I need ha’ gie’n myself no concern as to the secretary.  He smiled, and let the basso talk.  And I’ll swear he winked at me.

“I really can’t decide such a matter, Mr. Roberts,” he said, at last.  “You’re engaged to sing; so is Mr. Lauder.  Mr. Lauder is ready to fulfill his engagement—­if you are not I don’t see how I can force you to do so.  But you will do yourself no good if you leave us in the lurch—­I’m afraid people who are arranging concerts will feel that you are a little unreliable.”

The other singers argued with him, too, but it was no use.  He would no demean himself by singing with Harry Lauder.  And so we went on without him, and the concert was a great success.  I had to give a dozen encores, I mind.  And puir Roberts!  He got no more engagements, and a little later became a chorus man with a touring opera company.  I’m minded of him the noo because, not so lang syne, he met me face to face in London, and greeted me like an old friend.

“I remember very well knowing you, years ago, before you were so famous, Mr. Lauder,” he said.  “I don’t just recall the circumstances—­ I think we appeared together at some concerts—­that was before I unfortunately lost my voice——­”

Aweel, I minded the circumstances, if he did not, but I had no the heart to remind him!  And I “lent” him the twa shillin’ he asked.  Frae such an auld friend as him I was lucky not to be touched for half a sovereign!

I’ve found some men are so.  Let you succeed, let you mak’ your bit siller, and they remember that they knew you well when you were no so well off and famous.  And it’s always the same way.  If they’ve not succeeded, it’s always someone else’s fault, never their own.  They dislike you because you’ve done well when they’ve done ill.  But it’s easy to forgie them—­it’s aye hard to bear a grudge in this world, and to be thinkin’ always of punishin’ those who use us despite-fully.  I’ve had my share of knocks from folk.  And sometimes I’ve dreamed of being able to even an auld score.  But always, when the time’s come for me to do it, I’ve nae had the heart.

It was rare fun to sing in those concerts.  And in the autumn of 1896 I made a new venture.  I might have gone on another tour among the music halls in the north, but Donald Munro was getting up a concert tour, and I accepted his offer instead.  It was a bit new for a singer like myself to sing at such concerts, but I had been doing well, and Mr. Munro wanted me, and offered me good terms.

That tour brought me one of my best friends and one of my happiest associations.  It was on it that I met Mackenzie Murdoch.  I’ll always swear by Murdoch as the best violinist Scotland ever produced.  Maybe Ysaye and some of the boys with the unpronounceable Russian names can play better than he.  I’ll no be saying as to that.  But I know that he could win the tears from your een when he played the old Scots melodies; I know that his bow was dipped in magic before he drew it across the strings, and that he played on the strings of your heart the while he scraped that old fiddle of his.