The lights went up. Macgregor blew his
nose, then looked past the fat girl to make a scoffing remark to
Willie.
But Willie's seat was vacant.
* * * * *
Maggie laid her ungloved hand on the adjoining seat. 'It's warm,'
she informed Macgregor. 'He canna be lang awa'.'
'Did he no say he was comin' back?' Macgregor asked rather
irritably.
'He never said a word to me. I didna notice him gang: I was that
ta'en up wi' the picturs. But never heed,' she went on cheerfully;
'it's a guid riddance o' bad rubbish. I wonder what's next on the
prog----
'But this'll no dae! He--he's your frien'.'
'Him! Excuse me for seemin' to smile. I can tell ye I was
surprised to see a dacent-like chap like you sae chummy wi' sic a
bad character as him.'
'Aw, Wullie Thomson's no near as bad as his character. A' the
same, he had nae business to slope wi'oot lettin' us ken. But
he'll likely be comin' back. We'll wait for five meenutes an' see.'
Maggie drew herself up. 'I prefer no to wait where I'm no
welcome,' she said in a deeply offended tone, and made to rise.
He caught her plump arm. 'Wha said ye wasna welcome? Eat yer
sweeties an' dinna talk nonsense. If ye want to see the rest o'
the picturs, I'm on. I've naething else to dae the nicht.'
After a slight pause. 'Dae ye want me to bide--Macgreegor?'
'I'm asking ye.'
She sighed. 'Ye're a queer lad. What's yer age?'
'Nineteen.
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