Macgregor fled from the tormentor.  He had not intended to use his late pass, but Willie’s taunt had altered everything.  Afraid?  He would soon show Willie!  Also he would show Maggie!  Likewise he would show—­Well, Christina had no business to behave as if she were the only girl in the world, as if he were a fool.  He had a right to enjoy himself, too.  He had suffered enough, and the cocoa-nut was the limit! . . .

‘Are ye for Glesca?’ Willie persisted when Macgregor was giving himself a ‘tosh up’ in the billet.

‘Ay, am I!’ he snapped at last.

’Hurray for the hero!  Weel, gi’e Maggie yin on the squeaker frae me, an’ tell her no to greet for me, because I’m no worthy o’ her pure unselfish love, etceetera.  I doobt the weather’s gaun to be ower fine for cabs the nicht, but dinna despair; it’s gettin’ dark fairly early noo.  Enjoy yersel’ while ye’re young.’

‘That’s enough,’ said Macgregor.  ’Ye needna think ye’re the only chap that kens a thing or twa!’ And he left William gaping as widely as his painful jaw would permit.

On the way to town he decided to leave the whole affair to chance; that is to say, he would not arrive at the warehouse where the fat girl was employed until after the usual closing hour of six.  If she had gone, no matter; if she was still there, well, he couldn’t help it.

He arrived at 6.3, and she was there—­in her fine feathers, too.  She could not have expected him, he knew, but evidently she had hoped.  He felt flattered and soothed, being unaware that she had had another swain in reserve in case he should fail her.

‘Fancy meetin’ you!’ she exclaimed, with a start of surprise.  ‘Where’s the bad character?’

‘Gumbile,’ answered Macgregor, who would not for worlds have betrayed his friend’s lack of skill with the rifle.

‘Lang may it bile!’ she remarked unfeeling.  ‘Wha are ye chasm’ the nicht, Macgreegor?’

‘You!’ he replied more boldly than brightly.

‘My! ye’re gettin’ quite forward-like,’ she said, with that pleasant giggle of hers.

‘High time!’ said he, recklessly.

After tea they went west and sat in the park.  It was a lovely, hazy evening.

‘Wud ye rayther be in a pictur’ hoose, Maggie?’

‘What’s a pictur’ hoose to be compared wi’ this?  If Heaven’s like this, I’m prepared to dee.’  With three rose-flavoured jujubes in her mouth, she sighed and nestled against him.

In silence his arm went round her waist.

* * * * *

While waiting for the car back to camp he wrote on a picture postcard—­’Cocoanut received with thanks.  I wish I was dead,’—­and dropped it into a pillar box.

About the same hour, in the billet, Willie was disposing of the cocoa-nut by raffle, tickets one penny each.

‘A queer-like present to get frae yer aunt,’ said some one.