Dinner was being served as Spud entered. This consisted of a greasy-looking stew, coupled with queer-looking potatoes. The old soldiers, of course, made sure of receiving the biggest share. This was an unwritten law, handed down from the Army of the [pg 15] Romans, and it was infra dig. for the recruit to object. Imagine the surprise of the hungry Spud Tamson on sitting down to a bone and a couple of potatoes. It was too much for his fiery nature, and, on observing the plate of an old Die-hard next to him, which was loaded up with the choicest titbits, he remarked to him, "You're like Rab Haw—you've eyes bigger than your belly."
"Nane o' yer lip, or I'll knock your pimpled face intae mincemeat."
"Wid ye! D'ye think I'm saft?"
"Shut up, I tell ye."
"Tha'll no' frichten me, auld cock—I'm gem."
"Tak' that," said his opponent, wiping his hand across his face. Spud promptly hit back, with the result that the table went up with a bang and all the dinners crashed to the floor.
"Mak' a ring! Mak' a ring!" shouted the others, for Militiamen dearly love a scrap. In a few seconds this was done. Spud and his enemy off with their jackets, and soon the thud, thud, of blows, and an occasional grunt told of a deadly combat. If Spud was lean, he was wiry, and he had been reared in the school of self-help. He hopped round the old Die-hard like a bantam, and now and [pg 16] then slipped in a terrific blow on the elderly man's corporation.
"Go on the wee yin!"
"Two to one bar one!"
"Slip it across him!"