These professors were charming fellows in their social life; but when they were offended in their class prejudices, they became vindictive. They were incensed against Professor William E. Bohn, who was a candidate on the Socialist ticket, and made a speech at Kalamazoo, which was taken up by the capitalist press. Professor Bohn’s manuscript showed that he did not say what the papers accused him of saying, and many members of the audience substantiated his statement, nevertheless he was fired. About this same time they barred Jane Addams from speaking in a college building; she was arguing for woman suffrage, and that was a contentious political question, unfit for student ears! For thirteen years Smithfield was in perpetual hot water, being “called up” and cautioned and pleaded with by the authorities. “What is the matter?” he asked of his dean. “Can’t I teach?” The answer was, “You teach too God-damned well.” This was Mortimer E. Cooley, a high-up authority in the engineering world, one of those valuation wizards about whom we learned in our study of Harvard. Dean Cooley has been interested all his life in privately owned public utilities, and he stated his point of view to one of his professors: “An engineer owes his first duty to the man who employs him.” In the pamphlet, “Snapping Cords,” by Morris L. Cooke, of Philadelphia, it is narrated how Professor Cooley serves his masters; he went to the Worcester Polytechnic Institute, and told these students that “in 1911 the average rate of return on all the capital (of all utility corporations) was but 2.3 per cent.” Mr. Cooke cites a circular of Henry L. Doherty & Company, New York investment bankers, giving a table of net earnings of such corporations for the ten years from 1902, to 1912, and they amount to: gas and electric, 8.45; industrials, 7.79; railroads, 4.25 per cent. Mr. Cooke adds the important note that the securities of such utility corporations are from fifty to one hundred per cent in excess of invested capital! Dean Cooley was troubled, because he could not get his engineering students to take any interest in ideas. They ought to have a little more culture than the average business men, he thought; so he tried to get them to read Shakespeare and Milton, but in vain; he tried to get them to read Darwin and Huxley, but in vain. Chemistry and physics they got in the laboratory, but they had no biology and wanted none. Smithfield tried them on the social sciences, introducing them to Bertrand Russell and Bernard Shaw; and these hustling young engineers suddenly discovered that literature had something to do with life. In six semesters this teacher had eight sections, over two hundred students. But every bit of this was abolished by the university authorities, under pressure of the plutocracy of automobiles, railroads and banks.