"The world needs hemp--and areas where it can be cultivated are rare. Three years ago a little stampede occurred into Davao; the pioneers are a mixed lot--about sixty Americans, a few Britishers, a scattering of Moros and Filipinos and nearly two hundred Japs. The Japs are quiet--you will seldom see them: they stay on their places and 'saw wood'; they're backed by some syndicate--probably their government. But the others are lone handers, working on their own 'shoe-strings' or financed by the contributions of optimistic shareholders in Manila. "They are good men, these planters. You will like them. They went into the fastnesses of Mindanao, braved the wild tribes, cleared their land, planted hemp, working largely with their own hands--and in a climate where they say the white man shall labor only with his head. You will hear all about their troubles and difficulties--you won't hear much else down there but hemp--hemp and wild tribes! Hemp and wildmen--that's Davao! "About their grievance. They cleared and planted rapidly and have raised fabulous crops, but when it came time to strip the hemp for market they found that the wildmen upon whom they had banked as potential labor would not work. A few came and stayed, but most of them quit after earning a few pesos. So the hemp rotted in the field. Desperate, facing ruin, some of the planters went after labor too strongly, frightened and browbeat the Bogobos into working. The scheme worked, so a condition approximating peonage was developed upon several of the plantations. "We ordered it stopped. Those planters are very sore, looking for trouble. That's the story--and the condition you must face, and overcome. You've got to hold down that class of planter, but at the same time encourage the Bogobos to work for them. It means prosperity for the planters, and money and comfort for the Bogobos--and it will keep them out of the hills: we want the Bogobos near the coast, under civilizing influences. They are newly won to us and apt to fade away into the foothills on the least provocation." * * * * * Crossing the acacia-shaded lawns of the beautiful plaza he stopped in front of the artistic concrete bandstand, jerking a big thumb at the dedication inscribed upon the ivy-covered facade. "Pershing Plaza," he read aloud. "He was the last military Governor, you remember. I knew him: a good man. No genius--just a good man, hard worker: has two traits that will carry him a long way if he gets the chance--common sense and industry. Wants to know everything about everything, and never quits working. Surrounds himself with workers: gives his men their jobs and doesn't bother them while they do them--just wants results. "'Make good or make way!' Some slogan! Pershing, Wood, Scott, Carpenter,--America has sent some of her best into Mindanao. I'm glad to be here--aren't you?" At the sudden question Terry turned to him. "Yes," he said. "I hope to be--useful."