Take but such an everyday thing as a useful invention and the putting of it at the service of men.  You know how prolific the American mind has been in invention; how much civilization has been advanced by the steamboat, the cotton-gin, the sewing-machine, the reaping-machine, the typewriter, the electric light, the telephone, the phonograph.  Do you know, have you had occasion to learn, that there is no hospitality for invention nowadays?  There is no encouragement for you to set your wits at work to improve the telephone, or the camera, or some piece of machinery, or some mechanical process; you are not invited to find a shorter and cheaper way to make things or to perfect them, or to invent better things to take their place.  There is too much money invested in old machinery; too much money has been spent advertising the old camera; the telephone plants, as they are, cost too much to permit their being superseded by something better.  Wherever there is monopoly, not only is there no incentive to improve, but, improvement being costly in that it “scraps” old machinery and destroys the value of old products, there is a positive motive against improvement.  The instinct of monopoly is against novelty, the tendency of monopoly is to keep in use the old thing, made in the old way; its disposition is to “standardize” everything.  Standardization may be all very well,—­but suppose everything had been standardized thirty years ago,—­we should still be writing by hand, by gas-light, we should be without the inestimable aid of the telephone (sometimes, I admit, it is a nuisance), without the automobile, without wireless telegraphy.  Personally, I could have managed to plod along without the aeroplane, and I could have been happy even without moving-pictures.

Of course, I am not saying that all invention has been stopped by the growth of trusts, but I think it is perfectly clear that invention in many fields has been discouraged, that inventors have been prevented from reaping the full fruits of their ingenuity and industry, and that mankind has been deprived of many comforts and conveniences, as well as of the opportunity of buying at lower prices.

The damper put on the inventive genius of America by the trusts operates in half a dozen ways:  The first thing discovered by the genius whose device extends into a field controlled by a trust is that he can’t get capital to make and market his invention.  If you want money to build your plant and advertise your product and employ your agents and make a market for it, where are you going to get it?  The minute you apply for money or credit, this proposition is put to you by the banks:  “This invention will interfere with the established processes and the market control of certain great industries.  We are already financing those industries, their securities are in our hands; we will consult them.”

It may be, as a result of that consultation, you will be informed that it is too bad, but it will be impossible to “accommodate” you.  It may be you will receive a suggestion that if you care to make certain arrangements with the trust, you will be permitted to manufacture.  It may be you will receive an offer to buy your patent, the offer being a poor consolation dole.  It may be that your invention, even if purchased, will never be heard of again.