III
FIRST BLOOD
Macgregor, his countenance shining with lover's anticipation andLever's soap, was more surprised than gratified to find WillieThomson awaiting him at the close-mouth. For Willie, his oldest,if not his choicest friend, had recently jeered at his intention ofbecoming a soldier, and they had parted on indifferent terms,though Willie had succeeded in adding to a long list of borrowingsa fresh item of twopence.
Willie and prosperity were still as far apart as ever, and evenWillie could hardly have blamed prosperity for that. He had nodeadly vices, but he could not stick to any job for more than amonth. He was out of work at present. Having developed into arather weedy, seedy-looking young man, he was not too proud tosponge on the melancholy maiden aunt who had brought him up, andwhose efforts at stern discipline during his earlier years hadseemingly proved fruitless. Macgregor was the only human being hecould call friend.
'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 yelater, 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 tospare.'
'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 forsaxpence; so at last I tell't her I wud suner jine Kitchener's norsee 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'refor 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' onythingthat 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 likefine to see ye in ma company.'
'Ye've a neck on ye! _Your_ company! . . . Aweel, come on an' seeme dae it.'
In the dusk Macgregor peered at his watch. It told him that thething could not be done, not if he ran both ways. 'I canna manageit, 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 theclose and led the way to a small yard comprising some sooty earth,several blades of grass and a couple of poles for the support ofclothes lines. A little light came from windows above. Here heremoved his jacket, hung it carefully on a pole; and began to rollup his sleeves.
'It's ower dark here,' Willie complained. 'I canna see.'
'Ye can feel. Tak' aff yer coat.' Willie knew that despite hisinches he was a poor match for the other, yet he was a stubbornchap. 'What business is it o' yours whether I enlist or no?' hescowled.
'Will ye enlist?'
'I'll see ye damp first!'
'Come on, then!' Macgregor spat lightly on his palms. 'I've naetime to waste.'
Willie cast his jacket on the ground. 'I'll wrastle ye,' he said,with a gleam of hope.
'Thenk ye; but I'm no for dirtyin' ma guid claes. Come on!'
To Willie's credit, let it be recorded, he did come on, and sopromptly that Macgregor, scarcely prepared, had to take a light tapon the chin. A brief display of thoroughly unscientific boxingensued, and then Macgregor got home between the eyes. Willie,tripping over his own jacket, dropped to earth.
'I wasna ready that time,' he grumbled, sitting up.
Macgregor seized his hand and dragged him to his feet, with theencouraging remark, 'Ye'll be readier next time.'
In the course of the second round Willie achieved a smart clip onhis opponent's ear, but next moment he received, as it seemed, anexpress train on the point of his nose, and straightway sat down inagony.
'Is't bled, Wullie?' Macgregor presently inquired with compunctionas well as satisfaction.
'It's near broke, ye----!' groaned the sufferer, adding, 'I kentfine ye wud bate me.'
'What for did ye fecht then?'
'Nane o' your business.'
'Weel, get up. Yer breeks'll get soakit sittin' there.' Thevictor donned his jacket.
'Ma breeks is nane o' your business, neither.'
'Ach, Wullie, dinna be a wean. Get up an' shake han's. I've gotto gang.'
'Gang then! Awa' an' boast to yer girl that ye hut a man on hisnose behind his back----'
'Havers, man! What's wrang wi' ye?'
'I'll tell ye what's wrang wi' you, Macgreegor Robi'son!' Williecleared his throat noisily. 'Listen! Ye're ower weel aff. Ye'vegot a dacent fayther an' mither an' brither an' sister; ye've got adacent uncle; ye've got a dacent girl. . . . An' what the hellha'e I got? A rotten aunt!' Maybe she canna help bein' rotten, butshe is--damp rotten! She wud be gled, though she wud greet, if Igot a bullet the morn. There ye are! That's me!'
'Wullie!' Macgregor exclaimed, holding out his hand, which theother ignored.
'I'm rotten, tae,' he went on, bitterly. 'Fine I ken it. But Inever had an equal chance wi' you. I'm no blamin' ye. Ye've ayeshared me what ye had. I treated ye ill aboot the enlistin'. ButI wasna gaun to enlist to please you, nor ma aunt, neither.' Herose slowly and picked up his shabby jacket. 'But, by ----, I'llenlist to please masel'!' He held out his hand. 'There it is, ifye want it, Macgreegor. . . . Ha'e ye a match? Weel, show alicht. Is ma nose queer-like?'
'Ay,' Macgregor unwillingly replied, and, with inspiration, addedconsolingly, 'But it was aye that, Wullie.'