'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.