twenty-seven.  Photographers snapped him, he was besieged by reporters, women’s clubs throughout the land passed resolutions condemning him and his immoral theories; and on the floor of the California Assembly, while discussing the state appropriation to the University, a motion demanding the expulsion of Gluck was made under threat of withholding the appropriation—­of course, none of his persecutors had read the book; the twisted newspaper version of only three lines of it was enough for them.  Here began Emil Gluck’s hatred for newspaper men.  By them his serious and intrinsically valuable work of six years had been made a laughing-stock and a notoriety.  To his dying day, and to their everlasting regret, he never forgave them.

It was the newspapers that were responsible for the next disaster that befell him.  For the five years following the publication of his book he had remained silent, and silence for a lonely man is not good.  One can conjecture sympathetically the awful solitude of Emil Gluck in that populous University; for he was without friends and without sympathy.  His only recourse was books, and he went on reading and studying enormously.  But in 1927 he accepted an invitation to appear before the Human Interest Society of Emeryville.  He did not trust himself to speak, and as we write we have before us a copy of his learned paper.  It is sober, scholarly, and scientific, and, it must also be added, conservative.  But in one place he dealt with, and I quote his words, “the industrial and social revolution that is taking place in society.”  A reporter present seized upon the word “revolution,” divorced it from the text, and wrote a garbled account that made Emil Gluck appear an anarchist.  At once, “Professor Gluck, anarchist,” flamed over the wires and was appropriately “featured” in all the newspapers in the land.

He had attempted to reply to the previous newspaper attack, but now he remained silent.  Bitterness had already corroded his soul.  The University faculty appealed to him to defend himself, but he sullenly declined, even refusing to enter in defence a copy of his paper to save himself from expulsion.  He refused to resign, and was discharged from the University faculty.  It must be added that political pressure had been put upon the University Regents and the President.

Persecuted, maligned, and misunderstood, the forlorn and lonely man made no attempt at retaliation.  All his life he had been sinned against, and all his life he had sinned against no one.  But his cup of bitterness was not yet full to overflowing.  Having lost his position, and being without any income, he had to find work.  His first place was at the Union Iron Works, in San Francisco, where he proved a most able draughtsman.  It was here that he obtained his firsthand knowledge of battleships and their construction.  But the reporters discovered him and featured him in his new vocation.  He immediately resigned and found another place; but after