Wee Macgreegor Enlists | Page 7

'That's news, but I doobt it's no official.'
'At least we're near engaged. Say we are, Christina.'
'This is most embarrassing, Mr. Robinson.'
'Aw, Christina!' said the boy, helplessly.
She let him remain in silent suspense for several minutes, until, in fact,
they turned into the quiet street of her abode. Then she casually
remarked:
'Ma han's gettin' cauld wantin' its glove, Mac.'
He seized it joyfully and endeavoured to put the ring on. 'It's ower
wee!' he cried, aghast.
'That's ma middle finger.'
It fitted nicely. Triumphantly he exclaimed: 'Noo we're engaged!'
She had no rejoinder ready.
'Ye can tak' ma arm, if ye like,' he said presently, just a little too
confidently.
'I dinna feel in danger o' collapsin' at present,' she replied, regarding the
ring under the lamp they were passing. 'Ye're an extravagant thing!' she
went on. 'I hope ye got it on appro.'
'What--dae ye no like it?'
'I like the feel o' it,' she admitted softly, 'an' it's real bonny; but ye--ye
shouldna ha'e done it, Mac.' She made as if to remove the ring.
He caught her hand. 'But we're engaged!'
'Ye're ower sure o' that,' she said a trifle sharply.
He stared at her.
'Firstly, I never said I wud tak' the ring for keeps,' she proceeded.
'Secondly, ye ha'ena seen ma uncle yet----'
'I'm no feart for him--if ye back me up. Him an' yer aunt'll dae onything

ye like.'
'Thirdly, ye ha'e never. . . .' She broke off as they reached the close
leading to her home.
'What ha'e I no done, Christina?'
'Never heed. . . . Leave go ma finger.'
'Will ye keep the ring?'
'Hoo can I keep the ring when ye ha'e never. . .' Again the sentence was
not completed. She freed her hand and stepped within the close.
'Tell me, an' I'll dae it, Christina,' he cried.
She shook her head, smiling rather ruefully.
'Tell me,' he pleaded.
'I canna--an' maybe ye wouldna like me ony better if I could.' She took
off the ring and with a wistful glance at it offered it to him.
He took it, and before she knew, it was on her finger again.
'Ye've jist got to keep it!' he said, desperately. 'An' Christina, I--I'm
gaun to kiss ye!'
'Oh, mercy!'
But he had none. . . .
'Are we engaged or no?' he whispered at last.
'Let me get ma breath.'
'Hurry up!'
She laughed, though her eyes were wet. 'Oh, dear,' she murmured, 'I
never thought I wud get engaged wi'oot a--a . . .'
'A what?'
Suddenly she leaned forward and touched his cheek. 'Dinna fash yersel',
Mac. Bein' in war-time, I suppose the best o' us has got to dae wi'oot
some luxury or ither--sich as a proper High-Class Proposal.'

V
IN UNIFORM
There happened to be a little delay in providing the later batches of
recruits with the garb proper to their battalion, and it was the Monday
of their third week in training when Privates Robinson--otherwise
Macgregor--and Thomson saw themselves for the first time in the glory
of the kilt. Their dismay would doubtless have been overwhelming had
they been alone in that glory; even with numerous comrades in similar
distress they displayed much awkwardness and self-consciousness.

During drill Willie received several cautions against standing in a
semi-sitting attitude, and Macgregor, in his anxiety to avoid his friend's
error, made himself ridiculous by standing on his toes, with
outstretched neck and fixed, unhappy stare.
As if to intensify the situation, the leave for which they had applied a
few days previously was unexpectedly granted for that evening. Before
he realized what he was saying, Macgregor had inquired whether he
might go without his kilt. Perhaps he was not the first recruit to put it
that way. Anyway, the reply was a curt 'I don't think.'
'I believe ye're ashamed o' the uniform,' said Willie, disagreeable under
his own disappointment at the verdict.
'Say it again!' snapped Macgregor.
Willie ignored the invitation, and swore by the great god Jings that he
would assuredly wear breeks unless something happened. The only
thing that may be said to have happened was that he did not wear
breeks.
As a matter of fact, Macgregor, with his sturdy figure, carried his kilt
rather well. The lanky William, however, gave the impression that he
was growing out of it perceptibly, yet inevitably.
Four o'clock saw them started on their way, and with every step from
the camp, which now seemed a lost refuge, their kilts felt shorter, their
legs longer, their knees larger, their person smaller. Conversation soon
dried up. Willie whistled tunelessly through his teeth; Macgregor kept
his jaw set and occasionally and inadvertently kicked a loose stone.
Down on the main road an electric car bound