Our own cook travelled wi' us. I'm a great hand for Scottish cooking. Mrs. Lauder will bake me a scone, noo and then, no matter whaur we are. And the parritch and a' the other Scottish dishes tickle my palate something grand. Still it was a revelation to me, the way that negro cooked for us! Things I'd never heard of he'd be sending to the table each day, and when I'd see him and tell him that I liked something special he'd made, it was a treat to see his white teeth shining oot o' his black face.
I love to sit behind the train, on the observation platform, while I'm travelling through America. It's grand scenery—and there's sae much of it. It's a wondrous sicht to see the sun rise in the desert. It puts me in mind o' the moors at home, wi' the rosy sheen of the dawn on the purple heather, but it's different.
There's no folk i' the world more hospitable than Americans. And there's no folk prouder of their hames, and more devoted to them. That's a thing to warm the cockles of a Scots heart. I like folk who aren't ashamed to let others know the way they feel. An Englishman's likely to think it's indelicate to betray his feelings. We Scots dinna wear our hearts upon our sleeves, precisely, but we do love our hame, and we're aye fond o' talking about it when we're far awa'.
In Canada, especially, I always found Scots everywhere I went. They'd come to the theatre, whiles I was there; nearly every nicht I'd hear the gude Scots talk in my dressing room after my turn. There'd be dinners they'd gie me—luncheons, as a rule, rather, syne my time was ta'en up sae that I couldna be wi' em at the time for the evening meal. Whiles I'd sing a bit sang for them; whiles they'd ask me tae speak to them.
Often there'd be some laddie I'd known when we were boys together; once or twice I'd shake the hand o' one had worked wi' me in the pit. Man, is there anything like coming upon an old friend far frae hame I didna think sae. It's a feeling that you always have, no matter how oft it comes to you. For me, I know weel, it means a lump rising in my throat, and a bit o' moisture that's verra suspicious near my een, so that I maun wink fast, sometimes, that no one else may understand.
I'm a great one for wearing kilts. I like the Scottish dress. It's the warmest, the maist sensible, way of dressing that I ken. I used to have mair colds before I took to wearing kilts than ever I've had since I made a practice of gie'in up my troosers. And there's a freedom aboot a kilt that troosers canna gie ye.
I've made many friends in America, but I'm afraid I've made some enemies, too. For there's a curious trait I've found some Americans have. They've an audacity, when they're the wrang sort, I've never seen equalled in any other land. And they're clever, tae—oh, aye— they're as clever as can be!
More folk tried tae sell me things I didna want on that first tour o' mine. They'd come tae me wi' mining stocks, and tell me how I could become rich overnicht. You'd no be dreaming the ways they'd find of getting a word in my ear. I mind times when men wha wanted to reach me, but couldna get to me when I was off the stage, hired themselves as stage hands that they micht catch me where I could not get away.
Aye, they've reached me in every way. Selling things, books, insurance, pictures; plain begging, as often as not. I've had men drive cabs so they could speak to me; I mind a time when one, who was to drive me frae the car, in the yards, tae the theatre, took me far oot of ma way, and then turned.
"Now then, Harry Lauder!" he said. "Give me the thousand dollars!"