Macgregor to Christina
I was looking for your letter the whole of yesterday, but it did not come till this morning at 8.35 a.m., and I am sorry to say it is not near as nice as I expected. Some parts is niceish, but others is rotten. What for do you ask me if I have spotted many pretty girls here, when you know I would not be for taking the troubble of spoting any girl in the world but you, and besides they are all terrible ugly here. Yesterday I seen 2 that made me feel sick. Willie said they was on for being picked up, and he give a wink at one of them, and she put out her tongue at him, but no more happened. They was quite young girls, though hiddeous, but Willie did not seem to mind their faces ['mugs' scored out].
Willie is greatly changed since the last few weeks. You would scarcely know him, he is that fond of exercises. He is near as strong as me. They are telling him he will be a corporal before his aunt, and he gets huffy. He spoke too much about his aunt at the beginning, cursing and swearing like, and now he can't get away from it, poor sole. It is a pity she does not send him some small presents now and then. He is awful jealous of the chaps that get things from home; you can tell it by his face and the bad language he uses about the billet and the Zeppelins for 2 hours after. So just for fun, when I was writing to Uncle Purdie, I said please send the next parcel addressed to Pte. Wm. Thomson. Willie got it last night. He never let on he was pleased, but he was. He was freer nor I expected him to be with the groceries, but he eat a tin of salmon all by his lone, and in the middle of the night, at 3.15 a.m., he was took horrid bad, and 7 of the chaps made him take their private meddicines, and he could not turn out for physical exercise in the morning, but is now much better, and has made a good tea, and is eating 1 lb. cokernut lozenges at this very minute.
I have no more news. But, dear Christina, I am not well pleased with your letter at all. I am quite disconsoled about it. It makes me feel like wet cold feet that has no hopes of ever getting dry and cosy again. When I seen yourself last Friday night I was not feared for anything, for you was that kind and soft-hearted, and you laughed that gentle and pretty, and your words did sound sweet even when they was chaffing-like. But now I am fearing something has gone wrong. Are you offended? I did not mean to do so. Have you got tired of me? I would thinkyesat once, if you was the common sort of girl, but you are the honest sort that would tell me straight, and not with hints in a letter. So if you are not offended, I think you must have catched a cold in your head, or got something wrong with your inside. Colds in the head is very permanent [? prevalent] in the billet for the present, and the chaps with them are ready to bite your nose off if you say a word to them.
Dear, dear Christina, please tell me what is the matter. I will not sleep well till I hear from you. The stew for dinner to-day was better than the stew yesterday, but I could not take my usual. I am fed up with anxiousness. Kindly write by return. Why do you never put any X X X in your letters? Do you want me to stop putting them in mine?
Your aff. intended,M. ROBINSON.
P.S.—It is not to be the Dardanelles, but we are likely going toFlanders next week. Excuse writing and spelling as usual. X X XPlease write at once.
Christina to Macgregor
Your esteemed favour duly to hand and contents noted. I deeply regret that my last communication did not meet with your unmitigated approval, but oh, dear wee Mac, I could not write a lovey-dovey letter to save my only neck. In my youth, when penny novels were my sole mental support, I used to see myself pouring forth screeds of beauteous remarks to an adoring swine 6 1/2 ft. high x 2 3/4 ft. broad. But now it can't be done. Still, I am sorry if my letter hurt you. It was never meant to do that, lad. You must learn to take my chaff and other folks' unseriously. Honest, if I had been really thinking of you along with other girls, I would not have mentioned it. I'm not that sort of girl, and I'm not the sort that gets cold in the head, either, thanking you all the same for kind enquiries. But I'm by no means faultless. I get what the novelists call flippant when I am feeling most solemn. I was a bit down-hearted when I wrote last, for your letter had said 'Dardanelles.' Now you say 'Flanders,' which is no better, but I am not going to cry this time. Surely they won't send you away so soon, dear.
Glad to hear Willie is greatly changed, and I hope he will keep on changing, though I could never admire a man that ate a whole tin of salmon in once. I'm sure the two girls were not so dreadfully plain as you report. Had they got their hair up? Girls don't usually put out their tongues at young men after their hair is up, so I presume they wereveryyoung. It was like you to ask your uncle to send Willie the parcel.
Miss Tod is not so brisk just now. The doctor says she must either drink less tea or become a chronic dyspeptomaniac. She prefers the latter. Poor old thing, her joys are few and simple! Trade is not so bad. A new line in poetical patriotical postcards is going well. The poetry is the worst yet.
I am sending you some cigarettes with my uncle's best wishes and a pair of socks with mine. Perhaps you have enough socks from home already. If so, give them to W. T., and ask him from me to practise blushing. He can begin by winking at himself in a mirror thrice daily.
When are you going to get leave again? Miss Tod says I can get away at 6, any night I want to. No; I don't want you to stop putting those marks in your letters. If you can find one in this letter, you may take it, and I hope it will make you half as happy as I want you to be. Good-night.
Never a day passed without its camp rumour. If Macgregor was disposed to be over-credulous, his friend Willie was sceptical enough for two.
'I hear we're for the Dardanelles next week,' the former observed one afternoon.
Willie snorted. 'What the —— wud they send us yins to theDardanelles afore we ken hoo to fire a rifle?'
'I heard it for a fac',' Macgregor returned imperturbably. 'They want us yins for begnet wark, no for snipin'.'
'Begnet wark! I'll bet ye fifty fags I get a dizzen Turks on ma begnet afore ye get twa on yours!'
Macgregor let the boastful irrelevance pass. 'I wonder,' he said, thoughtfully, 'if we'll get extra leave afore we gang.'
'Plenty o' leave! Keep yer mind easy, Macgreegor. It's a million in gold to a rotten banana we never get a bash at onybody. It's fair putrid to think o' a' the terrible hard wark we're daein' here to nae purpose. I wisht I was deid! Can ye len' 'us a bob?'
'I ha'ena got it, Wullie; honest.' Willie sadly shook his head. 'That moll o' yours,' said he, 'is awfu' expensive. Ye've nae notion o' managin' weemen. Listen, an' I'll tell ye something. Ye mind last Monday? Weel, I had a late pass that nicht, an' I thocht I wud miss seein' ma aunt's ugly for wance—though it meant missin' a guid meal forbye. So when I got to Glesca I picked up thon fat girl we used to fling rubbish at when we was young. An', by Jings, she was pleased an' prood! She stood me ma tea, includin' twa hot pies, an' she gi'ed me a packet o' fags—guid quality, mind ye!—an' she peyed for first-class sates in a pictur' hoose! That's hoo to dae it, ma lad!' he concluded complacently.
'An' what did you gi'e her?' Macgregor inquired, after a pause.
'Ma comp'ny, likewise some nice fresh air fried in naething, for I took her for a short walk. I could manage wi' ninepence.'
'Ach, I didna think ye was as mean as that, Wullie! Was—was she guid-lookin'?'
'I didna notice her face a great deal; but she's a beezer for stootness. I'm gaun to meet her again on ma next leave. If I tell her we've orders for the Dardanelles, there's nae guessin' what she'll dae for me.'
'She maun be unco saft,' Macgregor commented pityingly.
'Maybe the kilt had something to dae wi' it,' Willie modestly allowed. 'They a' adore the kilt. Can ye no spare saxpence . . . weel, thruppence?'
'I could spare ye a bat on the ear, but I'll tell ye what I'll dae. I've got some money comin' the morn, an' I'll present ye wi' twa bob, if ye'll tak' yer oath to spend them baith on gi'ein' the fat yin a treat.'
Willie gasped. 'D'ye think I'm completely mad?'
There's something wrang wi' ye when ye can sponge aft a girl, even supposin' she's fat. So ye can tak' ma offer or a dashed guid hammerin' when the first chance comes.'
'Dinna be sae free wi' yer hammerin's, ma lord! Remember, it was a draw the last time.'
'I wasna angry, an' I had gloves on.' Willie considered for a moment and decided to compromise.
'I'll burst a bob on her to please ye.'
'Twa—or a hammerin'.'
'But what —— guid is the siller gaun to dae me, if I squander it a' on her? Ye micht as weel fling it in the Clyde. She's no wantin' that sort o' kindness frae me. She prefers a bit cuddle.'
'Did ye cuddle her?' Macgregor asked with an interest indifferently concealed.
'Some o' her. But she's earnin' guid money at the ——'
'I dinna suppose she wud ha'e treated ye excep' she had mair money nor brains.'
'She wud pairt wi' her last farden for ma sake!'
'Ach, awa' an' eat grass! It's weel seen that men are scarce the noo.'
'Mind wha ye're insultin'!'
'I'm gaun up to the billet.' Macgregor said, shortly, and walked off.
Presently, Willie, a new idea in his busy brain, overtook him.
'Macgreegor, if ye len' me thruppence the noo, I'll ca' it a bargain aboot the twa bob.'
He got the pennies then, and on the following day a florin, upon which he took a solemn oath. But as he fingered the silver later he smiled secretly and almost serenely. If the fat girl had stood him a substantial meal, cigarettes and a picture entertainment for nothing, what might not he expect as a return for the squandering of two shillings?
As for Macgregor, his motives were probably not unmixed: the pleasure which he foresaw for the poor, fat girl was contingent on the agony of Willie while spending good money on a person other than himself.
However, Willie was not long in securing a late pass, and went upon his jaunt in an apparently chastened state of mind, though in the best possible humour.
He returned in the worst possible.
'Twa bob clean wasted,' he grunted, squatting down by Macgregor's bed. 'I wish to —— I had flung it in the Clyde when we was crossin' the brig.'
'What gaed wrang?' inquired Macgregor, rubbing his eyes. 'Did she no like yer treat?'
'I'll warrant she did!'
'What did ye buy her wi' the twa bob?'
Willie sniffed at his recollections. 'Like a —— goat,' said he, 'I askit her what she wud like best for twa bob, me thinkin' naterally she wud say a feed to stairt wi'. I was ready for a feed masel'. But she squeezed ma airm an' shoved her big face intil mines, an' said she wud like a sooveneer best. To blazes wi' sooveneers! An' she dragged me awa' to a shop, an' I had to buy her a silly-like wee tie that cost me eichteen-pence-ha'penny; an' then she wanted a lang ride on the caur, an' that burst fivepence; an' she nabbed the remainin' bawbee for a keepsake.' The reciter paused as if from exhaustion.
'Hurry up!' said Macgregor encouragingly. 'What did she gi'e you?'
'A —— kiss up a —— close! To pot wi' kissin'! An' then she said she was afraid her mither wud be waitin' the ham an' egg supper for her, so she wud need to run, an' she was vexed she couldna meet me again because she had been hearin' I was a terrible bad character. An' then, takin' advantage o' ma surprise, she done a bunk. . . . An' if ever I ha'e ony mair truck wi' weemen, may I be ——'
'She wasna as saft as I fancied she was,' remarked Macgregor in an uncertain voice. 'So ye wud jist gang to yer aunt's for yer supper, efter a'?'
'Ay! An' the auld cat was oot at a prayer-meetin'. I ha'ena had a bite in ma mooth since denner-time. Ha'e ye onything o' yer uncle's handy?'
'I can gi'e ye a wee tin o' corned beef, Wullie. Ye ken whaur to find it.'
'Least ye can dae,' Willie growled. 'Thenk Goad it was your money!'
'I'm thinkin' I've got guid value.'
'What?'
'Guid nicht!' And stuffing some blanket into his mouth, Macgregor rolled over and quaked with imprisoned mirth.
It came, as Christina would have expressed it in her early days, like a 'blot from the blue.' On a certain fine morning, while battalion drill was in progress, a mounted officer dashed upon the scene and was forthwith engaged in earnest conversation with the colonel. The news was evidently urgent, and it was received with an obvious gravity. A thrill ran through the ranks; you would have fancied you heard breaths of anticipation.
A minute later the companies were making for camp at the double. Arrived there they were instructed to repair to billets and, with all speed, pack up. And presently ammunition was being served out, a hundred rounds to each man; and, later, 'iron' rations.
'We're awa' noo!' gasped Macgregor, recovering forcibly fromWillie's greedy clutch a pair of socks knitted by Christina.
'Ay, we're awa'; an' I'll bet ye we're for Flanders,' said Willie, no less excited.
'Dardanelles!' shouted Macgregor, above the din that filled the billet.
'Flanders!' yelled Willie, wildly, and started to dance—unfortunately upon a thin piece of soap.
'Dardanelles!' Macgregor repeated as he gave his friend a hand up.
'Oh ——!' groaned Willie, rubbing the back of his head. 'But what'll ye bet?'
'What ha'e ye got?'
'I'll bet ye thruppence—the thruppence ye lent me the day afore yesterday.'
'Done! If ye win, we'll be quits; if ye loss——'
'Na, na! If I win, ye'll ha'e to pay me——'
'Ach, I've nae time to listen to ye. I've twa letters to write.'
'Letters! What aboot the bet?'
'Awa' an' chase yersel'! Are ye no gaun to drap a line to yer aunt?'
'No dashed likely! She's never sent the postal order I asked her for. If I had got it, I wud ha'e payed what I'm owin' ye, Macgreegor. By heavens, I wud! I'll tak' ma oath I——'
'Aweel, never heed aboot that,' Macgregor said, soothingly. 'Send her a post caird an' let me get peace for three meenutes.'
'Ye canna get peace in this,' said Willie, with a glance round the tumultuous billet.
'I can—if ye haud yer silly tongue.' Macgregor thereupon got his pad and envelopes (a gift from Miss Tod), squatted on his bed, and proceeded to gnaw his pencil. The voice of the sergeant was heard ordering the men to hurry up.
'I'll tell ye what I'll dae,' said Willie, sitting down at his friend's elbow. 'I'll bet ye a' I owe ye to a bob it's Flanders. Ye see, I'll maybe get shot, an' I dinna want to dee in debt. An' I'll send the auld cat a caird wi' something nice on it, to please ye . . . . Eh?'
'Aw, onything ye like, but for ony sake clay up! Shift!' cried the distracted Macgregor.
'Weel gi'e's a fag . . . . an' a match,' said Willie.
He received them in his face, but merely grinned as he languidly removed himself.
The two scrawls so hastily and under such difficulties produced by Macgregor are sacred. He would never write anything more boyish and loving, nor yet more manly and brave, than those 'few lines' to his mother and sweetheart. There was no time left for posting them when the order came to fall in, but he anticipated an opportunity at one of the stations on the journey south.
Out in the sunshine stood the hundreds of lads whose training had been so brief that some carried ammunition for the first time. There were few grave faces, though possibly some of the many grins were more reflected than original. Yet there was a fine general air of eagerness, and at the word 'attention' the varied expressions gave place to one of determination.
Boom! boom! boom! . . . Boom! boom! boom! Dirl and skirl; skirl and dirl! So to the heart-lifting, hell-raising music of pipes and drums they marched down to the railway.
At the station it seemed as though they had been expected to break all records in military entraining. There was terrific haste and occasional confusion, the latter at the loading of the vans. The enthusiasm was equalled only by the perspiration. But at last everything and nearly everybody was aboard, and the rumour went along that they had actually broken such and such a battalion's record.
Private William Thomson, however, had already started his inevitable grumbling. There were eight in the compartment, and he had stupidly omitted to secure a corner seat.
'I'll bet ye I'm a corp afore we get to Dover,' he bleated.
'That's as near as ever ye'll be to bein' a corporal,' remarked the cheerful Jake. 'But hoo d'ye ken it'll be Dover?'
'I'll bet ye —— Na! I'll no tak' on ony mair wagers. I've a tremenjous bet on wi' this yin'—indicating Macgregor—'every dashed penny I possess—that we're boun' for Flanders. He says the Dardanelles.'
All excepting Macgregor fell to debating the question. He had just remembered something he had forgotten to say to Christina; also, he was going away without the ring she was to have given him. He was not sorry he was going, but he felt sad. . . .
The debate waxed furious.
'I tell ye,' bawled Willie, 'we're for Flanders! The Ninth's been there since the——'
A sudden silence! What the —— was that? Surely not—ay, it was!—an order to detrain!
And soon the whisper went round that they were not bound for anywhere—unless the —— old camp. The morning's alarm and all that followed had been merely by way of practice.
At such a time different men have different feelings, or, at least, different ways of expressing them. Jake laughed philosophically and appeared to dismiss the whole affair. Willie swore with a curious and seemingly unnecessary bitterness, at frequent intervals, for the next hour or so. Macgregor remained in a semi-stunned condition of mind until the opportunity came for making a little private bonfire of the two letters; after which melancholy operation he straightway recovered his usual good spirits.
'Never heed, Wullie,' he said, later; 'we'll get oor chance yet.'
Willie exploded. 'What for did ye get me to mak' sic a —— cod o' masel'?'
'Cod o' yersel'? Me?'
'Ay, you!—gettin' me to send a caird to ma —— aunt! What for did ye dae it?'
Macgregor stared. 'But ye didna post it,' he began.
'Ay, but I did. I gi'ed it to a man at the station.'
'Oh! . . . Weel, ye'll just ha'e to send her anither.'
'That'll no mak' me less o' a cod.'
'What way? What did ye write on the caird?'
Willie hesitated, muttered a few curses, and said slowly yet savagely:—
'"Off to Flanders, wi'—wi' kind love"—oh, dammit!'
After considering the matter at intervals for about thirty years, Miss Tod, Christina's employer, decided to take a short change of air by accepting the long-standing invitation of an old and aged friend who dwelt in the country. The hour of departure arriving, she shed tears, expressed the fear that she was going to her death, embraced the girl, handed her the keys of the premises, and requested her to make any use she pleased of the rather stuffy living-room behind the shop.
Christina had no notion of accepting the offer until, an hour or two later, the idea struck her that it would be fun to give a little tea party for Macgregor and Willie Thomson. She knew Willie but slightly, but though her respect was no greater than her knowledge, she had kept a softish corner for him since the day, two years ago, when he had gone out of his way to inform her, impudently enough, that his friend Macgregor was not courting a certain rather bold and attractive damsel called Jessie Mary.
So she wrote forthwith to Macgregor and enclosed the following invitation, in her neatest writing, for his friend:—
Miss Christina Baldwin requests the unspeakable pleasure of Pte. William Thomson's company
to T. T. Tea
on the first evening possible (Sunday excepted) at 5.30 precisely till 7 prompt.
Menu.
Sandwiches, Sausage Rolls,Hot Cookies, Cream Dittos,Macaroons, Cheesecakes,Currant Cakes, Jam Puffs,Imperial (neeGerman) Biscuits,AndNO BREAD.God Save the King!
P.S.—Miss C. B. will expectPte. W. T. to Ask a Blessing.
It took time and patience on Macgregor's part to persuade his friend that the missive was not a 'cod'; but once convinced of its genuineness, Willie took the business seriously. He swore, however, to have nothing to do with the matter of the P.S. Nevertheless, in moments of solitude, his lips might have been observed to move diligently, and it is possible that he was mentally rehearsing 'For what we are about to receive, etc.' His written acceptance was a model in its way.
'Coming with thanks,—Yours truly, W. THOMSON.'
By the same post he wrote to his aunt—for cash; but her reply consisting of a tract headed with a picture of a young man in the remnants of a bath towel dining in a pig-sty, he was compelled once more to appeal to Macgregor, who fortunately happened to be fairly flush. He expended the borrowed shilling on a cane and a packet of Breath Perfumers for himself, and for Christina a box of toffee which, being anhungered while on sentry duty the same night, he speedily devoured with more relish than regret.
Unless we reckon evenings spent in Macgregor's home in the small boy period, and a funeral or two, Willie's experience of tea parties was nil. Despite his frequently expressed contempt for such 'footerin' affairs,' he was secretly flattered by Christina's invitation. At the same time, he suffered considerable anguish of mind on account of his ignorance of the 'fancy behaviour' which he deemed indispensable in the presence of a hostess whom he considered 'awfu' genteel.' With reluctance, but in sheer desperation, he applied to his seldom-failing friend.
'What the blazes,' he began with affected unconcern, 'dae ye dae at a tea pairty?'
'Eat an' jaw,' came the succinct reply.
'But what dae ye jaw aboot?'
'Onything ye like—as long as ye leave oot the bad language.'
'I doobt I'll no ha'e muckle to say,' sighed Willie.
'She'll want to hear aboot the camp an' so on,' Macgregor said, by way of encouragement.
'But that'll be piper's news to her. You've tell't her——'
'I've never had the time.'
Willie gasped. 'What the —— dae you an' her jaw aboot?'
'Nane o' your business!'
'Haw, haw!' laughed Willie, mirthlessly. 'My! but ye're a spoony deevil!—nae offence intendit.' The apology was made hastily owing to a sudden change in Macgregor's expression and colour.
Macgregor lit a cigarette and returned his well-stocked aluminium case to his pocket.
The silence was broken by Willie.
'Savin' up?'
'Ay.'
'It's a dashed bad habit, Macgreegor. Dinna let it grow on ye. If naebody saved up, everybody wud be weel aff. . . . Aweel, what maun be maun be.' And, groaning, Private Thomson drew forth a packet which his friend had 'stood' him the previous day. 'Regairdin' this tea pairty,' he resumed, 'are ye supposed to eat a' ye can an' leave what ye canna—if there's onything to leave?'
'She'll expect ye to eat a' ye can.'
'It's easy seen she doesna ken me.'
'Oh, she'll be prepared for the warst, Wullie,' said Macgregor, his good-humour returned. 'I can shift a bit masel' when I'm in form.'
Whereat Willie's countenance was illuminated by a happy thought.'I'll bet ye a tanner I'll shift mair nor you!'
Macgregor laughed and shook his head. 'If you an' me was gaun oor lane to restewrant, I wud tak' ye on; but——'
'Aw, ye mean it wudna be the thing a tea pairty?'
'Hardly.'
'Weel, weel,' said Willie, with sorry resignation, 'honest money's ill to earn. It wud ha'e been a snip for me. Ha'e ye a match? 'Having lit up: 'Tell us what else I maunna dae at the pairty.'
Macgregor scratched his head. 'If it had been a denner pairty,' he said slowly, thinking doubtless of Aunt Purdie's, 'I could ha'e gi'ed ye a queer list; but ye canna gang faur wrang at a tea pairty.'
'I dinna want to gang an inch wrang.'
'Weel, then, for instance, some folk objec's to a chap sookin' his tea frae his saucer——'
'I'll note that. Fire awa'!'
'An' if a cream cookie bursts——'
'Dae they burst whiles?'
'Up yer sleeve, as a rule,' said Macgregor very solemnly.
'Guid Goad! I'll pass the cream cookies.'
'But they're awfu' tasty.'
'Are they? . . . Weel, what dae ye dae if it bursts?'
'Never let bug.'
'Ay, but—but what aboot the cream?'
'Best cairry an extra hanky an' plug yer sleeve wi' it.'
After a dismal pause, Willie inquired: 'Could ye no get her to leave the cream cookies oot o' her programme, Macgreegor?'
Macgregor looked dubious. 'She's gey saft on them hersel', an' she micht be offendit if we refused them. Of course they dinna scoot up the sleeve every time.'
'Oh!'—more hopefully.
'Whiles they explode doon the waistcoat—I mean tunic.'
'That's enough!' wailed Willie. 'If the Clyde was handy, I wud gang an' droon masel'!'
On the third day following, they obtained late passes. Willie's uneasiness was considerable, yet so was his vanity. He affected an absurdly devil-may-care deportment which so stirred Macgregor's sense of pity that he had thoughts of taking back what he had said about the cream cookies. But at the last moment his bootlace snapped. . . .
Willie's toilet was the most careful he had ever made, and included an application of exceeding fragrant pomade pilfered from his corporal's supply and laid on thickly enough to stop a leak. Finally, having armed himself with his new cane and put seven breath perfumers and a cigarette in his mouth, he approached the stooping Macgregor and declared himself ready for the road.
'What's that atrocious smell?' demanded Macgregor, with unwonted crustiness.
For once in his life Willie had no answer at hand, and for once he blushed.
Christina was serving a customer when her two guests entered the shop. Unembarrassed she beamed on both and signed to Macgregor to go 'right in.' So Macgregor conducted his friend, who during the journey had betrayed increasing indications of 'funk,' into the absent owner's living-room, which Christina had contrived to make brighter looking than for many a year.
At the sight of the laden table Willie took fright and declared his intention of doing an immediate 'slope.' 'Ye didna tell me,' he complained, 'there was to be a big compn'y.'
Macgregor grabbed him by the arm. 'Keep yer hair on, Wullie.There'll be naebody but the three o' us. There's nae scrimp abootChristina,' he added with pride.
'I believe ye!' responded the reassured guest. 'Gor, I never seen as much pastries in a' ma born days—no but what I'm ready to dae ma bit.'
Just then Christina entered, remarking:
'It's an awfu' job tryin' to sell what a person doesna want to a person that wants what ye ha'ena got; but I done it this time. Evenin', Mac. Mr. Thomson, I am delighted to meet ye.'
'Aw,' murmured Willie helplessly.
'Dinna terrify him,' Macgregor whispered.
'Sorry,' she said with quick compunction. 'I'm gled to see ye, Wullie. Sit doon an' feel at hame. The kettle's jist at the bile. See, tak' Miss Tod's chair. She'll like to think that a sojer sat in it. She'll never ha'e been as near to a man. I was askin' her the ither nicht if she had ever had a lad. The answer was in the negative.'
'Maybe,' Macgregor suggested, 'she didna like to tell ye the truth.'
Christina smiled gently, saying, 'Ye've a lot to learn aboot us females, Mac.'
'By Jings, ye're richt there!' Willie exploded, and immediately subsided in confusion.
'Ay,' she agreed placidly; 'he's no a connoisseur like you, Wullie.Talkin' o' females, hoo's yer aunt keepin'?'
'Rotten—at least she was fine the last time I seen her ugly.'
'The decay seems to ha'e been rapid. But, seriously, it's a peety ye canna love yer aunt better——'
Love her! Oh, help!' The 'p' was sounded just in time, and Willie glanced at Macgregor to see whether he had noticed the stumble.
Macgregor, however, had forgotten Willie—unless, perhaps to wish him a hundred miles away. Christina was wearing a new white blouse which showed a little bit of her neck, with a bow of her favourite scarlet at the opening.
'D'ye ken what ma aunt done to me the ither day?' Willie proceeded, craving for sympathy. 'I was terrible hard up, an' I wrote her a nice letter on a caird wi' a view o' Glesca Cathedral on it, includin' the graveyaird—cost me a penny; an' what dae ye think she sent me back? A bl—oomin' trac'!'
At that moment the kettle boiled, and Christina, exclaiming 'Oh, mercy!' sprang to the hearth. Over her shoulder she said in a voice that wavered slightly:
'That was hard cheese, Wullie, but ye maun send her a cheerier-like caird next time. I'll stand ye an optimistic specimen afore ye leave the shop.'
'Thenk ye! A—of course we'll ha'e to draw the line at picturs o' folk dookin' in the sad sea waves or canoodlin' on the shore——'
Christina, teapot in one hand, kettle in the other, burst out laughing.
'Mind ye dinna burn yersel'!' cried Macgregor, starting into life.
'Haud the kettle, Mac,' said she. 'It's no fair o' Wullie to be sae funny.'
'I wasna funny!' Willie protested.
'It's yer notion o' the optimistic that tickled me,' she said. 'Pour, Mac; I'm steady noo. But ye're quite richt, Wullie. We canna be ower discreet when cash is involved. I'll get some high-class cairds for ye to inspect till the tea's infused.'
Macgregor would dearly have liked to follow her into the shop.
'She's a clinker,' observed Willie under his breath.
'Eh?'
'Naething.'
Which was all the conversation during the absence of the hostess.
She returned with a tray. Willie was tempted by a card with the 'V.C.' emblazoned on it, but feared it would look 'swanky' on his part. Though hampered by the adverse criticisms of Macgregor, who naturally wanted to hold Christina's hand under cover of the table as long as possible, he succeeded at last in choosing one entitled 'The Soldier's Return,' depicting a bronzed youth running to embrace an old lady awaiting him in a cottage porch.
'If that doesna touch the spot,' said Christina, 'I'm a duchess.'
They sat down to tea.
Much to Willie's relief, Christina apparently forgot all about a blessing. Anxious to please, he expressed admiration at the abundance of good things.
'I like to see a table groanin',' said the hospitable hostess.
'There'll be mair nor the table groanin' afore lang,' observedMacgregor.
They all laughed like happy people, especially Willie, until with a start he remembered the cream cookies and his omission to bring an extra hanky. All the same, he proceeded to enjoy himself pretty heartily, and did the agreeable to the best of his ability, furnishing sundry anecdotes of camp life which were as new to Macgregor as they probably were to himself. At last—
'Try a cream cookie,' said Christina.
But he could not face it. 'Cream,' he said mournfully, 'doesna agree wi' me. The last time I had cream—ma aunt had got it in for her cat that had the staggers—I lay in agony for three days an' three nichts an' several 'oors into the bargain. Ma aunt feared I was gaun to croak ma last.'
Macgregor made a choking sound, while Christina gravely hoped that the cat had also recovered, and passed the macaroons.
'Thenk ye,' said Willie, and readily resumed operations. But he was not a little disgusted to note presently that Christina and Macgregor enjoyed their cream cookies without the slightest mishap.
His geniality was not fully restored until, at the end of the meal,Christina laid a box of superior cigarettes between her two guests.
'May I drap deid in five meenutes,' he declared, 'if ever I was treated like this afore! Macgreegor, ye're jist a damp lucky deevil!'
'Oh, whisht!' said Christina smiling.
'Ye should get a girl, Wullie,' Macgregor remarked with the air of an old married man.
'I ha'ena your luck, ma lad. If I was trustin' a girl, I'll bet ye a bob she wud turn oot to be yin o' the sort that pinches a chap's wages afore they're warmed in his pooch, an' objec's to him smokin' a fag, an' tak's the huff if he calls her fig-face.'
'I'm afraid ye're a pessimist,' Christina said. 'I used to dae a bit in that line masel'. Ma favourite motto was: "Cheer up—ye'll soon be deid!" But I got past that, an' so will you.'
With a sardonic smile Willie shook his head and took another cigarette; and just then Christina had to go to attend to a customer.
Willie turned to his friend. 'Thon was a dirty trick aboot the cookies. I've a guid mind to bide here as lang as you.'
'I didna think ye wud hae been feart for a cookie, Wullie. Of course, I'll never tell her.'
'Weel, I accep' yer apology. Can ye len' us thruppence? I want to purchase some War Loan. . . . By Jings, ye're no a bad sort, Macgreegor. . . . Hoo dae ye think I behaved masel'?'
'No that bad.'
'Weel, I want ye to tell her I ha'end enjoyed masel' sae much since ma Uncle Peter's funeral, ten year back.'
'Tell her yersel'.'
Willie pocketed a few of the superior cigarettes, and rose. 'It's sax-thirty,' he said. 'Her an' you'll be nane the waur o' hauf an' 'oor in private. See? So long! She's a clinker!'
And before Macgregor realized it, Willie had bolted through the shop and into the street.
Christina returned, her eyes wide. 'What gaed wrang wi' him, Mac?'
'Come here an' I'll tell ye.'
'It was awfu' dacent o' Wullie to clear oot,' Macgregor remarked happily, as he moved his chair close to the one on which Christina had just seated herself.
Christina's chin went up. 'It wud ha'e been dacenter o' him to ha'e waited till the time he was invited to wait.'
'But he meant weel. I'm sure he didna want to gang, but he fancied it wud be nice to let you an' me ha'e a—a . . .'
'I beg yer pardon?'
'Ach, ye ken what I mean. He fancied we wud enjoy a wee whiley jist by oorsel's.'
'Speak for yersel'! I'm thinkin' it was exceedingly rude o' him to slope wi'oot tellin' me he had enjoyed his tea.'
'He asked me to tell ye that he hadna enjoyed hissel' sae weel since his uncle's funeral, ten year back.'
Christina gave a little sniff. 'That's a nice sort o' compliment.Funeral, indeed!'
'Christina! what's vexin' ye?'
'Wha said I was vexed?'
'I've seen ye lookin' happier.'
'Are ye a judge o' happiness?'
'I ken when I'm no happy—an' that's the noo. But I warn ye, I'm no gaun to stick it!'
'What's made ye unhappy?' she coldly inquired.
'You !'
'Dear me!'—ironically.
'Ay, jist dear you!' And with these words he caught her round the shoulders and kissed her.
Breathless and rather ruffled she exclaimed, 'If ye dae that again,I'll——'
He did it again.
'Ye're gettin' terrible forward,' she said, half angry, half amused.
'High time!'
She regarded him with amazement.
Suddenly he said: 'Ye're as much mines as I'm yours. Deny it, if ye can.'
For perhaps the first time in her life Christina temporized. 'Can ye sweer ye didna arrange wi' Wullie to leave early?'
'Eh?'
The note of innocence satisfied her. 'Weel,' she said graciously,'I forgive ye.'
'What for?'
'Takin' liberties.'
Her lips wavered to a smile and he could not refrain from kissing them once more.
'Here, hauf time!' she cried, and burst out laughing.
'This is the best yet,' he said jubilantly. 'Three goals in twa meenutes! In future I'll kiss ye as often as I like.'
'We'll see aboot that. . . . The sojerin' has changed ye a lot,' she added thoughtfully.
'D'ye no like the improvement?'
'I'll tell ye when I observe it. Noo sit still an' behave yersel', an' tell me the latest camp rumours.'
Just then the bell over the door in the shop went off.
'Oh, dash yer customers!' said Macgregor.
Christina was moving from the room when——
'Are ye there, dearie?' called a familiar female voice.
'Holy Moses!' she whispered. 'It's Miss Tod, hame three days afore her time.'
'Oh, criffens!' gasped Macgregor. 'What'll I dae?'
'Ye can either hide in the coal bunker, or bide whaur ye are—like a sojer. She'll no devour ye.'
Christina then ran out to receive her employer, which she did without embarrassment.
'What a peety ye're ower late for ma wee tea-pairty. An' hoo are ye?' Macgregor heard her saying.
'Aw, I was sweirt to disturb ye wi' yer' frien's, lassie,' replied Miss Tod, who had been advised by postcard of Christina's doings, 'but Icouldnabide in thon place anither nicht.'
'Dear, dear!' the girl said sympathizingly. 'Did ye no get on wi' yer auld frien', or did the poultry attack ye? Come ben, come ben. There's jist Macgreegor left, an' he hasna consumed absolutely everything. I'll get ye a cup o' fresh tea in a jiffy.'
Smiling faintly but kindly, Miss Tod greeted Macgregor, apologized for disturbing him, and subsided into her old chair.
'Oh, I'm thenkfu' to be hame,' she sighed, while Christina flew to her hospitable duties. 'Ye've got the room awfu' nice, dearie.'
'Does the smell o' the ceegarettes annoy ye?' inquired Macgregor, now more at ease, though still ashamed of his recent panic.
'Na, na; it's jist deleecious,' she protested, 'efter the smell o' the country.'
'Did ye no like the country, Miss Tod?'
'Maybe I could ha'e endured it till the week was up, if it hadna been for ma auld frien'. Ye see, the puir body couldna speak or think o' onything excep' airyplanes fleein' through the air an' drappin' bombs on her dwellin' hoose an' her hen-hoose, no forgettin' her pig-hoose. Mornin', noon an' nicht, she kep' speirin' at me if I was prepared to meet ma Maker, maybe wantin' a leg. Oh, I was rale vexed for her, I tell ye, but when she took the mattress aff ma bed to protect her sewin' machine frae bombs, I says to masel': 'If I've got to dee, I wud like to dae it as comfortable as I can, an' I'm sure ma Maker'll no objec' to that . . . an' so, at last, I jist tied up ma things in the broon paper, an' said I had enjoyed masel' fine, but was anxious aboot the shop—a terrible falsehood, dearie!—an' gaed to catch the sax o'clock train, an' catched the yin afore it. . . . An' here I am. I wud ha'e let ye enjoy yer pairty in peace, but what wi' the forebodin's o' ma auld frien' an' the scent o' the hens an' pigs, I could thole nae longer.'
'In short,' Christina brightly remarked, 'ye was completely fed up. Weel, weel, ye'll sune forget aboot yer troubles in the joys o' pursuin' pastries. We'll fetch the table close to ye so as ye can fall to wi'oot unduly streetchin' yer neck. Mac, get busy! Toast this cookie.'
'She's a great manager,' Miss Tod said, smiling to Macgregor. 'But she'll mak' ye a rael guid wife when ye come back frae the wars——'
'Oh, whisht, Miss Tod!' cried Christina. 'Ye'll cause him to blush.' Which was rather a mean way of diverting attention from her own complexion.
However, at that moment the bell rang, and exclaiming, 'Anither boom in trade!' she darted into the shop.
The customer seemed to be in a great hurry, for almost immediately she reappeared in the sitting-room. She was smiling and carried a small package in her hand.
'Guess wha it was,' said she.
'The meenister,' replied Miss Tod, who for some mysterious reason always guessed the reverend gentleman, who happened to be a customer.
'On the contrary,' said Christina.
'Wullie Thomson,' said Macgregor, suddenly remembering the borrowed threepence.
'Up dux! Ye deserve a sweetie.' She presented the bag, open.'What sort are they?'
He laughed and answered—'War Loan Lozengers.'
The battalion was not an hour returned from the longest, hottest, dustiest and most exhausting route march yet experienced. Macgregor was stretched on his bed, a newspaper over his face, when an orderly shook him and shoved a visiting card into his hand.
'She's waitin' ootside,' he said and, with a laugh, departed.
Macgregor rubbed his eyes and read:
MRS. ROBERT PURDIE. 13,King's Mansions, W3rd Wednesday.
'Oh, criffens!' he groaned. 'Ma aunt!' And proceeded with more haste than alacrity to tidy himself, while wondering what on earth she had come for.
Willie, scenting profit in a rich relation, though not his own, proffered his company, which was rather curtly refused. Nevertheless, he followed his friend.
Macgregor joined his aunt in the blazing sunshine. Her greeting was kindly if patronizing.
'Sorry to keep ye waitin', Aunt Purdie,' he said respectfully. 'IfI had kent ye was comin'——'
'I understood a good soldier was always prepared for any emergency——'
'Excep' when he's aff duty, mistress.' This from Willie, who had taken up his position a little way behind Macgregor, an ingratiating grin on his countenance.
Aunt Purdie drew up her tall, gaunt, richly-clad figure and examined Private Thomson through eye-glasses on a long tortoise-shell handle.
'Macgregor, who is this gentleman?'
'It's jist Wullie Thomson,' said Macgregor, annoyed but reluctant to hurt his friend's feelings. 'D'ye no mind him?'
'I have a very exclusive memory for faces. . . Dear me, he is going away!'
It was so. Either the glasses, or being called a gentleman, or both, had been too much even for Willie.
'Is the colonel in the vicinity?' Aunt Purdie demanded, recallingMacgregor's wondering gaze from the retreating figure.
'I couldna say. He's liker to be in a cauld bath.'
'You have, of course, informed him who your uncle is?'
'Me an' the colonel ha'ena done much hob-nobbin' as yet,' Macgregor said, smiling.
'His mother used to obtain her groceries from your uncle. If you could have presented the colonel to me—well, never mind. I presume the major is on thequee vive.'
'He'll be ha'ein' a wash an' brush up, I wud say.'
'But why are you not being drilled or digging up trenches or firing guns——'
'We're a' deid men this efternune. Had a big rout mairch the day.'
'Oh, indeed! Well, when does the band play?'
'The baun's burstit wi' the rout mairch. It couldna blaw the ash aff a ceegarette. I'm rael sorry——'
'I would like to inspect the apartments you live in. Pray conduct me——'
'Some o' the chaps is cleanin' theirsel's. If ye like, I'll tell them to hurry up or get ablow the blankets.'
'Certainly not!' said Mrs. Purdie with decision. 'Is there no tea-room adjacent?'
'Jist the canteen. I doobt I couldna I tak' ye inside, but I could fetch ye oot a drink—something T. T., I suppose?'
She waved the offer away. 'Is there nothing to be perceived or observed in this camp?' she inquired with some impatience.
Her nephew scratched his head. 'Weel,' he said at last, 'there's the view frae this end, an' there's the view frae the ither end. I'm sorry ye've come when there's naething daein'.'
'So am I. However, it is not the time to indulge in discriminations. Your uncle thought it was better for me to come than to write a letter.'
'Is onything wrang wi' ma uncle?' Macgregor asked anxiously.
'Barring an invidious bunion, he is in his usual health. But we are going to Aberdeen to-morrow, for a fortnight, and we have invited your intended to come with us. She——'
'Christina! But she canna gang awa' to Aberdeen when——' He stopped short, at a loss. He had an appointment with Christina for the following evening. Surely——
'I arranged with Miss Tod this morning. Christina will be writing to you, I presume.'
'She—she's gaun wi' ye?'
'Certainly—D.V., of course.'
'For a—a fortnicht?'
'The change will be good for her. You must not be selfish. Your uncle was afraid you might be put out: that is why I came to explain. But apart from the beneficial change, Christina, as I observed to your uncle, ought to see the world while she is young.'
Macgregor answered nothing. Possibly he did not catch her latter remarks. Christina going away for a fortnight, and he might be ordered abroad at any moment!
'Come,' said his aunt, kindly enough, 'don't be huffy.'
Mercifully, just then an officer passed. In the action of salutingMacgregor regained self-control.
'I hope ye get guid weather at Aberdeen,' he managed to say, and his aunt admired him even more than at the hour of his enlistment.
'Yer uncle an' me jist wishes ye was free to jine us,' she said with unwonted warmth and homeliness of accent. Her hand went to the fastening of her purse, and hesitated. No! Something told her this was not the moment for a gift, however splendid.
'Well, I must be going,' she remarked, stiffening again. 'Kindly conduct me to the exit. I thought there would have been more to inspire the mind in this place. . . . Good-bye. We will take good care of Christina.'
* * * * *
Never in his life had Macgregor been so deeply hurt and angered—not even in the old days by Aunt Purdie, who was not now the object of his resentment.
Willie, who always tried to make the best of things, insults not excepted, approached presently with a hopeful appeal for a loan.
'Gang to blazes!' was the response.
Willie could scarce believe his ears. 'Macgreegor! did she no cough up onything?'
Macgregor walked on.
'An' she fancies hersel' for a —— swell!' exclaimed Willie viciously.
'Anither word an' I'll knock the face aff ye!'
It was Willie's turn to feel resentment.
In the evening came a note from Christina, hurriedly written. She was terribly busy getting ready for the morning train. It was most kind of Mrs. Purdie. Her own uncle must have let drop to Mr. Purdie that a summer outing this year was not possible, and Mr. Purdie must have told Mrs. Purdie. . . . Of course, she, Christina, would never have dreamed of going away otherwise. But the time would soon pass, Mac, and she intended to enjoy it thoroughly. . . .
If only she had left out that last sentence! But what true lover has not been stabbed by something very like it in his time?
Macgregor dropped his reply to Christina's unsatisfactory note into the pillar-box and, half wishing he had destroyed it instead, rejoined the faithful Willie Thomson. He still looked so gloomy that Willie once more demanded to be told what the —— was up with him. Receiving no response, Willie remarked:
'If ye tak' a face like that to yer girl, she'll be wantin' to play a tune on it.'
Macgregor held his peace. They had just arrived in Glasgow, but without a trace of the usual eagerness on his part.
'I believe,' said Willie, with an inspiration, 'her an' you ha'e cast oot.'
'Clay up! She's awa' her holidays.'
'Save us! Awa' her holidays!' cried Willie, uttering, unawares, his friend's bitterest thought—'an' we may get oor mairchin' orders ony meenute! Weel, weel, preserve me frae the female sect! I suppose ye'll be for gi'ein' yer ain folk a treat for a change.'
'They're a' at Rothesay, at Granpaw Purdie's,' Macgregor returned shortly, now half glad that he had let the letter go.
It was not a harsh letter, yet neither was it a humble one. In effect, it informed Christina that she was welcome to disport herself even though the writer lay dead in a trench. While intended to be freezing, it had been written in considerable heat, physical and mental.
'Then what are ye gaun to dae the nicht?' Willie pursued, his mind simmering with curiosity. Macgregor had been very queer since his aunt's visit of the previous afternoon, and the arrival of a letter, eagerly grabbed, had by no means mitigated the queerness. Willie was convinced that something had gone wrong between Macgregor and Christina. He would not be sorry to see the engagement broken. Macgregor would have more time and cash to spend on his friends. On the other hand, Christina was undoubtedly a 'clinker' in her way, and Willie could do with more hospitality like hers. Well, there was no saying what might happen if she were free and Macgregor attached to another girl. . . .
'What are ye gaun to dae the nicht, Macgreegor?' he repeated, rousing himself as well as his friend.
'Dear knows,' came the dreary answer. 'I think I'll awa' back to the camp.' Yet if he did not greatly desire Willie's company, he desired his own less.
'Cheer up for ony favour,' said Willie. 'If I could afford it, I wud stan' ye a feed.'
The hint was not taken, and they strolled on, aimlessly so far asMacgregor was concerned.
About six o'clock, and while they were passing a large drapery warehouse, Willie gave his friend a violent nudge and hoarsely whispered:
'Gor! See thon!'
'What?'
'Thon girl!'—pointing to a damsel in a dark skirt and pink blouse, who had just emerged from the warehouse.
'What aboot her?' said Macgregor impatiently,
'It's her—the fat yin—the girl I burst the twa bob on!'
'She's no that fat,' Macgregor remarked without interest. Then suddenly—'Here! What are ye efter?'
'Her! She's fat when ye're close to her. Come on! I'll introjuice ye.'
'Thenk ye! I'm no takin' ony.'
'Jist for fun. I want to see her face when she sees me again.'
'Weel, I'll no prevent ye. So long.' At that moment the girl was held up at a busy crossing.
'Hullo, Maggie!' said Willie pertly.
'I'm off,' said Macgregor—but his arm was gripped.
The girl turned. 'Hullo,' she said coolly; 'still livin'?' Catching sight of Macgregor, she giggled. It was not an unpleasing giggle. Lean girls cannot produce it.
'This is Private Macgreegor Robi'son,' said Willie, unabashed.
She smiled and held out her hand. After a moment she said toWillie: 'Are ye no gaun to tell him ma name, stupid?'
'I forget it, except the Maggie.'
'Aweel,' she said good-humouredly, 'Private Robi'son'll jist ha'e to content hissel' wi' that, though it's a terrible common name.' She did the giggle again.
The chance of crossing came, and they all moved over; on the crowded pavement it was impossible to proceed three abreast.
'Never mind me,' said Willie humorously.
'Wha's mindin' you?' she retorted.
'Gettin' hame?' said Macgregor with an effort at politeness, while fuming inwardly.
'Jist that. Awfu' warm weather, is't no? It was fair meltin' in the warehoose the day. I'm fair dished up.' She heaved a sigh, which was no more unpleasing than her giggle. 'It's killin' weather for you sojer lads,' she added kindly.
Macgregor experienced a wavelet of sympathy. 'Wud ye like a slider?' he asked abruptly.
'Ye're awfu' kind. I could dae wi' it fine.'
Presently the three were seated in an ice-cream saloon. The conversation was supplied mainly by the girl and Willie, and took the form of a wordy sparring match. Every time she scored a point the girl glanced at Macgregor. He became mildly amused by her repartee, and at last took a cautious look at her.
She was certainly stout, but not with a clumsy stoutness; in fact, her figure was rather attractive. She had dark brown hair, long lashed, soft, dark eyes, a provocative, mobile mouth, and a nice pinky-tan colouring. At the same time, she was too frankly forward and consistently impudent for Macgregor's taste; and he noticed that her hands were not pretty like Christina's.
She caught his eye, and he smiled back, but absently. He was wondering what Christina was doing and how she would take his letter in the morning. . . . He consulted his watch. A long, empty evening lay before him. How on earth was he to fill it? He wanted distraction, and already his companions' chaff was getting tiresome.
On the spur of the moment—'What aboot a pictur hoose?' he said.
'That's the cheese!' cried Willie.
But Maggie shook her head and sighed, and explained that her mother was expecting her home for tea, and sighed again.
'Ha'e yer tea wi' us,' said the hospitable Macgregor.
She glanced at him under lowered lashes, her colour rising. 'My! ye're awfu' kind,' she said softly. 'I wish to goodness I could.'
'Scoot hame an' tell yer mither, an' we'll wait for ye here,' said stage-manager William.
'I wudna trustyou. . . but I think I could trusthim.'
'Oh, we'll wait sure enough,' Macgregor said indifferently.
'I'll risk it!' she cried, and straightway departed.
Willie grinned at his friend. 'What dae ye think o' fat Maggie?' he said.
'Naething,' answered Mac, and refused to be drawn into further conversation.
Within half an hour she was back, flushed and bright of eye. She had on a pink print, crisp and fresh, a flowery hat, gloves carefully mended, neat shoes and transparent stockings.
'By Jings, ye're dressed to kill at a thoosan' yairds!' Willie observed.
Ignoring him, she looked anxiously for the other's approval.
'D'ye like hot pies?' he inquired, rising and stretching himself.
An hour later, in the picture house a heartrending, soul thrilling melodrama was at its last gasp. The long suffering heroine was in the arms of the long misjudged, misfortune-ridden, but ever faithful hero.
'Oh, lovely!' murmured Maggie.
Macgregor said nothing, but his eyes were moist. He may, or may not, have been conscious of a plump, warm, thinly-clad shoulder close against his arm.
Hero and heroine vanished. The lights went up. Macgregor blew his nose, then looked past the fat girl to make a scoffing remark to Willie.
But Willie's seat was vacant.
* * * * *
Maggie laid her ungloved hand on the adjoining seat. 'It's warm,' she informed Macgregor. 'He canna be lang awa'.'
'Did he no say he was comin' back?' Macgregor asked rather irritably.
'He never said a word to me. I didna notice him gang: I was that ta'en up wi' the picturs. But never heed,' she went on cheerfully; 'it's a guid riddance o' bad rubbish. I wonder what's next on the prog——
'But this'll no dae! He—he's your frien'.'
'Him! Excuse me for seemin' to smile. I can tell ye I was surprised to see a dacent-like chap like you sae chummy wi' sic a bad character as him.'
'Aw, Wullie Thomson's no near as bad as his character. A' the same, he had nae business to slope wi'oot lettin' us ken. But he'll likely be comin' back. We'll wait for five meenutes an' see.'
Maggie drew herself up. 'I prefer no to wait where I'm no welcome,' she said in a deeply offended tone, and made to rise.
He caught her plump arm. 'Wha said ye wasna welcome? Eat yer sweeties an' dinna talk nonsense. If ye want to see the rest o' the picturs, I'm on. I've naething else to dae the nicht.'
After a slight pause. 'Dae ye want me to bide—Macgreegor?'
'I'm asking ye.'
She sighed. 'Ye're a queer lad. What's yer age?'
'Nineteen.'
'Same as mines!' She was twenty-two. 'When's yer birthday?'
'Third o' Mairch.'
'Same again!' She had been born on the 14th of December. 'My! that's a strange dooble coincidence! We ought to be guid frien's, you an' me.'
'What for no?' said Macgregor carelessly.
Once more the house was darkened. A comic film was unrolled. Now and then Macgregor chuckled with moderate heartiness.
'Enjoyin' yersel'?' she said in a chocolate whisper, close to his ear.
'So, so.'
'Ye're like me. I prefer the serious picturs. Real life an' true love for me! Ha'e a sweetie? Oh, ye're smokin'. As I was sayin', ye're a queer lad, Macgreegor.' She leaned against his arm. 'What made ye stan' me a slider, an' a champion tea, an' they nice sweeties, an' a best sate in a pictur hoose—when ye wasna extra keen on ma comp'ny?'