'Ye're henny,' said Willie.
Macgregor was more puzzled than angry. Here was Willie positively asking for a punching in public!
'What's wrang wi' ye, Wullie?' he asked in a lowered voice. 'Wait till we get oor next leave. The chaps here'll jist laugh at ye.'
'It'll maybe be you they'll laugh at. Come on, ye cooard!'
By this time the other fellows had become interested, and one of them, commonly called Jake, the oldest in the billet, came forward.
'What's up, Grocer?' he inquired of Macgregor, who had early earned his nickname thanks to Uncle Purdie's frequent consignments of dainties, which were greatly appreciated by all in the billet.
'He's aff his onion,' said Macgregor, disgustedly.
'He says I'm a leear,' said Willie, sullenly. Jake's humorous mouth went straight, not without apparent effort.
'Weel,' he said slowly, judicially, 'it's maybe a peety to fecht aboot a trifle like that, an' we canna permit kickin', clawin' an' bitin' in this genteel estayblishment; but seein' it's a dull evenin', an' jist for to help for to pass the time, I'll len' ye ma auld boxin' gloves, an' ye can bash awa' till ye're wearit. Sam!' he called over his shoulder, 'fetch the gloves, an' I'll see fair play. . . . I suppose. Grocer, ye dinna want to apologeeze.'
Macgregor's reply was to loosen his tunic. He was annoyed with himself and irritated by Willie, but above all he resented the publicity of the affair.