"Nae fear—I waant ma thirty bob. You'll no frichten me," said Beefy, sitting down on a chair.
"You—you—you—insubordinate scoundrel. How—how—dare you!" shouted the old colonel, getting red at the neck.
"Keep your hair on, auld cock," said Beefy.
"Send for the guard, adjutant."
[pg 62] In a few minutes an escort appeared, and Beefy, the vaunted champion, was seized and carried forcibly to the guardroom. All that was heard as he was hustled away was, "I waant ma thirty bob."
Spud Tamson got fourteen days cells for this little trick, and poor Beefy received a paper stating, "You are discharged from His Majesty's Service as unlikely to become an efficient soldier."
"What dis that mean, Spud?" said Beefy, showing him the paper as he was leaving.
"It jist means that you're daft."
"Weel, Spud, I'm no' sae green as I'm cabbage-lookin'. Ta-ta." And this was true, for next day nearly every man in the Glesca Mileeshy had lost his spare shirts, socks, and boots.
"Jings, he's no' sae daft efter a'," was Spud's final comment on the departed boxer.