A little light came from windows above. Here he
removed his jacket, hung it carefully on a pole; and began to roll
up his sleeves.
'It's ower dark here,' Willie complained. 'I canna see.'
'Ye can feel. Tak' aff yer coat.' Willie knew that despite his
inches he was a poor match for the other, yet he was a stubborn
chap. 'What business is it o' yours whether I enlist or no?' he
scowled.
'Will ye enlist?'
'I'll see ye damp first!'
'Come on, then!' Macgregor spat lightly On his palms. 'I've nae
time to waste.'
Willie cast his jacket on the ground. 'I'll wrastle ye,' he said,
with a gleam of hope.
'Thenk ye; but I'm no for dirtyin' ma guid claes. Come on!'
To Willie's credit, let it be recorded, he did come on, and so
promptly that Macgregor, scarcely prepared, had to take a light tap
on the chin. A brief display of thoroughly unscientific boxing
ensued, and then Macgregor got home between the eyes. Willie,
tripping over his own jacket, dropped to earth.
'I wasna ready that time,' he grumbled, sitting up.
Macgregor seized his hand and dragged him to his feet, with the
encouraging remark, 'Ye'll be readier next time.'
In the course of the second round Willie achieved a smart clip on
his opponent's ear, but next moment he received, as it seemed, an
express train on the point of his nose, and straightway sat down in
agony.
'Is't bled, Wullie?' Macgregor presently inquired with compunction
as well as satisfaction.
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