'Flanders!' yelled Willie, wildly, and started to dance—unfortunately upon a thin piece of soap.
'Dardanelles!' Macgregor repeated as he gave his friend a hand up.
'Oh ——!' groaned Willie, rubbing the back of his head. 'But what'll ye bet?'
'What ha'e ye got?'
'I'll bet ye thruppence—the thruppence ye lent me the day afore yesterday.'
'Done! If ye win, we'll be quits; if ye loss——'
'Na, na! If I win, ye'll ha'e to pay me——'
'Ach, I've nae time to listen to ye. I've twa letters to write.'
'Letters! What aboot the bet?'
'Awa' an' chase yersel'! Are ye no gaun to drap a line to yer aunt?'