Mr. A has an unpromising piece of land on which he would like to raise corn. He analyzes the soil, experiments upon it chemically, reads up on the properties and components of corn, the effects of fertilizers and acids upon the soil, and makes himself a fool and laughing-stock generally among his neighbors because he steps out of the beaten track by which they have succeeded in making the ground barren. He does not have much success the first year, and is sympathizingly consoled with "I told you so." But he perseveres and wins the reputation of being "visionary" and "as stubborn as a mule." In the meantime he becomes more familiar with his subject, sees more clearly the requirements of the case, finds he must post himself more thoroughly in certain branches of science in order to conduct his experiments, wrestles with this obstacle and that, and finally discovers a fertilizer based on some natural law of rotation, and produces a crop of corn never before equaled. Now his neighbors come out with this very intelligent question, "How did you happen to think of it?" And they further very condescendingly remark, "That is a rousing crop; I guess I'll try the same thing myself. How did you say you mixed the stuff?" This man is the true conqueror. He has endured privation and scorn, fought obstacles, and in subduing them has eliminated a new principle in agriculture that is an engine of power to all generations. Shall his crops be his only reward? Shall they who laughed him to scorn step into his reward without sharing the labor that produced it?