'Oh, whisht!' said Christina smiling.
'Ye should get a girl, Wullie,' Macgregor remarked with the air of an old married man.
'I ha'ena your luck, ma lad. If I was trustin' a girl, I'll bet ye a bob she wud turn oot to be yin o' the sort that pinches a chap's wages afore they're warmed in his pooch, an' objec's to him smokin' a fag, an' tak's the huff if he calls her fig-face.'
'I'm afraid ye're a pessimist,' Christina said. 'I used to dae a bit in that line masel'. Ma favourite motto was: "Cheer up—ye'll soon be deid!" But I got past that, an' so will you.'
With a sardonic smile Willie shook his head and took another cigarette; and just then Christina had to go to attend to a customer.
Willie turned to his friend. 'Thon was a dirty trick aboot the cookies. I've a guid mind to bide here as lang as you.'
'I didna think ye wud hae been feart for a cookie, Wullie. Of course, I'll never tell her.'
'Weel, I accep' yer apology. Can ye len' us thruppence? I want to purchase some War Loan. . . . By Jings, ye're no a bad sort, Macgreegor. . . . Hoo dae ye think I behaved masel'?'
'No that bad.'
'Weel, I want ye to tell her I ha'end enjoyed masel' sae much since ma Uncle Peter's funeral, ten year back.'