CHAPTER FOUR
For some weeks Macgregor had nourished an idea of making the birthday presentation with his own hands. In fancy he had beheld his own gallant proffering of the gifts, and Jessie Mary’s shy acceptance of the same. Why he should have foreseen himself bold and Jessie Mary bashful is a question that may be left to those who have the profound insight necessary to diagnose the delicate workings of a youthful and lovelorn imagination. At the same time he had harboured many hopeful fears and fearful hopes, but to divulge these in detail would be sacrilege.
On the day following the purchase of the gifts, however, his original plan, so simple and straightforward, would seem to have lost something of its attractiveness. Perhaps he was suddenly assailed by the cowardice of modesty; possibly he argued, in effect, that the offering would gain in importance by impersonal delivery. At all events, he endeavoured, on the way to church, to borrow from Willie Thomson the sum of threepence—the charge for delivery demanded by a heartless post-office. Unfortunately Willie’s finances just then were in a most miserable state, so much so that on this very morning he had been compelled to threaten his aunt, with whom and on whom he lived, with the awful vow never to enter a church again unless she supplied him with twopence on the spot. (This, of course, in addition to the customary penny for “the plate.”)
He jingled the coins in his pocket while he confided to Macgregor his tale of a hard world, and continued to do so while he waited for the sympathy which past experience of his friend led him to expect.
It was therefore something of a shock to Willie when Macgregor, privately fondling the penny which he had not spent on a birthday card, replied: “I could manage wi’ the tuppence, Wullie. An’ I’ll pay ye back on Seturday, sure.”
“Eh?” Willie stopped jingling and clutched his coins tightly.
Macgregor repeated his words hopefully.
“Aw, but I canna len’ ye the tuppence,” said Willie, almost resentfully; adding, “But I’ll gi’e ye a ceegarette or twa when I buy some.”
“I’m no’ wantin’ yer ceegarettes,” Macgregor returned, his eyes on the pavement.