoved the coating becomes insoluble.

Tarasoff has made a series of condensation products from phenol and formaldehyde with the addition of sulfonated oils. These are formed by the action of sulfuric acid on coconut, castor, cottonseed or mineral oils. The products of this combination are white plastics, opaque, insoluble and infusible.

Since I am here chiefly concerned with "Creative Chemistry," that is, with the art of making substances not found in nature, I have not spoken of shellac, asphaltum, rosin, ozocerite and the innumerable gums, resins and waxes, animal, mineral and vegetable, that are used either by themselves or in combination with the synthetics. What particular "dope" or "mud" is used to coat a canvas or form a telephone receiver is often hard to find out. The manufacturer finds secrecy safer than the patent office and the chemist of a rival establishment is apt to be baffled in his attempt to analyze and imitate. But we of the outside world are not concerned with this, though we are interested in the manifold applications of these new materials.

There seems to be no limit to these compounds and every week the journals report new processes and patents. But we must not allow the new ones to crowd out the remembrance of the oldest and most famous of the synthetic plasters, hard rubber, to which a separate chapter must be devoted.



VIII

THE RACE FOR RUBBER

There is one law that regulates all animate and inanimate things. It is formulated in various ways, for instance:

Running down a hill is easy. In Latin it reads, facilis descensus Averni. Herbert Spencer calls it the dissolution of definite coherent heterogeneity into indefinite incoherent homogeneity. Mother Goose expresses it in the fable of Humpty Dumpty, and the business man extracts the moral as, "You can't unscramble an egg." The theologian calls it the dogma of natural depravity. The physicist calls it the second law of thermodynamics. Clausius formulates it as "The entropy of the world tends toward a maximum." It is easier to smash up than to build up. Children find that this is true of their toys; the Bolsheviki have found that it is true of a civilization. So, too, the chemist knows analysis is easier than synthesis and that creative chemistry is the highest branch of his art.

This explains why chemists discovered how to take rubber apart over sixty years before they could find out how to put it together. The first is easy. Just put some raw rubber into a retort and heat it. If you can stand the odor you will observe the caoutchouc decomposing and a benzine-like liquid distilling over. This is called "isoprene." Any Freshman chemist could write the reaction for this operation. It is simply

C{10}H{16} —> 2C{5}H{8} caoutchouc isoprene

That is, one molecule of the gum splits up into two molecules of the liquid. It is just as easy to write the reaction in the reverse directions, as 2 isoprene—> 1 caoutchouc, but nobody could make it go in that direction. Yet it could be done. It had been done. But the man who did it did not know how he did it and could not do it again. Professor Tilden in May, 1892, read a paper before the Birmingham Philosophical Society in which he said:

I was surprised a few weeks ago at finding the contents of the bottles containing isoprene from turpentine entirely changed in appearance. In place of a limpid, colorless liquid the bottles contained a dense syrup in which were floating several large masses of a yellowish color. Upon examination this turned out to be India rubber.

But neither Professor Tilden nor any one else could repeat this accidental metamorphosis. It was tantalizing, for the world was willing to pay $2,000,000,000 a year for rubber and the forests of the Amazon and Congo were failing to meet the demand. A large share of these millions would have gone to any chemist who could find out how to make synthetic rubber and make it cheaply enough. With such a reward of fame and fortune the competition among chemists was intense. It took the form of an international contest in which England and Germany were neck and neck.



The English, who had been beaten by the Germans in the dye business where they had the start, were determined not to lose in this. Prof. W.H. Perkin, of Manchester University, was one of the most eager, for he was inspired by a personal grudge against the Germans as well as by patriotism and scientific zeal. It was his father who had, fifty years before, discovered mauve, the first of the anilin dyes, but England could not hold the business and its rich rewards went over to Germany. So in 1909 a corps of chemists set to work under Professor Perkin in the Manchester laboratories to solve the problem of synthetic rubber. What reagent could be found that would reverse the reaction and convert the liquid isoprene into the solid rubber? It was discovered, by accident, we may say, but it should be understood that such advantageous accidents happen only to those who are working for them and know how to utilize them. In July, 1910, Dr. Matthews, who had charge of the research, set some isoprene to drying over metallic sodium, a common laboratory method of freeing a liquid from the last traces of water. In September he found that the flask was filled with a solid mass of real rubber instead of the volatile colorless liquid he had put into it.

Twenty years before the discovery would have been useless, for sodium was then a rare and costly metal, a little of it in a sealed glass tube being passed around the chemistry class once a year as a curiosity, or a tiny bit cut off and dropped in water to see what a fuss it made. But nowadays metallic sodium is cheaply produced by the aid of electricity. The difficulty lay rather in the cost of the raw material, isoprene. In industrial chemistry it is not sufficient that a thing can be made; it must be made to pay. Isoprene could be obtained from turpentine, but this was too expensive and limited in supply. It would merely mean the destruction of pine forests instead of rubber forests. Starch was finally decided upon as the best material, since this can be obtained for about a cent a pound from potatoes, corn and many other sources. Here, however, the chemist came to the end of his rope and had to call the bacteriologist to his aid. The splitting of the starch molecule is too big a job for man; only the lower organisms, the yeast plant, for example, know enough to do that. Owing perhaps to the entente cordiale a French biologist was called into the combination, Professor Fernbach, of the Pasteur Institute, and after eighteen months' hard work he discovered a process of fermentation by which a large amount of fusel oil can be obtained from any starchy stuff. Hitherto the aim in fermentation and distillation had been to obtain as small a proportion of fusel as possible, for fusel oil is a mixture of the heavier alcohols, all of them more poisonous and malodorous than common alcohol. But here, as has often happened in the history of industrial chemistry, the by-product turned out to be more valuable than the product. From fusel oil by the use of chlorine isoprene can be prepared, so the chain was complete.

But meanwhile the Germans had been making equal progress. In 1905 Prof. Karl Harries, of Berlin, found out the name of the caoutchouc molecule. This discovery was to the chemists what the architect's plan of a house is to the builder. They knew then what they were trying to construct and could go about their task intelligently.

Mark Twain said that he could understand something about how astronomers could measure the distance of the planets, calculate their weights and so forth, but he never could see how they could find out their names even with the largest telescopes. This is a joke in astronomy but it is not in chemistry. For when the chemist finds out the structure of a compound he gives it a name which means that. The stuff came to be called "caoutchouc," because that was the way the Spaniards of Columbus's time caught the Indian word "cahuchu." When Dr. Priestley called it "India rubber" he told merely where it came from and what it was good for. But when Harries named it "1-5-dimethyl-cyclo-octadien-1-5" any chemist could draw a picture of it and give a guess as to how it could be made. Even a person without any knowledge of chemistry can get the main point of it by merely looking at this diagram:

C C C -C C C C C C C > C C C C C C C C C -C



I have dropped the 16 H's or hydrogen atoms of the formula for simplicity's sake. They simply hook on wherever they can. You will see that the isoprene consists of a chain of four carbon atoms (represented by the C's) with an extra carbon on the side. In the transformation of this colorless liquid into soft rubber two of the double linkages break and so permit the two chains of 4 C's to unite to form one ring of eight. If you have ever played ring-around-a-rosy you will get the idea. In Chapter IV I explained that the anilin dyes are built up upon the benzene ring of six carbon atoms. The rubber ring consists of eight at least and probably more. Any substance containing that peculiar carbon chain with two double links CC-CC can double up—polymerize, the chemist calls it—into a rubber-like substance. So we may have many kinds of rubber, some of which may prove to be more useful than that which happens to be found in nature.

With the structural formula of Harries as a clue chemists all over the world plunged into the problem with renewed hope. The famous Bayer dye works at Elberfeld took it up and there in August, 1909, Dr. Fritz Hofmann worked out a process for the converting of pure isoprene into rubber by heat. Then in 1910 Harries happened upon the same sodium reaction as Matthews, but when he came to get it patented he found that the Englishman had beaten him to the patent office by a few weeks.

This Anglo-German rivalry came to a dramatic climax in 1912 at the great hall of the College of the City of New York when Dr. Carl Duisberg, of the Elberfeld factory, delivered an address on the latest achievements of the chemical industry before the Eighth—and the last for a long time—International Congress of Applied Chemistry. Duisberg insisted upon talking in German, although more of his auditors would have understood him in English. He laid full emphasis upon German achievements and cast doubt upon the claim of "the Englishman Tilden" to have prepared artificial rubber in the eighties. Perkin, of Manchester, confronted him with his new process for making rubber from potatoes, but Duisberg countered by proudly displaying two automobile tires made of synthetic rubber with which he had made a thousand-mile run.

The intense antagonism between the British and German chemists at this congress was felt by all present, but we did not foresee that in two years from that date they would be engaged in manufacturing poison gas to fire at one another. It was, however, realized that more was at stake than personal reputation and national prestige. Under pressure of the new demand for automobiles the price of rubber jumped from $1.25 to $3 a pound in 1910, and millions had been invested in plantations. If Professor Perkin was right when he told the congress that by his process rubber could be made for less than 25 cents a pound it meant that these plantations would go the way of the indigo plantations when the Germans succeeded in making artificial indigo. If Dr. Duisberg was right when he told the congress that synthetic rubber would "certainly appear on the market in a very short time," it meant that Germany in war or peace would become independent of Brazil in the matter of rubber as she had become independent of Chile in the matter of nitrates.

As it turned out both scientists were too sanguine. Synthetic rubber has not proved capable of displacing natural rubber by underbidding it nor even of replacing natural rubber when this is shut out. When Germany was blockaded and the success of her armies depended on rubber, price was no object. Three Danish sailors who were caught by United States officials trying to smuggle dental rubber into Germany confessed that they had been selling it there for gas masks at $73 a pound. The German gas masks in the latter part of the war were made without rubber and were frail and leaky. They could not have withstood the new gases which American chemists were preparing on an unprecedented scale. Every scrap of old rubber in Germany was saved and worked over and over and diluted with fillers and surrogates to the limit of elasticity. Spring tires were substituted for pneumatics. So it is evident that the supply of synthetic rubber could not have been adequate or satisfactory. Neither, on the other hand, have the British made a success of the Perkin process, although they spent $200,000 on it in the first two years. But, of course, there was not the same necessity for it as in the case of Germany, for England had practically a monopoly of the world's supply of natural rubber either through owning plantations or controlling shipping. If rubber could not be manufactured profitably in Germany when the demand was imperative and price no consideration it can hardly be expected to compete with the natural under peace conditions.

The problem of synthetic rubber has then been solved scientifically but not industrially. It can be made but cannot be made to pay. The difficulty is to find a cheap enough material to start with. We can make rubber out of potatoes—but potatoes have other uses. It would require more land and more valuable land to raise the potatoes than to raise the rubber. We can get isoprene by the distillation of turpentine—but why not bleed a rubber tree as well as a pine tree? Turpentine is neither cheap nor abundant enough. Any kind of wood, sawdust for instance, can be utilized by converting the cellulose over into sugar and fermenting this to alcohol, but the process is not likely to prove profitable. Petroleum when cracked up to make gasoline gives isoprene or other double-bond compounds that go over into some form of rubber.

But the most interesting and most promising of all is the complete inorganic synthesis that dispenses with the aid of vegetation and starts with coal and lime. These heated together in the electric furnace form calcium carbide and this, as every automobilist knows, gives acetylene by contact with water. From this gas isoprene can be made and the isoprene converted into rubber by sodium, or acid or alkali or simple heating. Acetone, which is also made from acetylene, can be converted directly into rubber by fuming sulfuric acid. This seems to have been the process chiefly used by the Germans during the war. Several carbide factories were devoted to it. But the intermediate and by-products of the process, such as alcohol, acetic acid and acetone, were in as much demand for war purposes as rubber. The Germans made some rubber from pitch imported from Sweden. They also found a useful substitute in aluminum naphthenate made from Baku petroleum, for it is elastic and plastic and can be vulcanized.

So although rubber can be made in many different ways it is not profitable to make it in any of them. We have to rely still upon the natural product, but we can greatly improve upon the way nature produces it. When the call came for more rubber for the electrical and automobile industries the first attempt to increase the supply was to put pressure upon the natives to bring in more of the latex. As a consequence the trees were bled to death and sometimes also the natives. The Belgian atrocities in the Congo shocked the civilized world and at Putumayo on the upper Amazon the same cause produced the same horrible effects. But no matter what cruelty was practiced the tropical forests could not be made to yield a sufficient increase, so the cultivation of the rubber was begun by far-sighted men in Dutch Java, Sumatra and Borneo and in British Malaya and Ceylon.

Brazil, feeling secure in the possession of a natural monopoly, made no effort to compete with these parvenus. It cost about as much to gather rubber from the Amazon forests as it did to raise it on a Malay plantation, that is, 25 cents a pound. The Brazilian Government clapped on another 25 cents export duty and spent the money lavishly. In 1911 the treasury of Para took in $2,000,000 from the rubber tax and a good share of the money was spent on a magnificent new theater at Manaos—not on setting out rubber trees. The result of this rivalry between the collector and the cultivator is shown by the fact that in the decade 1907-1917 the world's output of plantation rubber increased from 1000 to 204,000 tons, while the output of wild rubber decreased from 68,000 to 53,000. Besides this the plantation rubber is a cleaner and more even product, carefully coagulated by acetic acid instead of being smoked over a forest fire. It comes in pale yellow sheets instead of big black balls loaded with the dirt or sticks and stones that the honest Indian sometimes adds to make a bigger lump. What's better, the man who milks the rubber trees on a plantation may live at home where he can be decently looked after. The agriculturist and the chemist may do what the philanthropist and statesman could not accomplish: put an end to the cruelties involved in the international struggle for "black gold."

The United States uses three-fourths of the world's rubber output and grows none of it. What is the use of tropical possessions if we do not make use of them? The Philippines could grow all our rubber and keep a $300,000,000 business under our flag. Santo Domingo, where rubber was first discovered, is now under our supervision and could be enriched by the industry. The Guianas, where the rubber tree was first studied, might be purchased. It is chiefly for lack of a definite colonial policy that our rubber industry, by far the largest in the world, has to be dependent upon foreign sources for all its raw materials. Because the Philippines are likely to be cast off at any moment, American manufacturers are placing their plantations in the Dutch or British possessions. The Goodyear Company has secured a concession of 20,000 acres near Medan in Dutch Sumatra.

While the United States is planning to relinquish its Pacific possessions the British have more than doubled their holdings in New Guinea by the acquisition of Kaiser Wilhelm's Land, good rubber country. The British Malay States in 1917 exported over $118,000,000 worth of plantation-grown rubber and could have sold more if shipping had not been short and production restricted. Fully 90 per cent. of the cultivated rubber is now grown in British colonies or on British plantations in the Dutch East Indies. To protect this monopoly an act has been passed preventing foreigners from buying more land in the Malay Peninsula. The Japanese have acquired there 50,000 acres, on which they are growing more than a million dollars' worth of rubber a year. The British Tropical Life says of the American invasion: "As America is so extremely wealthy Uncle Sam can well afford to continue to buy our rubber as he has been doing instead of coming in to produce rubber to reduce his competition as a buyer in the world's market." The Malaya estates calculate to pay a dividend of 20 per cent. on the investment with rubber selling at 30 cents a pound and every two cents additional on the price brings a further 3-1/2 per cent. dividend. The output is restricted by the Rubber Growers' Association so as to keep the price up to 50-70 cents. When the plantations first came into bearing in 1910 rubber was bringing nearly $3 a pound, and since it can be produced at less than 30 cents a pound we can imagine the profits of the early birds.

The fact that the world's rubber trade was in the control of Great Britain caused America great anxiety and financial loss in the early part of the war when the British Government, suspecting—not without reason—that some American rubber goods were getting into Germany through neutral nations, suddenly shut off our supply. This threatened to kill the fourth largest of our industries and it was only by the submission of American rubber dealers to the closest supervision and restriction by the British authorities that they were allowed to continue their business. Sir Francis Hopwood, in laying down these regulations, gave emphatic warning "that in case any manufacturer, importer or dealer came under suspicion his permits should be immediately revoked. Reinstatement will be slow and difficult. The British Government will cancel first and investigate afterward." Of course the British had a right to say under what conditions they should sell their rubber and we cannot blame them for taking such precautions to prevent its getting to their enemies, but it placed the United States in a humiliating position and if we had not been in sympathy with their side it would have aroused more resentment than it did. But it made evident the desirability of having at least part of our supply under our own control and, if possible, within our own country. Rubber is not rare in nature, for it is contained in almost every milky juice. Every country boy knows that he can get a self-feeding mucilage brush by cutting off a milkweed stalk. The only native source so far utilized is the guayule, which grows wild on the deserts of the Mexican and the American border. The plant was discovered in 1852 by Dr. J.M. Bigelow near Escondido Creek, Texas. Professor Asa Gray described it and named it Parthenium argentatum, or the silver Pallas. When chopped up and macerated guayule gives a satisfactory quality of caoutchouc in profitable amounts. In 1911 seven thousand tons of guayule were imported from Mexico; in 1917 only seventeen hundred tons. Why this falling off? Because the eager exploiters had killed the goose that laid the golden egg, or in plain language, pulled up the plant by the roots. Now guayule is being cultivated and is reaped instead of being uprooted. Experiments at the Tucson laboratory have recently removed the difficulty of getting the seed to germinate under cultivation. This seems the most promising of the home-grown plants and, until artificial rubber can be made profitable, gives us the only chance of being in part independent of oversea supply.

There are various other gums found in nature that can for some purposes be substituted for caoutchouc. Gutta percha, for instance, is pliable and tough though not very elastic. It becomes plastic by heat so it can be molded, but unlike rubber it cannot be hardened by heating with sulfur. A lump of gutta percha was brought from Java in 1766 and placed in a British museum, where it lay for nearly a hundred years before it occurred to anybody to do anything with it except to look at it. But a German electrician, Siemens, discovered in 1847 that gutta percha was valuable for insulating telegraph lines and it found extensive employment in submarine cables as well as for golf balls, and the like.

Balata, which is found in the forests of the Guianas, is between gutta percha and rubber, not so good for insulation but useful for shoe soles and machine belts. The bark of the tree is so thick that the latex does not run off like caoutchouc when the bark is cut. So the bark has to be cut off and squeezed in hand presses. Formerly this meant cutting down the tree, but now alternate strips of the bark are cut off and squeezed so the tree continues to live.

When Columbus discovered Santo Domingo he found the natives playing with balls made from the gum of the caoutchouc tree. The soldiers of Pizarro, when they conquered Inca-Land, adopted the Peruvian custom of smearing caoutchouc over their coats to keep out the rain. A French scientist, M. de la Condamine, who went to South America to measure the earth, came back in 1745 with some specimens of caoutchouc from Para as well as quinine from Peru. The vessel on which he returned, the brig Minerva, had a narrow escape from capture by an English cruiser, for Great Britain was jealous of any trespassing on her American sphere of influence. The Old World need not have waited for the discovery of the New, for the rubber tree grows wild in Annam as well as Brazil, but none of the Asiatics seems to have discovered any of the many uses of the juice that exudes from breaks in the bark.

The first practical use that was made of it gave it the name that has stuck to it in English ever since. Magellan announced in 1772 that it was good to remove pencil marks. A lump of it was sent over from France to Priestley, the clergyman chemist who discovered oxygen and was mobbed out of Manchester for being a republican and took refuge in Pennsylvania. He cut the lump into little cubes and gave them to his friends to eradicate their mistakes in writing or figuring. Then they asked him what the queer things were and he said that they were "India rubbers."



The Peruvian natives had used caoutchouc for water-proof clothing, shoes, bottles and syringes, but Europe was slow to take it up, for the stuff was too sticky and smelled too bad in hot weather to become fashionable in fastidious circles. In 1825 Mackintosh made his name immortal by putting a layer of rubber between two cloths.

A German chemist, Ludersdorf, discovered in 1832 that the gum could be hardened by treating it with sulfur dissolved in turpentine. But it was left to a Yankee inventor, Charles Goodyear, of Connecticut, to work out a practical solution of the problem. A friend of his, Hayward, told him that it had been revealed to him in a dream that sulfur would harden rubber, but unfortunately the angel or defunct chemist who inspired the vision failed to reveal the details of the process. So Hayward sold out his dream to Goodyear, who spent all his own money and all he could borrow from his friends trying to convert it into a reality. He worked for ten years on the problem before the "lucky accident" came to him. One day in 1839 he happened to drop on the hot stove of the kitchen that he used as a laboratory a mixture of caoutchouc and sulfur. To his surprise he saw the two substances fuse together into something new. Instead of the soft, tacky gum and the yellow, brittle brimstone he had the tough, stable, elastic solid that has done so much since to make our footing and wheeling safe, swift and noiseless. The gumshoes or galoshes that he was then enabled to make still go by the name of "rubbers" in this country, although we do not use them for pencil erasers.

Goodyear found that he could vary this "vulcanized rubber" at will. By adding a little more sulfur he got a hard substance which, however, could be softened by heat so as to be molded into any form wanted. Out of this "hard rubber" "vulcanite" or "ebonite" were made combs, hairpins, penholders and the like, and it has not yet been superseded for some purposes by any of its recent rivals, the synthetic resins.

The new form of rubber made by the Germans, methyl rubber, is said to be a superior substitute for the hard variety but not satisfactory for the soft. The electrical resistance of the synthetic product is 20 per cent, higher than the natural, so it is excellent for insulation, but it is inferior in elasticity. In the latter part of the war the methyl rubber was manufactured at the rate of 165 tons a month.

The first pneumatic tires, known then as "patent aerial wheels," were invented by Robert William Thomson of London in 1846. On the following year a carriage equipped with them was seen in the streets of New York City. But the pneumatic tire did not come into use until after 1888, when an Irish horse-doctor, John Boyd Dunlop, of Belfast, tied a rubber tube around the wheels of his little son's velocipede. Within seven years after that a $25,000,000 corporation was manufacturing Dunlop tires. Later America took the lead in this business. In 1913 the United States exported $3,000,000 worth of tires and tubes. In 1917 the American exports rose to $13,000,000, not counting what went to the Allies. The number of pneumatic tires sold in 1917 is estimated at 18,000,000, which at an average cost of $25 would amount to $450,000,000.

No matter how much synthetic rubber may be manufactured or how many rubber trees are set out there is no danger of glutting the market, for as the price falls the uses of rubber become more numerous. One can think of a thousand ways in which rubber could be used if it were only cheap enough. In the form of pads and springs and tires it would do much to render traffic noiseless. Even the elevated railroad and the subway might be opened to conversation, and the city made habitable for mild voiced and gentle folk. It would make one's step sure, noiseless and springy, whether it was used individualistically as rubber heels or collectivistically as carpeting and paving. In roofing and siding and paint it would make our buildings warmer and more durable. It would reduce the cost and permit the extension of electrical appliances of almost all kinds. In short, there is hardly any other material whose abundance would contribute more to our comfort and convenience. Noise is an automatic alarm indicating lost motion and wasted energy. Silence is economy and resiliency is superior to resistance. A gumshoe outlasts a hobnailed sole and a rubber tube full of air is better than a steel tire.



IX

THE RIVAL SUGARS

The ancient Greeks, being an inquisitive and acquisitive people, were fond of collecting tales of strange lands. They did not care much whether the stories were true or not so long as they were interesting. Among the marvels that the Greeks heard from the Far East two of the strangest were that in India there were plants that bore wool without sheep and reeds that bore honey without bees. These incredible tales turned out to be true and in the course of time Europe began to get a little calico from Calicut and a kind of edible gravel that the Arabs who brought it called "sukkar." But of course only kings and queens could afford to dress in calico and have sugar prescribed for them when they were sick.

Fortunately, however, in the course of time the Arabs invaded Spain and forced upon the unwilling inhabitants of Europe such instrumentalities of higher civilization as arithmetic and algebra, soap and sugar. Later the Spaniards by an act of equally unwarranted and beneficent aggression carried the sugar cane to the Caribbean, where it thrived amazingly. The West Indies then became a rival of the East Indies as a treasure-house of tropical wealth and for several centuries the Spanish, Portuguese, Dutch, English, Danes and French fought like wildcats to gain possession of this little nest of islands and the routes leading thereunto.

The English finally overcame all these enemies, whether they fought her singly or combined. Great Britain became mistress of the seas and took such Caribbean lands as she wanted. But in the end her continental foes came out ahead, for they rendered her victory valueless. They were defeated in geography but they won in chemistry. Canning boasted that "the New World had been called into existence to redress the balance of the Old." Napoleon might have boasted that he had called in the sugar beet to balance the sugar cane. France was then, as Germany was a century later, threatening to dominate the world. England, then as in the Great War, shut off from the seas the shipping of the aggressive power. France then, like Germany later, felt most keenly the lack of tropical products, chief among which, then but not in the recent crisis, was sugar. The cause of this vital change is that in 1747 Marggraf, a Berlin chemist, discovered that it was possible to extract sugar from beets. There was only a little sugar in the beet root then, some six per cent., and what he got out was dirty and bitter. One of his pupils in 1801 set up a beet sugar factory near Breslau under the patronage of the King of Prussia, but the industry was not a success until Napoleon took it up and in 1810 offered a prize of a million francs for a practical process. How the French did make fun of him for this crazy notion! In a comic paper of that day you will find a cartoon of Napoleon in the nursery beside the cradle of his son and heir, the King of Rome—known to the readers of Rostand as l'Aiglon. The Emperor is squeezing the juice of a beet into his coffee and the nurse has put a beet into the mouth of the infant King, saying: "Suck, dear, suck. Your father says it's sugar."

In like manner did the wits ridicule Franklin for fooling with electricity, Rumford for trying to improve chimneys, Parmentier for thinking potatoes were fit to eat, and Jefferson for believing that something might be made of the country west of the Mississippi. In all ages ridicule has been the chief weapon of conservatism. If you want to know what line human progress will take in the future read the funny papers of today and see what they are fighting. The satire of every century from Aristophanes to the latest vaudeville has been directed against those who are trying to make the world wiser or better, against the teacher and the preacher, the scientist and the reformer.

In spite of the ridicule showered upon it the despised beet year by year gained in sweetness of heart. The percentage of sugar rose from six to eighteen and by improved methods of extraction became finally as pure and palatable as the sugar of the cane. An acre of German beets produces more sugar than an acre of Louisiana cane. Continental Europe waxed wealthy while the British West Indies sank into decay. As the beets of Europe became sweeter the population of the islands became blacker. Before the war England was paying out $125,000,000 for sugar, and more than two-thirds of this money was going to Germany and Austria-Hungary. Fostered by scientific study, protected by tariff duties, and stimulated by export bounties, the beet sugar industry became one of the financial forces of the world. The English at home, especially the marmalade-makers, at first rejoiced at the idea of getting sugar for less than cost at the expense of her continental rivals. But the suffering colonies took another view of the situation. In 1888 a conference of the powers called at London agreed to stop competing by the pernicious practice of export bounties, but France and the United States refused to enter, so the agreement fell through. Another conference ten years later likewise failed, but when the parvenu beet sugar ventured to invade the historic home of the cane the limit of toleration had been reached. The Council of India put on countervailing duties to protect their homegrown cane from the bounty-fed beet. This forced the calling of a convention at Brussels in 1903 "to equalize the conditions of competition between beet sugar and cane sugar of the various countries," at which the powers agreed to a mutual suppression of bounties. Beet sugar then divided the world's market equally with cane sugar and the two rivals stayed substantially neck and neck until the Great War came. This shut out from England the product of Germany, Austria-Hungary, Belgium, northern France and Russia and took the farmers from their fields. The battle lines of the Central Powers enclosed the land which used to grow a third of the world's supply of sugar. In 1913 the beet and the cane each supplied about nine million tons of sugar. In 1917 the output of cane sugar was 11,200,000 and of beet sugar 5,300,000 tons. Consequently the Old World had to draw upon the New. Cuba, on which the United States used to depend for half its sugar supply, sent over 700,000 tons of raw sugar to England in 1916. The United States sent as much more refined sugar. The lack of shipping interfered with our getting sugar from our tropical dependencies, Hawaii, Porto Rico and the Philippines. The homegrown beets give us only a fifth and the cane of Louisiana and Texas only a fifteenth of the sugar we need. As a result we were obliged to file a claim in advance to get a pound of sugar from the corner grocery and then we were apt to be put off with rock candy, muscovado or honey. Lemon drops proved useful for Russian tea and the "long sweetening" of our forefathers came again into vogue in the form of various syrups. The United States was accustomed to consume almost a fifth of all the sugar produced in the world—and then we could not get it.



The shortage made us realize how dependent we have become upon sugar. Yet it was, as we have seen, practically unknown to the ancients and only within the present generation has it become an essential factor in our diet. As soon as the chemist made it possible to produce sugar at a reasonable price all nations began to buy it in proportion to their means. Americans, as the wealthiest people in the world, ate the most, ninety pounds a year on the average for every man, woman and child. In other words we ate our weight of sugar every year. The English consumed nearly as much as the Americans; the French and Germans about half as much; the Balkan peoples less than ten pounds per annum; and the African savages none.



Pure white sugar is the first and greatest contribution of chemistry to the world's dietary. It is unique in being a single definite chemical compound, sucrose, C_{12}H_{22}O_{11}. All natural nutriments are more or less complex mixtures. Many of them, like wheat or milk or fruit, contain in various proportions all of the three factors of foods, the fats, the proteids and the carbohydrates, as well as water and the minerals and other ingredients necessary to life. But sugar is a simple substance, like water or salt, and like them is incapable of sustaining life alone, although unlike them it is nutritious. In fact, except the fats there is no more nutritious food than sugar, pound for pound, for it contains no water and no waste. It is therefore the quickest and usually the cheapest means of supplying bodily energy. But as may be seen from its formula as given above it contains only three elements, carbon, hydrogen and oxygen, and omits nitrogen and other elements necessary to the body. An engine requires not only coal but also lubricating oil, water and bits of steel and brass to keep it in repair. But as a source of the energy needed in our strenuous life sugar has no equal and only one rival, alcohol. Alcohol is the offspring of sugar, a degenerate descendant that retains but few of the good qualities of its sire and has acquired some evil traits of its own. Alcohol, like sugar, may serve to furnish the energy of a steam engine or a human body. Used as a fuel alcohol has certain advantages, but used as a food it has the disqualification of deranging the bodily mechanism. Even a little alcohol will impair the accuracy and speed of thought and action, while a large quantity, as we all know from observation if not experience, will produce temporary incapacitation.

When man feeds on sugar he splits it up by the aid of air into water and carbon dioxide in this fashion:

C{12}H{22}O{11} + 12O{2} —> 11H{2}O + 12CO{2} cane sugar oxygen water carbon dioxide

When sugar is burned the reaction is just the same.

But when the yeast plant feeds on sugar it carries the process only part way and instead of water the product is alcohol, a very different thing, so they say who have tried both as beverages. The yeast or fermentation reaction is this:

C_{12}H_{22}O_{11} + H_{2}O —> 4C_{2}H_{6}O + 4CO_{2} cane sugar water alcohol carbon dioxide

Alcohol then is the first product of the decomposition of sugar, a dangerous half-way house. The twin product, carbon dioxide or carbonic acid, is a gas of slightly sour taste which gives an attractive tang and effervescence to the beer, wine, cider or champagne. That is to say, one of these twins is a pestilential fellow and the other is decidedly agreeable. Yet for several thousand years mankind took to the first and let the second for the most part escape into the air. But when the chemist appeared on the scene he discovered a way of separating the two and bottling the harmless one for those who prefer it. An increasing number of people were found to prefer it, so the American soda-water fountain is gradually driving Demon Rum out of the civilized world. The brewer nowadays caters to two classes of customers. He bottles up the beer with the alcohol and a little carbonic acid in it for the saloon and he catches the rest of the carbonic acid that he used to waste and sells it to the drug stores for soda-water or uses it to charge some non-alcoholic beer of his own.

This catering to rival trades is not an uncommon thing with the chemist. As we have seen, the synthetic perfumes are used to improve the natural perfumes. Cottonseed is separated into oil and meal; the oil going to make margarin and the meal going to feed the cows that produce butter. Some people have been drinking coffee, although they do not like the taste of it, because they want the stimulating effect of its alkaloid, caffein. Other people liked the warmth and flavor of coffee but find that caffein does not agree with them. Formerly one had to take the coffee whole or let it alone. Now one can have his choice, for the caffein is extracted for use in certain popular cold drinks and the rest of the bean sold as caffein-free coffee.

Most of the "soft drinks" that are now gradually displacing the hard ones consist of sugar, water and carbonic acid, with various flavors, chiefly the esters of the fatty and aromatic acids, such as I described in a previous chapter. These are still usually made from fruits and spices and in some cases the law or public opinion requires this, but eventually, I presume, the synthetic flavors will displace the natural and then we shall get rid of such extraneous and indigestible matter as seeds, skins and bark. Suppose the world had always been used to synthetic and hence seedless figs, strawberries and blackberries. Suppose then some manufacturer of fig paste or strawberry jam should put in ten per cent. of little round hard wooden nodules, just the sort to get stuck between the teeth or caught in the vermiform appendix. How long would it be before he was sent to jail for adulterating food? But neither jail nor boycott has any reformatory effect on Nature.

Nature is quite human in that respect. But you can reform Nature as you can human beings by looking out for heredity and culture. In this way Mother Nature has been quite cured of her bad habit of putting seeds in bananas and oranges. Figs she still persists in adulterating with particles of cellulose as nutritious as sawdust. But we can circumvent the old lady at this. I got on Christmas a package of figs from California without a seed in them. Somebody had taken out all the seeds—it must have been a big job—and then put the figs together again as natural looking as life and very much better tasting.

Sugar and alcohol are both found in Nature; sugar in the ripe fruit, alcohol when it begins to decay. But it was the chemist who discovered how to extract them. He first worked with alcohol and unfortunately succeeded.

Previous to the invention of the still by the Arabian chemists man could not get drunk as quickly as he wanted to because his liquors were limited to what the yeast plant could stand without intoxication. When the alcoholic content of wine or beer rose to seventeen per cent. at the most the process of fermentation stopped because the yeast plants got drunk and quit "working." That meant that a man confined to ordinary wine or beer had to drink ten or twenty quarts of water to get one quart of the stuff he was after, and he had no liking for water.

So the chemist helped him out of this difficulty and got him into worse trouble by distilling the wine. The more volatile part that came over first contained the flavor and most of the alcohol. In this way he could get liquors like brandy and whisky, rum and gin, containing from thirty to eighty per cent. of alcohol. This was the origin of the modern liquor problem. The wine of the ancients was strong enough to knock out Noah and put the companions of Socrates under the table, but it was not until distilled liquors came in that alcoholism became chronic, epidemic and ruinous to whole populations.

But the chemist later tried to undo the ruin he had quite inadvertently wrought by introducing alcohol into the world. One of his most successful measures was the production of cheap and pure sugar which, as we have seen, has become a large factor in the dietary of civilized countries. As a country sobers up it takes to sugar as a "self-starter" to provide the energy needed for the strenuous life. A five o'clock candy is a better restorative than a five o'clock highball or even a five o'clock tea, for it is a true nutrient instead of a mere stimulant. It is a matter of common observation that those who like sweets usually do not like alcohol. Women, for instance, are apt to eat candy but do not commonly take to alcoholic beverages. Look around you at a banquet table and you will generally find that those who turn down their wine glasses generally take two lumps in their demi-tasses. We often hear it said that whenever a candy store opens up a saloon in the same block closes up. Our grandmothers used to warn their daughters: "Don't marry a man who does not want sugar in his tea. He is likely to take to drink." So, young man, when next you give a box of candy to your best girl and she offers you some, don't decline it. Eat it and pretend to like it, at least, for it is quite possible that she looked into a physiology and is trying you out. You never can tell what girls are up to.

In the army and navy ration the same change has taken place as in the popular dietary. The ration of rum has been mostly replaced by an equivalent amount of candy or marmalade. Instead of the tippling trooper of former days we have "the chocolate soldier." No previous war in history has been fought so largely on sugar and so little on alcohol as the last one. When the war reduced the supply and increased the demand we all felt the sugar famine and it became a mark of patriotism to refuse candy and to drink coffee unsweetened. This, however, is not, as some think, the mere curtailment of a superfluous or harmful luxury, the sacrifice of a pleasant sensation. It is a real deprivation and a serious loss to national nutrition. For there is no reason to think the constantly rising curve of sugar consumption has yet reached its maximum or optimum. Individuals overeat, but not the population as a whole. According to experiments of the Department of Agriculture men doing heavy labor may add three-quarters of a pound of sugar to their daily diet without any deleterious effects. This is at the rate of 275 pounds a year, which is three times the average consumption of England and America. But the Department does not state how much a girl doing nothing ought to eat between meals.