"The Mester gae me a book to read in the holidays," he said irrelevantly, "and it's called Self Help; it's a' aboot laddies that got on weel."
I ceased to listen to their talk. I thought of Samuel Smiles and his Victorian ideals. The book is iniquitous nowadays; it is the Bible of the individualist. Get on! I'm afraid that Smiles' idea of getting on is still popular in Scotland; the country might well adapt the popular song "Get Out and Get Under," changing it to "Get On or Get Under" and making it the national anthem of Scotland.
I once compared Self Help with Lorimer's Letters of a Self-made Merchant to his Son, and was struck by the similarity of the ideals. Lorimer's book is an Americanised Self-help. Smiles is slightly better. With him getting on means more than the amassing of wealth; it means gaining position, which being interpreted means returning to your native village with prosperous rotundity and a gold chain.
Lorimer has no special interest in gold chains and symbols of wealth; he doesn't care a button for position. He preaches efficiency and power; to him the greatest achievement in life appears to be the packing of the maximum of pig into the minimum of tin in the minimum of time. A business friend of mine tells me that it is the greatest book America has produced. Evidently it didn't require the Lusitania incident to prove that America is a long-suffering nation.
Jim was back to the subject of inventions again.
"Aw read in a paper that there's a fortune waitin' for the man that can invent something to haud breeks up instead o' gallis's."
"Ye cud hae buttons on the foot o' yer sark," suggested Janet.
"Aye," said Jim scornfully, "and if a button cam off what wud haud up yer breeks?"
"Public opinion ... in this righteous village," I murmured; "it's almost strong enough to hold up any pair of breeks, Jim," but no one understood me.
"Ye cud hae sticks up the side," said Ellen, "and yer breeks wud stand up like fisherman's boots."