Bell, John Joy, 1871-1934 / 2008-07-23 00:00:00
As if to intensify the situation, the leave for which they had
applied a few days previously was unexpectedly granted for that
evening. Before he realized what he was saying, Macgregor had
inquired whether he might go without his kilt. Perhaps he was not
the first recruit to put it that way. Anyway, the reply was a curt
'I don't think.'
'I believe ye're ashamed o' the uniform,' said Willie, disagreeable
under his own disappointment at the verdict.
'Say it again!' snapped Macgregor.
Willie ignored the invitation, and swore by the great god Jings
that he would assuredly wear breeks unless something happened. The
only thing that may be said to have happened was that he did not
wear breeks.
As a matter of fact, Macgregor, with his sturdy figure, carried his
kilt rather well. The lanky William, however, gave the impression
that he was growing out of it perceptibly, yet inevitably.
Four o'clock saw them started on their way, and with every step
from the camp, which now seemed a lost refuge, their kilts felt
shorter, their legs longer, their knees larger, their person
smaller. Conversation soon dried up. Willie whistled tunelessly
through his teeth; Macgregor kept his jaw set and occasionally and
inadvertently kicked a loose stone. Down on the main road an
electric car bound for Glasgow hove in sight. Simultaneously they
started to run. After a few paces they pulled up, as though
suddenly conscious of unseemliness, and resumed their sober
pace--and lost the car.
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