Part 15 (1/2)

It's no just the siller there's to be earned frae the wee discs, though there's a muckle o' that. It's the thocht that folk that never see ye, and never can, can hear your voice. It's a rare thing, and an awesome one, tae me, to be thinkin' that in China and India, and everywhere where men can carry a bit box, my songs may be heard.

I never work harder than when I'm makin' a record for the phonograph.

It's a queer feelin'. I mind weel indeed the first time ever I made a record. I was no takin' the gramophone sae seriously as I micht ha'

done, perhaps--I'd no thocht, as I ha' since. Then, d'ye ken, I'd not heard phonographs singin' in ma ain voice in America, and Australia, and Honolulu, and dear knows where beside. It was a new idea tae me, and I'd no notion 'twad be a gude thing for both the company and me tae ha' me makin' records. Sae it was wi' a laugh on ma lips that I went into the recording room o' one o' the big companies for the first time.

They had a' ready for me. There was a bit orchestra, waitin', wi'

awfu' funny looking instruments--sawed off fiddles, I mind, syne a'

the sound must be concentrated to gae through the horn. They put me on a stool, syne I'm such a wee body, and that raised my head up high enow sae that ma voice wad carry straight through the horn to the machine that makes the master record's first impression.

”Ready?” asked the man who was superintending the record.

”Aye,” I cried. ”When ye please!”

Sae I began, and it wasna sae bad. I sang the first verse o' ma song.

And then, as usual, while the orchestra played a sort o' vampin'

accompaniment, I sprang a gag, the way I do on the stage. I should ha'

gone straight on, then. But I didn't. D'ye ken what? Man, I waited for the applause! Aye, I did so--there in front o' that great yawnin'

horn, that was ma only listener, and that cared nae mair for hoo I sang than a cat micht ha' done!

It was a meenit before I realized what a thing I was doing. And then I laughed; I couldna help it. And I laughed sae hard I fell clean off the stool they'd set me on! The record was spoiled, for the players o'

the orchestra laughed wi' me, and the operator came runnin' oot tae see what was wrang, and he fell to laughin', too.

”Here's a daft thing I'm doing for ye!” I said to the manager, who stud there, still laughin' at me. ”Hoo much am I tae be paid for this, I'll no mak' a fool o' masel', singing into that great tin tube, unless ye mak' the reason worth my while.”

He spoke up then--it had been nae mair than an experiment we'd planned, ye'll ken. And I'll tell ye straight that what he tauld me surprised me--I'd had nae idea that there was sae muckle siller to be made frae such foolishness, as I thocht it a' was then. I'll admit that the figures he named fair tuk my breath awa'. I'll no be tellin'

ye what they were, but, after he'd tauld them tae me, I'd ha' made a good record for my first one had I had to stay there trying all nicht.

”All richt,” I said. ”Ca' awa'--I'm the man for ye if it's sae muckle ye're willin' tae pay me.”

”Oh, aye--but we'll get it all back, and more beside,” said the manager. ”Ye're a rare find for us, Harry, my lad. Ye'll mak' more money frae these records we'll mak' togither than ye ha' ever done upon the stage. You're going to be the most popular comic the London halls have ever known, but still, before we're done with you, we'll pay you more in a year than you'll make from all your theatrical engagements.”

”Talk sense, man,” I tauld him, wi' a laugh. ”That can never be.”

Weel, ye'll not be asking me whether what he said has come true or nicht. But I don't mind tellin' ye the man was no sica fool as I thocht him!

Eh, noo--here's what I'm thinking. Here am I, Harry Lauder. For ane reason or anither, I can do something that others do not do, whether or no they can--as to that I ken nothing. All I know is that I do something others ha' nae done, and that folk enow ha' been willin' and eager to pay me their gude siller, that they've worked for. Am I a criminal because o' that? Has any man the richt to use me despitefully because I've hit upon a thing tae do that ithers do no do, whether or no they can? Should ithers be fashed wi' me because I've made ma bit siller? I canna see why!

The things that ha' aye moved me ha' moved thousands, aye millions o'

other men. There's joy in makin' ithers happy. There's hard work in it, tae, and the laborer is worthy o' his hire.

Then here's anither point. Wad I work as I ha' worked were I allowed but such a salary as some committee of folk that knew nothing o' my work, and what it cost me, and meant tae me in time ta'en frae ma wife and ma bairn at hame? I'll be tellin' ye the answer tae that question, gi'en ye canna answer it for yersel'. It's NO! And it's sae, I'm thinkin', wi' most of you who read the words I've written. Ye'll mind yer own affairs, and sae muckle o' yer neighbors as he's not able to keep ye from findin' oot when ye tak' the time for a bit gossip!

It'll be all verra weel to talk of socialism and one thing and another. We've much tae do tae mak' the world a better place to live in. But what I canna see, for the life o' me, is why it should be richt to throw awa' all our fathers have done. Is there no good in the inst.i.tutions that have served the world up to now? Are we to mak'

everything ower new? I'm no thinking that, and I believe no man is thinking that, truly. The man who preaches the destruction of everything that is and has been has some reasons of his own not creditable to either his brain or his honesty, if you'll ask me what I think.

Let us think o' what these folk wad be destroying. The hame, for one thing. The hame, and the family. They'll talk to us o' the state. The state's a grand thing--a great thing. D'ye ken what the state is these new fangled folk are aye talkin' of? It's no new thing. It's just the bit country Britons ha' been dying for, a' these weary years in the trenches. It's just Britain, the land we've a' loved and wanted to see happy and safe--safe frae the Hun and frae the famine he tried to bring upon it. Do these radicals, as they call themselves--they'd tak'

every name they please to themselves!--think they love their state better than the boys who focht and deed and won loved their country?

Eh, and let's think back a bit, just a wee bit, into history. There's a reason for maist of the things there are in the world. Sometimes it's a good reason; whiles it's a bad one. But there's a reason, and you maun e'en be reasonable when you come to talk o' making changes.