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.

They boarded the next, having sacrificed twelve precious minutes of
their leave. Of course, they would never have dreamed of
travelling 'inside'--and yet . . . They ascended as gingerly as
a pretty girl aware of ungainly ankles surmounts a stile. Arrived
safely on the roof, they sat down and puffed each a long breath
suggestive of grave peril overcome. They covered their knees as
far as they could and as surreptitiously as possible.

Presently, with the help of cigarettes, which they smoked
industriously, they began to revive. Their lips were unsealed,
though conversation could not be said to gush. They did their best
to look like veterans. An old woman smiled rather sadly, but very