'I'm no gaun to crack it the noo, Wullie,' Macgregor said, restraining himself.
'At nicht—eh?'
'I'll see.'
By evening, however, Willie was not thinking of cocoa-nuts or, indeed, of anything in the nature of eatables. His first experience in firing a rifle had taken place that afternoon and had left him with an aching jaw and a highly swollen face. On the morrow he was not much better.
'I'll no be able to use ma late pass the nicht,' he said bitterly.
'I'm no carin' whether I use mines or no,' Macgregor remarked from the depths of his dejection.
Willie gave him a grostesque wink, and observed: 'I believe ye're feart to gang into Glesca noo. Oh, they weemen!'
'If ye hadna a face for pies already, I wud gi'e ye yin!'
'Ah, but ye daurna strike a man that's been wounded in his country's service. Aw, gor, I wisht I had never enlisted! What country's worth a mug like this? . . . Which girl are ye maist feart for, Macgreegor?'
Macgregor fled from the tormentor. He had not intended to use his late pass, but Willie's taunt had altered everything. Afraid? He would soon show Willie! Also he would show Maggie! Likewise he would show—Well, Christina had no business to behave as if she were the only girl in the world, as if he were a fool. He had a right to enjoy himself, too. He had suffered enough, and the cocoa-nut was the limit! . . .