'Are they? . . . Weel, what dae ye dae if it bursts?'

'Never let bug.'

'Ay, but--but what aboot the cream?'

'Best cairry an extra hanky an' plug yer sleeve wi' it.'

After a dismal pause, Willie inquired: 'Could ye no get her to
leave the cream cookies oot o' her programme, Macgreegor?'

Macgregor looked dubious. 'She's gey saft on them hersel', an' she
micht be offendit if we refused them. Of course they dinna scoot
up the sleeve every time.'

'Oh!'--more hopefully.

'Whiles they explode doon the waistcoat--I mean tunic.'

'That's enough!' wailed Willie. 'If the Clyde was handy, I wud
gang an' droon masel'!'

On the third day following, they obtained late passes. Willie's
uneasiness was considerable, yet so was his vanity. He affected an
absurdly devil-may-care deportment which so stirred Macgregor's
sense of pity that he had thoughts of taking back what he had said
about the cream cookies. But at the last moment his bootlace
snapped. . . .

Willie's toilet was the most careful he had ever made, and included