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." "And if ye wanted to bend?" demanded Jim. Ellen shoved out her tongue at him. "Ye never said onything aboot bendin', and ye dinna need to bend onywye." "What aboot when ye're gaitherin' tatties?" crowed Jim. Ellen tossed her head. "Aw wasna thinkin' o' the sort o' man that gaithers tatties; Aw was thinkin' o' gentlemen's breeks ... the kind o' breeks ye'll never hae, Jim Jackson." Jim sighed and gave me a look which I took to mean: "Women are impossible when it comes to arguing." He thought for a time; then he looked up with twinkling eyes. "Aw've got it!" "Well?" "Do away wi' breeks a'-the-gether, and wear kilts." "And what will ye do wi' yer hands?" put in Fred Findlay; "there's nae pooches in a kilt." "Goad, Fred," said Jim, "Aw never thocht o' that; we'll just hae to wrastle on wi' oor breeks and oor gallis's." "Ye cud wear a belt," suggested Janet. "And gie mysel' pewmonia! No likely!" "It's no pewmonia that ye get wearin' a belt," said Janet, "it's a pendicitis." "G'wa, lassie, what do you ken aboot breeks onywye?" "Aw ken mair than you do, Jim Jackson. For wan thing Aw ken that it's no a subject ye shud speak aboot afore lassies. Come on, Ellen, we'll go ootside; the conversation's no proper." Jim glanced at me doubtfully. "It was her that said that breeks cud be buttoned to yer sark!" he exclaimed. He jumped up and hastened to the door. "Janet Broon," I heard him cry, "dinna you speak aboot sarks to me again; sarks is no a proper subject o' conversation for young laddies." I think it was Fletcher of Saltoun who said that he didn't care who made a nation's laws if he made its ballads. To-night I feel that I don't care if Macdonald hears the bairns' opinion of Charles I. so long as I hear their opinion of sarks and breeks. * * *