At school he had wanted to own ships.  This ambition still lodged in his brain.  His thoughts were all at sea.  There was no romance in the world so pleasing to his soul as the romance of the merchant marine.  He had a real passion for harbours.  He loved the idea of far voyages.  The smells of cargoes and warehouses composed a sea-bouquet for him which he esteemed sweeter than all the scents of hedges and wood.  If there was a big man for him in the world it was the sailor.

I don’t think he had so profound a feeling for bankers.  Not quite so downright as Lord Leverhulme in stating his opinion of bankers, Lord Inverforth nevertheless regards them on the whole as lacking in courage and imagination.  He said to himself on his banker’s stool, “I will learn all I can, but I won’t stay here; I’ll be a shipowner.”

In his twentieth year he bought a sailing ship.  This was at Glasgow in the year 1885.  He called himself Andrew Weir and Co.  He had the feeling that sailing ships, engaged in coastwise trade, might be bigger.  He announced his intention of building a large coasting ship.  People informed him, with an almost evangelical anxiety as to his commercial salvation, that he was a lunatic.  But the big ship was a success.  He built more and bigger.  Then, in 1896 he said to himself, “Why shouldn’t steam be used in the coasting trade?” and he went into steam.  Again there were inquiries after his mental health, but the steamer flourished like the big sailing ship.  At the beginning of what the curate called “this so-called twentieth century” the firm of Andrew Weir and Co. flew its flag in all the ports under heaven, and controlled the largest fleet of sailing ships in the world.

There is this fact to be noticed in particular.  Mr. Andrew Weir’s inquisitive mind had not merely mastered the grammar of shipowning but had crammed the cells of his brain with the whole encyclopaedia of commercial geography.  He knew each season what the least of the islands of the world was producing, and the crops, manufactures, and financial condition of every country across the sea.  He knew, also, the way in which the various nations conducted the business of transport.  From his office in Glasgow he could see the whole vast labours of industrious and mercantile man, that Brobdingnagian ant of this revolving globe, merely by closing his eyes.  The map of the world’s commerce was cinematographed upon his brain.

One thing more remains to be said.  Mr. Andrew Weir inherited the moral traditions of Scotch industry.  He grew rich, but not ostentatious.  His increasing fortune went back and back into trade.  He never dreamed either of cutting a figure in plutocratic society or making himself a public character.  A quiet, rather shy, and not often articulate person, he lived a frugal life, loving his business because it occupied all his time and satisfied nearly every curiosity of his inquiring mind.

War came, and Mr. Weir was busier than ever with his ships.  Not until 1917 did it occur to the Government that the work of buying supplies for its gigantic armies was something only to be mastered by a man of business.  The nation may be grateful to Mr. Lloyd George for having discovered in Glasgow perhaps the one man in the British Isles who knew everything there was to know about commercial geography.