Echoes of the War | Page 7

'I like the Scotch voice of
you, woman. It drummles on like a hill burn.'

'Prosen Water runs by where I was born.' Flirting again, 'May be it
teached me to speak, mister.'
'Canny, woman, canny.'
'I read about the Black Watch's ghostly piper that plays proudly when
the men of the Black Watch do well, and prouder when they fall.'
'There's some foolish story of that kind.' He has another careless slice
off the loaf. 'But you couldn't have keen living here at that time or they
would have guessed. I suppose you flitted?'
'Yes, it cost me eleven and sixpence.'
'How did you guess the K in my name stood for Kenneth?'
'Does it?'
'Umpha.'
'An angel whispered it to me in my sleep.'
'Well, that's the only angel in the whole black business.' He chuckles.
'You little thought I would turn up!' Wheeling suddenly on her. 'Or did
you?'
'I was beginning to weary for a sight of you, Kenneth.'
'What word was that?'
'Mister.'
He helps himself to butter, and she holds out the jam pot to him, but he
haughtily rejects it. Do you think she gives in now? Not a bit of it.
He returns to sarcasm, 'I hope you're pleased with me now you see me.'
'I'm very pleased. Does your folk live in Scotland?'
'Glasgow.'
'Both living?'
'Ay.'
'Is your mother terrible proud of you?'
'Naturally.'
'You'll be going to them?'
'After I've had a skite in London first.'
The old lady sniffs, 'So she is in London!'
'Who?'
'Your young lady.'
'Are you jealyous?'
'Not me.'
'You needna be. She's a young thing.'
'You surprises me. A beauty, no doubt?'

'You may be sure.' He tries the jam. 'She's a titled person. She is equally
popular as maid, wife and munition-worker.'
Mrs. Dowey remembers Lady Dolly Kanister, so familiar to readers of
fashionable gossip, and a very leery expression indeed comes into her
face.
'Tell me more about her, man.'
'She has sent me a lot of things, especially cakes, and a worsted
waistcoat, with a loving message on the enclosed card.'
The old lady is now in a quiver of excitement. She loses control of her
arms, which jump excitedly this way and that.
'You'll try one of my cakes, mister?'
'Not me.'
'They're of my own making.'
'No, I thank you.'
But with a funny little run she is in the pantry and back again. She
planks down a cake before him, at sight of which he gapes.
'What's the matter? Tell me, oh, tell me, mister.'
'That's exactly the kind of cake that her ladyship sends me.'
Mrs. Dowey is now a very glorious old character indeed.
'Is the waistcoat right, mister? I hope the Black Watch colours pleased
you.'
'Wha----t! Was it you?'
'I daredna give my own name, you see, and I was always reading hers
in the papers.'
The badgered man looms over her, terrible for the last time.
'Woman, is there no getting rid of you!'
'Are you angry?'
He sits down with a groan,
'Oh, hell! Give me some tea.'
She rushes about preparing a meal for him, every bit of her wanting to
cry out to every other bit, 'Oh, glory, glory, glory!' For a moment she
hovers behind his chair. 'Kenneth'! she murmurs. 'What?' he asks, no
longer aware that she is taking a liberty. 'Nothing,' she says, 'just
Kenneth,' and is off gleefully for the tea-caddy. But when his tea is
poured out, and he has drunk a saucerful, the instinct of
self-preservation returns to him between two bites.
'Don't you be thinking, missis, for one minute that you have got me.'

'No, no.'
On that understanding he unbends.
'I have a theatre to-night, followed by a randy-dandy.'
'Oho! Kenneth, this is a queer first meeting!'
'It is, woman, oh, it is,' guardedly, 'and it's also a last meeting.'
'Yes, yes.'
'So here's to you--you old mop and pail. Ave atque vale.'
'What's that?'
'That means Hail and Farewell.'
'Are you a scholar?'
'Being Scotch, there's almost nothing I don't know.'
'What was you to trade?'
'Carter, glazier, orraman, any rough jobs.'
'You're a proper man to look at.'
'I'm generaly admired.'
'She's an enviable woman.'
'Who?'
'Your mother.'
'Eh? Oh, that was just protecting myself from you. I have neither father
nor mother nor wife nor grandmama.' Bitterly, 'This party never even
knew who his proud parents were.'
'Is that'--gleaming--'is that true?'
'It's gospel.'
'Heaven be praised!'
'Eh? None of that! I was a fool to tell you. But don't think you can take
advantage of it. Pass the cake.'
'I daresay it's true we'll never meet again, Kenneth, but--but if we do, I
wonder where it will be?'
'Not in this world.'
'There's no telling'--leering ingratiatingly--'It might be at Berlin.'
'Tod,