‘Ye’re in a hurry,’ he now observed, and put the usual question:  ‘Ha’e ye a fag on ye?’

Macgregor obliged, saying as kindly as he could, ’I’ll maybe see ye later, Wullie.’

‘Thon girl again, I suppose.’

‘So long,’ said Macgregor, shortly.

‘Haud on a meenute.  I want to speak to ye.  Ha’e ye done it?’

‘Ay, this mornin’. . . .  An’ I’m gey busy.’

‘Ye should leave the weemen alane, an’ then ye wud ha’e time to spare.’

‘What ha’e ye got to speak aboot?’ Macgregor impatiently demanded, though he was in good time for his appointment.

‘I was thinkin’ o’ enlistin’,’ said Willie.

‘Oh!’ cried his friend, interested.  ’Ye’ve changed yer mind, Wullie?’

‘I’ve been conseederin’ it for a while back.  Ye needna think you had onything to dae wi’ it,’ said Willie.

‘Ye’ve been drinkin’ beer,’ his friend remarked, not accusingly, but merely by way of stating a fact.

‘So wud you, if ye had ma aunt.’

‘Maybe I wud,’ Macgregor sympathetically admitted.

‘But ye couldna droon her in twa hauf pints.  Ach, I’m fed up wi’ her.  She startit yatterin’ at me the nicht because I askit her for saxpence; so at last I tell’t her I wud suner jine Kitchener’s nor see her ugly face for anither week.’

‘What did she say?’

‘Said it was the first guid notion ever I had.’

‘Weel,’ said Macgregor eagerly, after a slight pause, ’since ye’re for enlistin’, ye’d best dae it the nicht, Wullie.’

‘I suppose I micht as weel jine your lot,’ said Willie, carelessly.

Macgregor drew himself up.  ‘The 9th H.L.I, doesna accep’ onything that offers.’

‘I’m as guid as you—­an’ I’m bigger nor you.’

’Ye’re bigger, but ye’re peely-wally.  Still, Wullie, I wud like fine to see ye in ma company.’

‘Ye’ve a neck on ye! Your company! . . .  Aweel, come on an’ see me dae it.’

In the dusk Macgregor peered at his watch.  It told him that the thing could not be done, not if he ran both ways.  ’I canna manage it, Wullie,’ he said, with honest regret.

‘Then it’s off,’ the contrary William declared.

‘What’s off?’

‘I’ve changed ma mind.  I’m no for the sojerin’.’

At this Macgregor bristled, so to speak.  He could stand being ‘codded,’ but already the Army was sacred to him.

‘See here, Wullie, will ye gang an’ enlist noo or tak’ a hammerin’?’

‘Wha’ll gi’e me the hammerin’?’

‘Come an’ see,’ was the curt reply.  Macgregor turned back into the close and led the way to a small yard comprising some sooty earth, several blades of grass and a couple of poles for the support of clothes lines.  A little light came from windows above.  Here he removed his jacket, hung it carefully on a pole; and began to roll up his sleeves.

‘It’s ower dark here,’ Willie complained.  ‘I canna see.’