"The canteen opens, sir," said an old hand with a grin.
"Well, as the canteen is open now, and I have got a couple of spare half-crowns, you had better fall out."
"You're a guid yin, sir," said Spud with a familiar wink.
"Get out and don't be so beastly familyah," concluded the captain, adjusting his monocle, stretching his tunic, then marching out like an advertisement for corsets and hair-wash.
[pg 69]
CHAPTER VIII.
ANNUAL TRAINING.
The annual training of the Glesca Mileeshy was an event of importance. It cleared the Models and allowed the local policemen an opportunity for holidays. To the gallant Militiamen the training meant six weeks' pay, a bounty, his shirts, and a pair of boots. The shirts and boots were important items, for many arrived shirtless and almost bootless. As the average Militiaman had no permanent place of abode, he was summoned to camp by a proclamation in big type, which was pasted on the kirk, police, and public-house doors. This notice was hardly necessary. The men enjoyed the training, and were always pleased when the date came round. They journeyed to their headquarters in various ways. Some cheerfully hoofed it; others rode in their [pg 70] tinker's carts; but the majority went by train. When they arrived in Blacktoon, they found a hearty welcome prepared by the local publicans. Tons of bread and cheese were cut and ready; fresh barrels turned on; and hauf mutchkins piled up behind the counter ready for the fray. There was a wild rush for these bars, and above the din nought could be heard but the clamouring for "a gill and a pint."
"Hello, M'Greegor, whaur hae ye been a' this time?"
"In Barlinnie."
"Whut fur?"