Macgregor lit a cigarette and returned his well-stocked aluminium
case to his pocket.

The silence was broken by Willie.

'Savin' up?'

'Ay.'

'It's a dashed bad habit, Macgreegor. Dinna let it grow on ye. If
naebody saved up, everybody wud be weel aff. . . . Aweel, what
maun be maun be.' And, groaning, Private Thomson drew forth a
packet which his friend had 'stood' him the previous day.
'Regairdin' this tea pairty,' he resumed, 'are ye supposed to eat
a' ye can an' leave what ye canna--if there's onything to leave?'

'She'll expect ye to eat a' ye can.'

'It's easy seen she doesna ken me.'

'Oh, she'll be prepared for the warst, Wullie,' said Macgregor, his
good-humour returned. 'I can shift a bit masel' when I'm in form.'

Whereat Willie's countenance was illuminated by a happy thought.
'I'll bet ye a tanner I'll shift mair nor you!'

Macgregor laughed and shook his head. 'If you an' me was gaun oor
lane to restewrant, I wud tak' ye on; but----'