The "moving drama" is the other side of the industrial picture. Life for the masses means dirt and disease, ugly factories, sordid homes, mean streets. The moving drama takes the masses away from grim reality; they see beautifully gowned women in drawing-rooms; they see the King reviewing his regiments; they see wild and free cowboys chasing Red Indians. For two hours they live . . . and then they go out again into their world of mere existence. And it is all wrong, tragically wrong. The cinema craze means that life is too ugly to face; it means that the masses are fleeing from reality and to flee from reality is fatal. Day-dreams are laudable only when they come true. If the masses day-dreamed of an economic Utopia and forthwith set about building a New Jerusalem, their phantasies would become realities; but the moving human drama never leads to building; it is raw whisky swallowed to bring oblivion. The moving human drama will live and flourish so long as mankind tolerates the slavery of industrialism. It is a powerful weapon for capitalism; like the church and the public-house, it keeps the wage-slaves quiet. * * * * * To-night the conversation in Dauvit's shop turned to the subject of honours. "They tell me," said Jake Tosh, "that you can buy a knighthood, or a peerage for that matter." "Yea, man!" said Willie Simpson, the joiner and undertaker from Tillymains. "So there's no muckle chance o' you getting ane, Willie," said Dauvit. The joiner smoked thoughtfully for a while. "Na, Dauvit," he said, "there's little chance o' an undertaker gettin' a title. You would think na that the man that coffined the likes o' Lloyd George wud get a knighthood." Dauvit cackled. "Honours are sold, as Jake says; they are never given for public services." I am afraid the joke was lost on most of the assembly. Jake failed to see it. It is said that Jake has been known to laugh at a joke only once, and that was when the earth gave way beneath the minister's feet when he was conducting a service at a grave-side, and he fell into the open grave. "Undertakin'," continued the joiner, "is a verra queer trade." Jake shivered. "I dinna ken how ye can do it," he said; "man, it wud gie me the scunners." "Man, ye soon get accustomed to it," said the joiner. "Of course, it has its limitations; ye canna verra weel advertise in the front page o' _The Daily Mail_, but, man, it's what ye micht call a safe trade." "How safe?" I asked.