"But how are you getting even?"
"Ah'm no dressin' up for them," said the vengeful one; "ye ken thae nurses are havin' a kin' of a bairthday pairty or the like, an' a' the men's dressed up to please them. An' if Ah canna gang oot to please masel, Ah canna dress oop like a monkeyback to please them.
"They wantit me to dress up for Chairlie Chaplin. Man, the nurse was argle-barglin' a clock hour tryin' to persuade me to put thae claes on. 'Oh, do' (he squeaked), 'to please me, McPhee.' ... But Ah wouldna. Ah turnit ma face to the wa' an' wouldna speak a wurrd.
"Ye ken, the ward that gets the maist votes gets a prize, an' thae nurses is awfu' set on their ward winnin' it. Ah could ha' won it for Number One. Fine cud I. Ah can turn masel oot so's my ain brither couldna tell me from Harry Lauder. But Ah wouldna. If I canna gang oot——"
At this point the door opened and a dejected apparition in a ruff and petticoats, like a rumpled remnant of a pre-war pageant, drifted in and sat down on a bed.
"Ah weel, Queen Elizabeth, hae they dune wi' ye yet?" inquired McPhee sardonically.
Gloriana shook his head. "They're playin' musical chairs," he said gloomily, "so I thought as I wouldn't be missed for a bit. This thing round my neck does tickle, but my nurse'd be awful 'urt if I took it off."
McPhee emitted an ejaculation—Gaelic, I believe—usually expressed in writing "Mphm."
"Sma' things," he said, "please sma' minds.... Wha won the prize?"
"Number Two Ward," said Queen Elizabeth indifferently, "sweets. They're eatin' 'em. They'll have stummick-aches to-morrer.... But there—it's the least as we can do to let the nurses 'ave their bit o' fun."