Wee Macgreegor Enlists

had recently jeered at his intention of becoming a soldier, and they had parted on indifferent terms, though Willie had succeeded in adding to a long list of borrowings a fresh item of twopence.

Willie and prosperity were still as far apart as ever, and even Willie could hardly have blamed prosperity for that. He had no deadly vices, but he could not stick to any job for more than a month. He was out of work at present. Having developed into a rather weedy, seedy-looking young man, he was not too proud to sponge on the melancholy maiden aunt who had brought him up, and whose efforts at stern discipline during his earlier years had seemingly proved fruitless. Macgregor was the only human being he could 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 ye later, Wullie.'

'Thon girl again, I suppose.'

'So long,' said Macgregor, shortly.

'Haud on a meenute. I want to speak to