‘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.