by J. J. Bell
XVI
CONSCIENCE AND A COCOA-NUT
With one thing and another Christina, during her first evening inAberdeen, had no opportunity of sending her betrothed more than apostcard announcing her safe arrival; but she went to bed withevery intention of sending him on the morrow the longest andsweetest letter she had ever written. The receipt of Macgregor'sletter, with all its implied reproaches, however, not only hurt herfeelings, but set her pride up in arms. 'He had nae business towrite as if I was a selfish thing; as if I had nae right to decidefor masel'!' As a matter of fact, her sole reason for acceptingMrs. Purdie's invitation had been a fear of offending Macgregor'simportant relatives by a refusal. Heaven knew she had not wantedto put 150 miles between her lad and herself at such a time.
Still, as Macgregor might have known by now, it was always amistake to try to hustle Christina in any way. Her replycondescended neither to explanations nor defence. Written in hersuperior, and rather high-flown English, which she was well awarehe detested, it practically ignored his epistle and took the formof an essay on the delights of travel, the charm of residence inthe Northern City, the kindliness and generosity of host andhostess. She was not without compunction, especially when UnclePurdie expressed the hope that she was sending the lad something to'keep up his pecker,' but she let the letter go, telling herselfthat it would be 'good for him.'
The postcard was received by Macgregor after an uneasy night and ashameful awakening. The meagre message made him more miserablethan angry. In the circumstances it was, he felt bound to admit,as much as he deserved. Mercifully, Willie had such a 'rottenhead' that he was unable to plague his unhappy friend, and the dayturned out to be a particularly busy one for the battalion. Nextmorning brought the letter. Macgregor was furious, untilConscience asked him what he had to complain about.
Willie, his mischievous self again, got in a nasty one by inquiringhow much he had paid for the cab the night before last.
'Ye dirty spy!' cried Macgregor. 'What for did ye hook it in thepictur' hoose an' leave her wi' me? She was _your_ affair.'
'I never asked her to spend the evening',' Willie retorted,truthfully enough, 'Twa's comp'ny.'
Macgregor felt his face growing hot. With an effort he saidcoldly: 'If ye had stopped wi' us ye wudna ha'e been back at thebeer an' broke yer pledge.'
'Wha tell't ye I was at the beer?'
'Yer breath, ye eediot!'
'Ho! so ye was pretendin' ye was sleepin' when I spoke to ye!Cooard to smell a man's breath wi' yer eyes shut!'
Macgregor turned wearily away. 'It's nae odds to me what yedrink,' he said.
'Ye should think shame to say a thing like that to a chap thathasna tasted but wance for near a year--at least, for severalmonths,' said Willie, following. 'But I'll forgive ye like aChristian. . . . For peety's sake ten' us a tanner. I ha'ena hada fag since yesterday. I'll no split on ye.' He winked and nudgedMacgregor. 'Maggie's a whale for the cuddlin'--eh?'
It was too much. Macgregor turned and struck, and Willie wentdown. Then Macgregor, feeling sick of himself and the whole world,assisted the fallen one to his feet, shoved a shilling into hishand, and departed hastily.
He wrote a long, pleading letter to Christina and posted it--in thecook's fire. Next day he tried again, avoiding personal matters.The result was a long rambling dissertation on musketry and theeffect of the wind, etcetera, on one's shots, all of which, withhis best love, he forwarded to Aberdeen. In previous letters hehad scarcely ever referred to his training, and then with theutmost brevity.
The letter, quite apart from its technicalities, puzzled Christina;and to puzzle Christina was to annoy her. To her mind it seemed tohave been written for the sake of covering so much paper. Ofcourse she wanted Macgregor to be interested in his work, but notto the exclusion of herself. She allowed the thing to rankle forthree days. Then, as there was no further word from him, shebecame a little alarmed. But it was not in her to write all shefelt, and so she sought to break the tension with something in theway of a joke.
Thus it came about that on the fifth morning, Macgregor received apostcard depicting a light-house on a rocky coast and bearing a fewwritten words, also an oddly shaped parcel. The written wordswere:--
'Delighted to hear you are doing so well at the shooting. Sendingprize by same post.
This was better!--more like Christina herself. All was not lost!Eagerly he tore off the numerous wrappings and discloseda--cocoa-nut! In his present state of mind he would have preferredan infernal machine. A cocoa-nut! She was just laughing at him!He was about to conceal the nut when Willie appeared.
'My! ye're the lucky deevil, Macgreegor! Frae yer uncle, Isuppose. I'll help ye to crack it. I'll toss ye for the milk--ifthere's ony.'
'I'm no gaun to crack it the noo, Wullie,' Macgregor said,restraining himself.
'At nicht--eh?'
'I'll see.'
By evening, however, Willie was not thinking of cocoa-nuts or,indeed, of anything in the nature of eatables. His firstexperience in firing a rifle had taken place that afternoon and hadleft him with an aching jaw and a highly swollen face. On themorrow he was not much better.
'I'll no be able to use ma late pass the nicht,' he said bitterly.
'I'm no carin' whether I use mines or no,' Macgregor remarked fromthe depths of his dejection.
Willie gave him a grostesque wink, and observed: 'I believe ye'refeart to gang into Glesca noo. Oh, they weemen!'
'If ye hadna a face for pies already, I wud gi'e ye yin!'
'Ah, but ye daurna strike a man that's been wounded in hiscountry's service. Aw, gor, I wisht I had never enlisted! Whatcountry's worth a mug like this? . . . Which girl are ye maistfeart for, Macgreegor?'
Macgregor fled from the tormentor. He had not intended to use hislate pass, but Willie's taunt had altered everything. Afraid? Hewould soon show Willie! Also he would show Maggie! Likewise hewould show--Well, Christina had no business to behave as if shewere the only girl in the world, as if he were a fool. He had aright to enjoy himself, too. He had suffered enough, and thecocoa-nut was the limit! . . .
'Are ye for Glesca?' Willie persisted when Macgregor was givinghimself a 'tosh up' in the billet.
'Ay, am I!' he snapped at last.
'Hurray for the hero! Weel, gi'e Maggie yin on the squeaker fraeme, an' tell her no to greet for me, because I'm no worthy o' herpure unselfish love, etceetera. I doobt the weather's gaun to beower fine for cabs the nicht, but dinna despair; it's gettin' darkfairly early noo. Enjoy yersel' while ye're young.'
'That's enough,' said Macgregor. 'Ye needna think ye're the onlychap that kens a thing or twa!' And he left William gaping aswidely as his painful jaw would permit.
On the way to town he decided to leave the whole affair to chance;that is to say, he would not arrive at the warehouse where the fatgirl was employed until _after_ the usual closing hour of six. Ifshe had gone, no matter; if she was still there, well, he couldn'thelp it.
He arrived at 6.3, and she was there--in her fine feathers, too.She could not have expected him, he knew, but evidently she hadhoped. He felt flattered and soothed, being unaware that she hadhad another swain in reserve in case he should fail her.
'Fancy meetin' you!' she exclaimed, with a start of surprise.'Where's the bad character?'
'Gumbile,' answered Macgregor, who would not for worlds havebetrayed his friend's lack of skill with the rifle.
'Lang may it bile!' she remarked unfeeling. 'Wha are ye chasm'the nicht, Macgreegor?'
'You!' he replied more boldly than brightly.
'My! ye're gettin' quite forward-like,' she said, with thatpleasant giggle of hers.
'High time!' said he, recklessly.
After tea they went west and sat in the park. It was a lovely,hazy evening.
'Wud ye rayther be in a pictur' hoose, Maggie?'
'What's a pictur' hoose to be compared wi' this? If Heaven's likethis, I'm prepared to dee.' With three ro
se-flavoured jujubes inher mouth, she sighed and nestled against him.
In silence his arm went round her waist.
* * * * *
While waiting for the car back to camp he wrote on a picturepostcard--'Cocoanut received with thanks. I wish I was dead,'--anddropped it into a pillar box.
About the same hour, in the billet, Willie was disposing of thecocoa-nut by raffle, tickets one penny each.
'A queer-like present to get frae yer aunt,' said some one.
'Ay; but she's a queer-like aunt,' said Willie, pocketing theuseful sum of tenpence.
