Wee Macgreegor Enlists by John Joy Bell (the little red hen ebook .txt) 📕

place for ye!' cried John. 'What's a' this aboot accidental expenses? Ha'e ye got hurt?'

Mrs. Robinson came over and laid a damp hand on her boy's shoulder. 'Macgreegor, ye needna be feart to tell us. We can thole it.' She glanced at her husband, and said, in a voice he had not often heard: 'John, oor wee Macgreegor has growed up to be a; sojer'--and went back to her dishes.

Later, and just when he ought to be returning to his work, Mr. Robinson, possibly for the mere sake of saying something, requested a view of the five pounds.

'Ay,' seconded Lizzie, cheerfully, whilst her hand itched to grab the money and, convey it to the bank, 'let's see them, laddie.' And sister Jeannie and small brother Jimsie likewise gathered round the hero.

With a feeble grin, Macgregor produced his notes.

'He's jist got three!' cried Jimsie.

'Whisht, Jimsie!' whispered Jeannie.

'Seems to ha'e been a bad accident already!' remarked John, laughing boisterously.

'John,' said Lizzie, 'ye'll be late. Macgreegor'll maybe walk a bit o' the road wi' ye.'

They were well on their way to the engineering works, where Mr. Robinson was foreman, when Macgregor managed to say:

'I burst the twa pound on a ring.'

'Oho!' said John, gaily; then solemnly, 'What kin' o' a ring, Macgreegor?'

'An engagement yin,' the ruddy youth replied.

Mr. Robinson laughed, but not very heartily. 'Sae lang as it's no a waddin' ring. . . . Weel, weel, this is the day for news.' He touched his son's arm. 'It'll be the young lass in the stationery shop--her that ye whiles see at yer Uncle Purdie's hoose--eh?'

'Hoo did ye ken?'

'Oh, jist guessed. It's her?'

'Maybe. . . . She hasna ta'en the ring yet.'

'But ye think she will, or ye wudna ha'e tell't me. Weel, I'm sure I wish ye luck, Macgreegor. She's a bonny bit lass, rael clever, I wud say, an'--an' gey stylish.'

'She's no that stylish--onyway, no stylish like Aunt Purdie.'

'Ah, but ye maunna cry doon yer Aunt Purdie----'

'I didna mean that. But ye ken what I mean, fayther.'

'Oh, fine, fine,' Mr. Robinson replied, thankful that he had not been asked to explain precisely what _he_ had meant. 'She bides wi' her uncle an' aunt, does she no?' he continued, thoughtfully. 'I'm wonderin' what they'll say aboot this. I doobt they'll say ye're faur ower young to be thinkin' o' a wife.'

It was on Macgregor's tongue to retort that he had never thought of any such thing, when his father went on----

'An' as for yer mither, it'll be a terrible surprise to her. I suppose ye'U be tellin', her as sune's ye get back ?'

'Ay. . . . Are ye no pleased about it?'

'Me?' Mr. Robinson scratched his head. 'Takin' it for granted that ye're serious aboot the thing, I was never pleaseder. Ye can tell yer mither that, if ye like.'

Macgregor was used to the paternal helping word at awkward moments, but he had never valued it so much as now. As a matter of fact, he dreaded his mother's frown less than her smile. Yet he need not have dreaded either on this occasion.

He found her in the kitchen, busy over a heap of more or less woolly garments belonging to himself. Jimsie was at afternoon school; Jeannie sat in the little parlour knitting as though life depended thereby.

He sat down in his father's chair by the hearth and lit a cigarette with fingers not quite under control.

'I'll ha'e to send a lot o' things efter ye,' Lizzie remarked. 'This semmit's had its day.'

'I'll be gettin' a bit leave afore we gang to the Front,' said Macgregor, as though the months of training were already nearing an end.

'If ye dinna get leave sune, I'll be up at the barracks to ha'e a word wi' the general.'

'It'll likely be a camp, mither.'

'Aweel, camp or barracks, see an' keep yer feet cosy, an' dinna smoke ower mony ceegarettes.' She fell to with her needle.

At the end of a long minute, Macgregor observed to the kettle: 'I tell't fayther what I done wi' the twa pound.'

'Did ye?'

'Ay. He--he was awfu' pleased.'

'Was he?'

Macgregor took a puff at his cold cigarette, and tried again. 'He said I was to tell ye he was pleased.'

'Oh, did he?'

'Never pleaseder in his life.'

'That was nice,' commented Lizzie, twirling the thread round the stitching of a button.

He got up, went to the window, looked out, possibly for inspiration, and came back with a little box in his hand.

'That's what I done,' he said, dropped it on her sewing, and strolled to the window again.

After a long time, as it seemed, he felt her gaze and heard her voice.

'Macgreegor, are ye in earnest?'

'Sure.' He turned to face her, but now she was looking down at the ring.

'It'll be Mistress Baldwin's niece,' she said, at last.

'Hoo did ye ken?'

'A nice lass, but ower young like yersel'. An' yet'--she lifted her eyes to his--'ye're auld enough to be a sojer. Does she ken ye've enlisted?'

He nodded, looking away. There was something in his mother's eyes. . .

'Aweel,' she said, as if to herself, 'this war'll pit auld heids on some young shouthers.' She got up, laid her seam deliberately on the table, and went to him. She put her arm round him. 'Wi' yer King an' yer Country an' yer Christina,' she said, with a sort of laugh, 'there winna be a great deal o' ye left for yer mither. But she's pleased if you're pleased--this time, at ony rate.' She released him. 'I maun tell Jeannie.' she said, leaving the kitchen.

Jeannie came, and for once that sensible little person talked nonsense. In her eyes, by his engagement, her big brother had simply out-heroed himself.

'Aw, clay up, Jeannie,' he cried at last, in his embarrassment. 'Come on oot wi' me, an' I'll stan' ye a dizzen sliders.'


III


FIRST BLOOD

Macgregor, his countenance shining with lover's anticipation and Lever's soap, was more surprised than gratified to find Willie Thomson awaiting him at the close-mouth. For Willie, his oldest, if not his choicest friend, 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 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.'

'Ye can feel. Tak' aff yer coat.' Willie knew that despite his inches he was a poor match for the other, yet he was a stubborn chap. 'What business is it o' yours whether I enlist or no?' he scowled.

'Will ye enlist?'

'I'll see ye damp first!'

'Come on, then!' Macgregor spat lightly On his palms. 'I've nae time 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 so promptly that Macgregor, scarcely prepared, had to take a light tap on the chin. A brief display of thoroughly unscientific boxing ensued, 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 the encouraging