Mr. Andrew Weir entered the War Office in March, 1917, as Surveyor General of Supply.  The position was not merely difficult in its nature, but difficult in its circumstances.  Soldiers are jealous animals, and not easily does the War Office take to the black-coated man of business.  Mr. Weir was tact itself.  For some weeks the soldiers were hardly aware of his presence, then they learned that the quiet Scotsman in the black coat was saying the most laudatory things about their organization; then they found themselves marvellously improving this organization merely by acting on the most modestly given suggestions from the smooth civilian; and finally the very greatest of them discovered that somehow or another Supply had now got a wonderful “move on,” and that among other things this wonderful “move on” had brought the civilian on top of them—­still smooth and modest, still in the background, but absolute master of the whole machinery.

Lord Inverforth’s work soon involved not merely the care of the British Armies but the care of the Allied nations.  What did he do?  Besieged by the unconscionable rascals of the world, fawning or blustering to get contracts at extraordinary prices, Lord Inverforth struck a master blow at this international cupidity by obtaining control of the principal raw materials and instituting the system of costing.  Manufacturers got their contracts on a fixed basis of profits.  Lord Inverforth knew the exact cost of every stage in the manufacture of each article he bought, and he saw that the manufacturer received from the taxpayer only a small percentage of profit on that cost.

The greatest thing he did at that time, and the bravest, for he did it without authorization and at a cost of L250,000,000, was to buy up the Australasian wool-clip from 1917 to 1920.  In this way Germany was doomed to defeat.  England, so to speak, had the clothing of humanity in her right hand.

But Lord Inverforth also controlled flax, hemp, leather, and jute, so that the enemy’s case was as hopeless as our own was secure.

These gigantic operations involved an expenditure of over L500,000,000.  They brought an actual profit to the British Government of over L20,000,000, saved the taxpayer Heaven only knows how many millions, and were conducted at an administrative cost of three shillings for every L100.

Nothing like it had ever been done before in the world.

Early in 1919 Lord Inverforth was asked to clear up war’s rubbish-heap.  He became Minister of Munitions.  Within twenty-four hours his body of expert buyers had become the Disposal Board—­a body of expert sellers.

The property of the British taxpayer was scattered over four continents, and in all manner of places in those four continents.  It was composed of 350,000 different kinds of things.

At once Lord Inverforth was again besieged by the rascals.  There was an army of them, composed of many “rings,” seeking to buy up these “waste products of war” at a knock-down price.  At the same time came the blustering contractor, cheated by peace of his contract, with a claim for millions on one ground or another.