'I'm fed up wi' pairties,' was Macgregor's ungracious response when
informed at home of the latest invitation. 'I dinna ask for leave
jist for to gang to a rotten pairty.'
'Ay, ye've mair to dae wi' yer leave,' his father was beginning,
with a wink, when his mother, with something of her old asperity,
said:
'Macgreegor, that's no the way to speak o' pairties that folk gi'e
in yer honour. An' you, John, should think shame o' yersel'. Ye
should baith be sayin' it's terrible kind o' Mistress McOstrich to
ask ye what nicht wud suit yer convenience.'
Macgregor regarded his mother almost as in the days when he
addressed her as 'Maw'--yet not quite. There was a twinkle in his
eye. Evidently she had clean forgotten he had grown up! Possibly
she detected the twinkle and perceived her relapse, for she went on
quickly--
'Though dear knows hoo Mistress McOstrich can afford to gi'e a
pairty wi' her man's trade in its present condeetion.'
'She's been daft for gi'ein' pah-ties since ever I can mind,' Mr.
Robinson put in, 'an' the Kaiser hissel' couldna stop her, Still,
Macgreegor, she's an auld frien', an' it wud be a peety to offend
her. Ye'll be mair at hame there nor ye was at yer Aunt Purdie's
swell affair. Dod, Lizzie, thon was a gorgeous banquet! I never
tasted as much nor ett as little; I never heard sich high-class
conversation nor felt liker a nap; I never sat on safter chairs nor
looked liker a martyr on tin tacks.'
Macgregor joined in his father's guffaw, but stopped short, loyalty
revolting. Aunt Purdie had meant it kindly.
'Tits, John!' said Lizzie, 'ye got on fine excep' when ye let yer
wine jeelly drap on the carpet.'
'Oho, so there was wine in 't! I fancied it was inebriated-like.
But the mistak' I made was in tryin' to kep it when it was
descendin'. A duke wud jist ha'e let it gang as if a wine jeelly
was naething to him. But, d'ye ken, wife, I was unco uneasy when I
discovered the bulk o' it on ma shoe efter we had withdrew to the
drawin' room----'
'Haud yer tongue, man! Macgreegor, what nicht 'll suit ye?'
'If ye say a nicht, I'll try for it; but I canna be sure o' gettin'
a late pass.' He was less uncertain when making appointments with
Christina.
And Mr. Robinson once more blundered and caused his son to blush by
saying: 'He wud rayther spend the evenin' wi' his intended--eh,
Macgreegor?'
'But she's to be invited!' Lizzie cried triumphantly. 'So there ye
are!'
'Ah, but that's no the same,' John persisted, 'as meetin' her
quiet-like. When I was courtin' you, Lizzie, did ye no prefer----'
Lizzie ignored her man--the only way. 'What aboot Friday, next
week?'
'If we're no in Flanders afore then,' reluctantly replied the
soldier of seven weeks' standing.
* * * * *
Happily for Mrs. McOstrich's sake Macgregor was able to keep the
engagement, and credit may be given him for facing the wasted
evening with a fairly cheerful countenance. Perhaps Christina,
with whom he arrived a little late, did something to mitigate his
grudge against his hostess.
Mrs. McOstrich was painfully fluttered by having a real live kiltie
in her little parlour, which was adorned as heretofore with
ornaments borrowed from the abodes of her guests. Though Macgregor
was acquainted with all the guests, she insisted upon solemnly
introducing him, along with his betrothed to each individual with
the formula: 'This is Private Robi'son an' his intended.'
While Macgregor grinned miserably, Christina, the stranger, smiled
sweetly, if a little disconcertingly.
Then the party settled down again to its sober pleasures.
Macgregor possessed a fairly clear memory of the same company in a
similar situation a dozen years ago, but the only change which now
impressed itself upon him was that Mr. Pumpherston had become much
greyer, stouter, shorter of breath, and was no longer funny. And,
as in the past, the prodigious snores of Mr. McOstrich, who still
followed his trade of baker, sounded at intervals through the wall
without causing the company the slightest concern, and were
likewise no longer funny.
After supper, which consisted largely of lemonade and pastries, the
hostess requested her guests, several being well-nigh torpid, to
attend to a song by Mr. Pumpherston. No one (excepting his wife)
wanted to hear it, but the Pumpherston song had become traditional
with the McOstrich entertainments. One could not have the latter
without the former.
'He's got a new sang,' Mrs. Pumpherston intimated, with a
stimulating glance round the company, 'an' he's got a tunin' fork,
forbye, that saves him wrastlin' for the richt key, as it were.
Tune up, Geordie!'
Mr. Pumpherston deliberately produced the fork, struck it on his
knee, winced, muttered 'dammit,' and gazed upwards. Not so many
years ago Macgregor would have exploded; to-night he was occupied
in trying to find Christina's hand under the table.
'Doh, me, soh, doh, soh, me, doh,' hummed the vocalist.
Christina, who had been looking desperately serious, let out a
small squeak and hurriedly blew her nose. Macgregor regarded her
in astonishment, and she withdrew the little finger she had
permitted him to capture.
'It's a patriotic sang in honour,' Mrs. Pumpherston started to
explain----
'Ach, woman!' cried her spouse, 'ye've made me loss ma key.' He
re-struck the fork irritably, and proceeded to inform the
company--'It's no exac'ly a new sang, but----'
'Ye'll be lossin' yer key again, Geordie.'
With a sulky grunt, Mr. Pumpherston once more struck his fork, but
this time discreetly on the leg of his chair, and in his own good
time made a feeble attack on 'Rule, Britannia.'
'This is fair rotten,' Macgregor muttered at the third verse,
resentful that his love should be apparently enjoying it.
'Remember ye're a sojer,' she whispered back, 'an' thole.' But she
let him find her hand again.
The drear performance came to an end amid applause sufficient to
satisfy Mrs. Pumpherston.
'Excep' when ye cracked on "arose," ye managed fine,' she said to
her perspiring mate, and to the hostess, 'What think ye o' that for
a patriotic sang, Mistress McOstrich?'
'Oh, splendid--splendid!' replied Mrs. McOstrich with a nervous
start. For the last five minutes she had been lost in furtive
contemplation of her two youthful guests, her withered countenance
more melancholy even than usual.
Ten o'clock struck, and, to Macgregor's ill-disguised delight,
Christina rose and said she must be going.
Mrs. McOstrich accompanied the two to the outer door. There she
took Christina's hand, stroked it once or twice, and let it go.
'Macgreegor has been a frien' o' mines since he was a gey wee
laddie,' she said, 'an' I'm rael prood to ha'e had his intended in
ma hoose. I'll never forget neither o' ye. If I had had a laddie
o' ma ain, I couldna ha'e wished him to dae better nor Macgreegor
has done--in every way.' Abruptly she pressed something into
Christina's hand and closed the girl's fingers upon it. 'Dinna
look at it noo,' she went on hastily. 'It's yours, dearie, but
ye'll gi'e it to Macgreegor when the time comes for him to--to
gang. Ma grandfayther was a dandy in his way, an' it's a' he left
me, though I had great expectations.'
Gently she pushed the pair of them forth and closed the door.
At the foot of the stair, under a feeble gas-jet, Christina opened
her hand, disclosing an old-fashioned ring set with a blood-stone.
'Ye never tell't me she was like that,' the girl said softly, yet a
little accusingly.
'I never thought,' muttered he, truthfully enough.