John H. Worst, at that time lieutenant-governor of North Dakota, became president of the Agricultural College in 1895. It was a small institution at that time; by seventeen years of hard work he built it up until he had over twelve hundred students. Also he conducted, in connection with the college, a government experiment station, in which he had some devoted scientists. One of these, Professor E. F. Ladd, now United States Senator put in office by the Non-Partisan League, was a chemist, who became state pure food commissioner, and carried on a vigorous campaign against light weights and short measures, and the adulterating and misbranding of food. He went to the shelves of the grocery stores, and showed that the stomachs of the people of North Dakota were made a dumping-ground for timothy seed, gelatine and coal tar dyes. He exposed the use of dangerous poisons in patent medicines, and denounced the practice of bleaching flour—nor was he content to prove these things in his laboratory, he went out and taught the people of the state, and helped to put through laws against these practices. As a result, he incurred the mortal enmity of whiskey rectifiers, baking-powder manufacturers, paint manufacturers, the Beef Trust and the Milling Trust. I talked with Senator Ladd in Washington in June, 1922, and he told me that the last libel suit filed against him—for one hundred thousand dollars—had been dismissed on the fourteenth of the previous April; prior to that time, for twenty-two years he had never been free from libel suits and injunctions. At one time there had been six hanging over his head, and never one had been filed by a citizen of North Dakota, nor had he ever lost one. Next, meet Professor H. C. Bolley, who is my dream of a scientist; a long, lean, keen old gentleman, a demon for the hunting out of knowledge, and an untamed champion of the people’s cause. I met him in Fargo, and asked him if he would tell me his story, and there came a few more wrinkles on his thin face. “I have been in this for twenty-two years,” he said, “and maybe it will be my fate to be kicked out for talking to Upton Sinclair!” Then the old professor thrust out an eager finger: “This is the question I am asking: Is a college professor a citizen? Or does he part with his rights, and become some kind of subject when he takes a college job? I made up my mind that I was going to stay a citizen, and exercise every one of the rights of a citizen, including the right to go out and talk to my fellow-citizens, to educate them, and organize them to protect their rights against all-comers. That is all there is to my story.”