It was "Good luck, Harry," and "G.o.d bless you, Harry!" frae them.

'Deed, and it warmed the c.o.c.kles of my heart to hear them! But my friend was quite shocked.

"I say, Harry--do you know those persons?" he said.

"Never saw them before," I told him, cheerfully.

"But they addressed you in the most familiar fashion," he persisted.

"And why not?" I asked. "I never saw them before--but they've seen me, thanks be! And as for familiarity--they helped to buy the shoon and the claes I'm wearing! They paid for the parritch I had for breakfast, and the bit o' beef I'll be eating for my dinner. If it wasna for them and the likes of them I'd still be digging coal i' the pit in Scotland! It'll be the sair day for me when they call me Mr. Lauder!"

I meant that then, and I mean it now. And if ever I hear a coster call out, "There goes Sir Harry Lauder," I'll ken it's time for me to be really doing what I'm really going tae do before sae long--retire frae the stage and gae hame to my wee hoose amang the heather at Dunoon tae live!

I'd no be having you think I'm meaning to criticize all the actors and actresses of the legitimate stage who have done a turn in the halls.

Many of them are among our prime favorites, and our most successful artists. Some have given up appearing in plays to stick to the halls; some gae tae the halls only when they can find no fitting play to occupy their time and their talent. Some of the finest and most talented folk in the world are, actors and artists; whiles I think all the most generous and kindly folk are! And I can count my friends, warm, dear, intimate friends amang them by the score--I micht almost say by the hundred.

No, it's just the flighty ones that gie the rest a bad name I'm addressing my criticisms to. There'll be those that accept an opportunity to appear in the halls scornfully. They'll be lacking an engagement, maybe. And so they'll turn to the halls tae earn some siller easily, with their lips curling the while and their noses turned up. They see no need tae give of their best.

"Why should I really _act_ for these people?" I heard one famous actor say once. "The subtleties of my art would be wasted upon them. I shall try to bring myself down to their level!"

Now, heard you ever sae hopeless a saying as that? It puts me in mind of a friend of mine--a novelist. He's a grand writer, and his readers, by the million, are his friends. It's hard for his publishers to print enough of his books to supply the demand. And he's a kindly, simple wee man; he ust does his best, all the time, and never worries aboot the results. But there are those that are envious of him. I mind the only time I ever knew him to be angry was when one of these, a man who could just get his books published, and no mair, was talking.

"Oh, I suppose I'll have to do it!" he said. "Jimmy"--Jimmy was the famous novelist my friend--"tell me how you write one of your best sellers? I think I'll turn out one or two under a pen name. I need some money."

Man, you can no even mak' money in that fashion! I ken fine there's men succeed, on the stage, and in literature, and in every other walk of life, who do not do the very best of work. But, mind you, they've this in common--they do the best they can! You may not have to be the best to win the public--but you maun be sincere, or it will punish you.

CHAPTER XXIV

When every one's talking sae much of Bolsheviki and Soviets it's hard to follow what it's just all about. It's a serious subject--aye, I'd be the last to say it wasna that! But, man--there's sae little in this world that's no got its lighter side, if we'll but see it!

I'm a great yin for consistency. Men are consistent--mair than women, I think. My wife will no agree with that, but it shall stand in spite of her. I'll be maister in my ain book, even if I canna be such in my ain hoose! And when it comes to all this talk of Bolshevism, I'm wondering how the ones that are for it would like it if their principles were really applied consistently to everything?

Tak' the theatre, just for an example. I mind a time when there was nearly a strike. It was in America, once, and I was on tour in the far West. Wall Morris, he that takes care of all such affairs for me, had given me a grand company. On those tours, ye ken, I travel with my ain company. That time there were my pipers, of coorse--it wouldna be my performance without those braw laddies. And there was a bonnie la.s.sie to sing Scots songs in her lovely voice--a wee bit of a la.s.sie she was, that surprised you with the strength of her voice when she sang.

There was a dancer, and some j.a.panese acrobats, and a couple more turns--another singer, a man, and two who whistled like birds. And then there was just me, tae come on last.

Weel, there'd be trouble, once in sae often, aboot how they should gae on. None of them liked tae open the show; they thocht they were too good for that. And so they were, all of them, bless their hearts.

There was no a bad act amang the lot. But still--some one had to appear first! And some one had to give orders. I forget, the noo, just how it was settled, but settled it was, at any rate, and all was peaceful and happy.

And then, whoever it was that did open got ill one nicht, and there was a terrible disturbance. No one was willing to take the first turn.

And for a while it looked as if we could no get it settled any way at all. So I said that I would open the show, and they could follow, afterward, any way they pleased--or else that so and so must open, and no more argument. They did as I said.

But now, suppose there'd been a Bolshevik organization of the company?

Suppose each act had had a vote in a council. Each one would have voted for a different one to open, and the fight could never have been settled. It took some one to decide it--and a way of enforcing the decision--to mak' that simple matter richt.

I'm afraid of these Bolsheviki because I don't think they know just what they are doing. I can deal with a man, whether I agree with him or no, if he just knows what it is he wants to do, and how. I'll find some common ground that we can both stand on while we have out our differences. But these folk aren't like that. They say what they don't mean. And they tell you, if you complain of that, they are interested only in the end they want to attain, and that the means they use don't matter.

Folk like that make an agreement never meaning to stick to it, ust to get the better of you for a little while. They mak' any promise you demand of them to get you quieted and willing to leave them alone, and then when the time comes and it suits them they'll break it, and laugh in your face. I'm not guessing or joking. And it's not the Bolshevists in Russia I'm thinking of--it's the followers of them in Britain and America, no matter what they choose to call themselves.

I've nothing to say about an out-and-out union labor fight. I've been oot on strike maself and I ken there's times when men have to strike to get their rights. They've reason for it then, and it's another matter. But some of the new sort of leaders of the men think anything is fair when they're dealing with an employer. They'll mak' agreements they've no sort of thought of keeping. I'll admit it's to their credit that they're frank.

They say, practically: "We'll make promises, but we won't keep them.

We'll make a truce, but no peace. And we'll choose the time when the truce is to be broken."

And what I'm wanting to know is how are we going to do business that way, and live together, and keep cities and countries going? And suppose, just suppose, noo, doctrine like that was consistently applied?

Here's Mr. Radical. He's courtin' a la.s.sie--supposing he's no one of those that believe in free love--and maybe if he is! I've found that the way to cure those that have such notions as that is to let the right la.s.sie lay her een upon them. She'll like him fine as a suitor, maybe. She'll like the way he'll be taking her to dances, and spending his siller on presents for her, and on taking her oot to dinner, and the theatre. But, ye'll ken, she's no thocht of marrying him.

Still, just to keep him dangling, she promises she wull, and she'll let him slip his arm aboot her, and kiss her noo and again. But whiles she finds the lad she really loves, and she's off wi' him. Mr. Radical comes and reminds her of her promise.

"Oh, aye," she'll say, wi' a flirt of her head. "But that was like the promise you made at the works that you'd keep the men at work for a year on the new scale--when you called them oot on strike again within a month! Good day to you!"

Wull Mr. Radical say that's all richt, and that what's all sound and proper when he does it is the same when it's she does it tae him? Wull he? Not he! He'll call her false, and tell the tale of her perfidy tae all that wull listen to him!

But there's a thing we folk that want to keep things straight must aye remember. And that's that if everything was as it should be, Mr.

Radical and his kind could get no following. It's because there's oppression and injustice in this bonny world of ours that an opening is made for those who think as do Trotzky and Lenine and the other Russians whose names are too hard for a simple plain man to remember.

We maun e'en get ahead of the agitators and the trouble makers by mending what's wrong. It's the way they use truth that makes them dangerous. Their lies wull never hurt the world except for a little while. It's because there's some truth in what they say that they make so great an impression as they do. Folk do starve that ask nothing better than a chance to earn money for themselves and their families by hard work. There is poverty and misfortune in the world that micht be prevented--that wull be prevented, if only we work as hard for humanity now that we have peace as we did when we were at war.

Noo, here's an example of what I'm thinking of. I said, a while back, that the folk that don't have bairns and raise them to make good citizens were traitors. Well, so they are. But, after a', it's no always their fault. When landlords wull not let their property to the families that have weans, it's a hard thing to think about. And it's that sort of thing makes folk turn into hating the way the world is organized and conducted. No man ought to have the richt to deny a hame to a man and his wife because they've a bairn to care for.

And then, too, there's many an employer bears doon upon those who work for him, because he's strong and they're weak. He'll say his business is his ain, to conduct as he sees fit. So it is--up to a certain point. But he canna conduct it by his lane, can he? He maun have help, or he would not hire men and women and pay them wages. And when he maun have their help he makes them his partners, in a way.

Jock'll be working for such an employer. He'll be needing more money, because the rent's been raised, and the wife's ailing. And his employer wull say he's sorry, maybe, but he canna afford to pay Jock more wages, because the cost of, diamonds such as his wife would be wearing has gone up, and gasolene for his motor car is more expensive, and silk shirts cost more. Oh, aye--I ken he'll no be telling Jock that, but those wull be his real reasons, for a' that!

Noo, what's Jock to do? He can quit--oh, aye! But Jock hasna the time, whiles he's at work, to hunt him anither job. He maun just tak' his chances, if he quits, and be out of work for a week or twa, maybe. And Jock canna afford that; he makes sae little that he hasna any siller worth speaking of saved up. So when his employer says, short like: "I cannot pay you more, Jock--tak' it or leave it!" there's nothing for Jock to do. And he grows bitter and discontented, and when some Bolshevik agitator comes along and tells Jock he's being ill used and that the way to make himself better off is to follow the revolutionary way, Jock's likely to believe him.

There's a bit o' truth, d'you see, in what the agitator tells Jock.

Jock is ill used. He knows his employer has all and more than he needs or can use--he knows he has to pinch and worry and do without, and see his wife and his bairns miserable, so that the employer can live on the fat of the land. And he's likely, is he no, to listen to the first man who comes along and tells him he has a way to cure a' that? Can ye blame a man for that?

The plain truth is that richt noo, when there's more prosperity than we've ever seen before, there are decent, hard workingmen who canna afford to have as many bairns as they would wish, for lack of the siller to care for them properly after they come. There are men who mak' no more in wages than they did five years ago, when everything cost half what it does the noo. And they're listening to those who preach of general strikes, and overthrowing the state, and all the other wild remedies the agitators recommend.

Now, we know, you and I, that these remedies wouldn't cure the faults that we can see. We know that in Russia they're worse off for the way they've heeded Lenine and Trotzky and their crew. We know that you can't alter human nature that way, and that when customs and inst.i.tutions have grown up for thousands of years it's because most people have found them good and useful. But here's puir Jock! What interests him is how he's to buy shoes for Jean and Andy, and a new dress for the wife, and milk for the wean that's been ailing ever since she was born. He hears the bairns crying, after they're put to bed, because they're hungry. And he counts his siller wi' the gude wife, every pay day, and they try to see what can they do without themselves that the bairns may be better off.

"Eh, man Jock, listen to me," says the sleek, well fed agitator. "Join us, and you'll be able to live as well as the King himself. Your employer's robbing you. He's buying diamonds for his wife with the siller should be feeding your bairns."

Foolishness? Oh, aye--but it's easier for you and me to see than for Jock, is it no?

And just suppose, noo, that a union comes and Jock gets a chance to join it--a real, old fashioned union, not one of the new sort that's for upsetting everything. It brings Jock and Sandy and Tom and all the rest of the men in the works together. And there's one man, speaking for a' of them, to talk to the employer.

"The men maun have more money, sir," he'll say, respectfully.

"I cannot pay it," says the employer.

"Then they'll go out on strike," says the union leader.

And the employer will whine and complain! But, do you mind, the shoe's on the other foot the noo! For now, if they all quit, it hurts him. He wouldna mind Jock quitting, sae lang as the rest stayed. But when they all go out together it shuts doon his works, and he begins to lose siller. And so he's likely to find that he can squeeze out a few shillings extra for each man's pay envelope, though that had seemed so impossible before. Jock, by himself, is weak, and at his employer's mercy. But Jock, leagued with all the other men in the works, has power.