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  VII

  WILLIE STANDS UP

  It is not the most roughly nurtured of us who will rough it themost cheerfully. Willie Thomson, of harsh and meagre upbringing,was the grumbler of his billet. He found fault with the camp fare,accommodation and hours in particular, with the discipline ingeneral. Yet, oddly enough, after a fortnight or so, he seemed toaccept the physical drill at 7 a.m. with a sort of doursatisfaction, though he never had a good word to say for it.

  His complaints at last exasperated Macgregor, who, on a certain wetevening, when half the men were lounging drearily within thebillet, snapped the question:

  'What the blazes made ye enlist?'

  The answer was unexpected. 'You!'

  'Ye're a leear!'

  With great deliberation Willie arose from the bench on which he hadbeen reclining. He spat on the floor and proceeded to unbutton histunic,

  'Nae man,' he declared, as if addressing an audience, 'calls methat twicet!'

  'Wudna be worth his while,' said his friend, carelessly.

  'I challenge ye to repeat it.'

  The tone of the words caused Macgregor to stare, but he said calmlyenough: 'Either ye was a leear the nicht ye enlisted, or ye're aleear noo. Ye can tak' yer choice.'

  'An' you can tak' aff yer coat!'

  'I dinna need to undress for to gi'e ye a hammerin', if that's whatye're efter. But I'm no gaun to dae it here. We'd baith get intotrouble.'

  'Ye're henny,' said Willie.

  Macgregor was more puzzled than angry. Here was Willie positivelyasking for a punching in public!

  'What's wrang wi' ye, Wullie?' he asked in a lowered voice. 'Waittill we get oor next leave. The chaps here'll jist laugh at ye.'

  'It'll maybe be you they'll laugh at. Come on, ye cooard!'

  By this time the other fellows had become interested, and one ofthem, commonly called Jake, the oldest in the billet, came forward.

  'What's up, Grocer?' he inquired of Macgregor, who had early earnedhis nickname thanks to Uncle Purdie's frequent consignments ofdainties, which were greatly appreciated by all in the billet.

  'He's aff his onion,' said Macgregor, disgustedly.

  'He says I'm a leear,' said Willie, sullenly. Jake's humorousmouth went straight, not without apparent effort.

  'Weel,' he said slowly, judicially, 'it's maybe a peety to fechtaboot a trifle like that, an' we canna permit kickin', clawin' an'bitin' in this genteel estayblishment; but seein' it's a dullevenin', an' jist for to help for to pass the time, I'll len' ye maauld boxin' gloves, an' ye can bash awa' till ye're wearit. Sam!'he called over his shoulder, 'fetch the gloves, an' I'll see fairplay. . . . I suppose. Grocer, ye dinna want to apologeeze.'

  Macgregor's reply was to loosen his tunic. He was annoyed withhimself and irritated by Willie, but above all he resented thepublicity of the affair.

  With mock solemnity Jake turned to Willie. 'In case o' yerdecease, wud ye no like to leave a lovin' message for the auntwe've heard ye blessin' noo an' then?'

  'To pot wi' her!' muttered Willie.

  A high falsetto voice from the gathering' audience cried: 'Oh, yebad boy, come here till I skelp ye!'--and there was a generallaugh, in which the hapless object did not join.

  'Ach, dinna torment him,' Macgregor said impulsively.

  While willing hands fixed the gloves on the combatants thenecessary floor space was cleared. There were numerous offers ofthe services of seconds, but the self-constituted master ofceremonies, Jake, vetoed all formalities.

  'Let them dae battle in their ain fashion,' said he. 'It'll bemair fun for us. But it's understood that first blood ends it.Are ye ready, lads? Then get to wark. Nae hittin' ablow the belt.'

  By this time Macgregor was beginning to feel amused. The sight ofWillie and himself in the big gloves tickled him.

  'Come on, Wullie,' he called cheerfully.

  'Am I a leear?' Willie demanded.

  'Ye are!--but ye canna help it.'

  'I can if I like!' yelled Willie, losing his head. 'Tak' that!'

  A tremendous buffet with the right intended for Macgregor's nosecaught his forehead with a sounding whack.

  Thus began an extraordinary battle in which there was littleattempt at dodging, less at guarding and none at feinting. Eachman confined his attentions to his opponent's face and endeavouredto reached the bull's eye, as it were, of the target, though thatpoint was not often attained, and never with spectacular effect.Ere long, however, Macgregor developed a puffiness around his lefteye while Willie exhibited a swelling lip. Both soon were pouringout sweat. They fought with frantic enthusiasm and notable wasteof energy.

  The audience laughed itself into helplessness, gasping advice andencouragement to each with a fine lack of favouritism.

  'Wire in, wee yin! Try again, pipeshanks! Weel hit, Grocer! Thathad him, Wullie!--ye'll be a corporal afore yer auntie! Haw, Mac,that was a knock-oot, if it had struck! Cheer up, Private Thomson;gi'e him the kidney punch on his whuskers! Guid stroke.Grocer!--fair on his goods' entrance! We'll be payin' for to seeye in pictur' hooses yet--the Brithers Basher! Gor, this is betternor a funeral! Keep it up, lads!' And so forth.

  But it was far too fast to last. A few minutes, and both wereutterly pumped. As though with mutual agreement, they pausedpanting. Neither had gained any visible advantage.

  'Nae blood yet,' remarked some one in tones of regret mingled withhope.

  'Never heed,' interposed Jake, humanely Tak' aff their gloves.They've done enough. We'll ca' it a draw--or to be conteenued inoor next dull evenin'--whichever they like. I hope you twa lads'll never learn scienteefic boxin'. There's ower little fun in thewarld nooadays.'

  Neither offered any resistance to the removal of the gloves.

  'Shake han's, lads,' said Jake.

  To Macgregor's surprise, Willie's hand was out before his own.

  'I'm a leear if ye like,' said Willie, still panting, 'but I canstan' up to ye noo!'

  'So ye can,' Macgregor admitted--a little reluctantly perhaps, forhe had long been used to being the winner.

  'If I wasna teetotal,' Willie added in a burst of generosity, 'Iwud stan' ye a drink.'