The Technologists Read Online Free Page A

about fifteen or twenty seconds, the lampposts lining Boylston Street flickered, then lit up simultaneously in a long procession of softly glowing orbs. At the pop of the lanterns, there was a collective gasp and a palpable excitement.
    Rogers waited out the applause before he explained that Boston had five thousand streetlamps and spent over $42,000 each year on employing men to light them, not counting the wasted gas in the first lamps each night that had to be lighted earlier than necessary so the men could complete their rounds by nightfall. The Institute’s invention, developed through the collective effort of students and faculty in four years of engineering studies, used wires connected through a circuit—a course that allowed the electricity to flow from one body to another, the professor said—from a box at each gaslight to a central location, where they could be activated at one time. Marcus opened the central box. Inside, a notched wheel powered by electricity was connected to a series of coils.
    “This is what we call a ‘circuit breaker,’ ” Rogers said. “When the spring is tapped, as Mr. Richards, one of our seniors, has shown us, it revolves around halfway, closing the valve for electricity, to turn off the wheel and extinguish the lamps—or ‘break’ the electric flow. When tapped once more, it revolves again, this time opening the valve and lighting our streets at night. Even as we gather right now, this system is being installed across the city.”
    People moved in for better views, marveling at the notion of machinery illuminating the streets all at once. The machine rattled as something hard struck it. It was a rock. A second one grazed Rogers’s shoulder and another cracked the glass of the lantern above them, pitching theminto darkness. Marcus felt the glass shards rain down on his hat and shoulder.
    Three men emerged from a cluster of trees. Now they launched a volley of rotten tomatoes.
    “Technology will bring God’s wrath!” yelled a man dressed smartly in a crisp dark-blue Union army tunic, light-blue trousers, and kid-leather gloves. “Last month, a girl’s scalp was torn off when her hair was caught in a factory machine she was operating in Lowell. Torn off! What was it that befell the ships at the docks last week? Ask them to explain that in their classrooms, if they dare!”
    Marcus guided President Rogers away from the falling glass.
    “I’ll send for a policeman at once, President Rogers,” said Albert excitedly. He had ducked behind a group of faculty members at the outbreak of the commotion.
    “No, Mr. Hall,” Rogers said. “Do not molest them. They’re from the trade unions.”
    “Hall’s right, President Rogers! It’s a scrubby thing to do!” Bob protested. “Nothing burns me like anti-machine mania. This will make their own labors easier and safer.”
    “Mr. Richards,” Rogers said calmly, “some lamplighters will lose their positions once our invention has been fully installed. Consider that before consulting your anger.”
    “Get inside the carriage. Please, Professor! Quickly!” the chambermaid urged him, leading him briskly to the street.
    “Mr. Mansfield,” Rogers said, beckoning to Marcus. “We do not want further trouble.”
    He followed Rogers’s eyes and saw that Hammie was stomping toward the reformers.
    Hammie had unleashed his wrath before Marcus could reach him. “Take your rocks and rioting elsewhere, you ruffians! All the scum of the trades with all their bluster won’t frighten a Tech man.” He turned to Marcus, who put himself between the magnate’s son and the agitators. “Move away, will you, Mansfield? I have the situation in hand!”
    “Hammie, let’s mind our place.”
    “Don’t tell me about my place! They shoot out windows, or put explosivesin a foreman’s desk from time to time at the locomotive works. But they are all brag, Mansfield. Especially Rapler here—he may act like a workingman but his true occupation is