tribute fine that dealers aye keep handy,
But juist this irreleegious screed--"That's damned white of Andy!"

The gude Scot laughs at epitaphs that are but meant to flatter,
But never are was sae profane, an' that's nae laughin' matter.
Yet, gin he gies his siller all awa, mon, he's a dandy,
An' we'll admit his right to it, for "That's damned white of Andy!"

There's not to be a "big, big D," an' then a dash thereafter,
For Andy would na spoil the word by trying to make it safter;
He's not the lad to juggle terms, or soothing speech to bandy.
A blunt, straightforward mon is he--an' "That's damned white of Andy!"

Sae when he's deid, we'll gie good heed, an' write it as he askit;
We'll carve it on his headstone an' we'll stamp it on his casket:
"Wha dees rich, dees disgraced," says he, an' sure's my name is Sandy,
'T wull be nae rich man that he'll dee--an' "That's damned white
of Andy!"[43]

[Footnote 43: Mr. Carnegie was very fond of this story because, being
human, he was fond of applause and, being a Robert Burns radical, he
preferred the applause of Labor to that of Rank. That one of his men
thought he had acted "white" pleased him beyond measure. He stopped
short with that tribute and never asked, never knew, why or how the
story happened to be told. Perhaps this is the time and place to tell
the story of the story.

Sometime in 1901 over a dinner table in New York, I heard a statement
regarding Mr. Carnegie that he never gave anything without the
requirement that his name be attached to the gift. The remark came
from a prominent man who should have known he was talking nonsense. It
rather angered me. I denied the statement, saying that I, personally,
had given away money for Mr. Carnegie that only he and I knew about,
and that he had given many thousands in this way through others. By
way of illustration I told the story about McLuckie. A Pittsburgh man
at the table carried the story back to Pittsburgh, told it there, and
it finally got into the newspapers. Of course the argument of the
story, namely, that Mr. Carnegie sometimes gave without publicity, was
lost sight of and only the refrain, "It was damned white of Andy,"
remained. Mr. Carnegie never knew that there was an argument. He liked
the refrain. Some years afterward at Skibo (1906), when he was writing
this Autobiography, he asked me if I would not write out the story for
him. I did so. I am now glad of the chance to write an explanatory
note abo