nine.'

'The recruitin' office! What--what--guidsake, laddie! dinna tell
me ye've been thinkin' o' enlistin'!'

'I've enlisted.'

Mr. Purdie fell back in his chair.

'The 9th H.L.I.,' said Macgregor, and, as if to improve matters if
possible, added, 'Glesca Hielanders--Kilts.'

The successful grocer sat up, pulled down his waistcoat and made a
grimace which he imagined to be a frown. 'Neither breeks nor
kilts,' he declared heavily, 'can cover deceit. Ye're under age,
Macgreegor. Ye're but eichteen!'

'Nineteen, Uncle Purdie.'

'Eh? An' when was ye nineteen?'

'This mornin'.'

Mr. Purdie's hand went to his mouth in time to stop a guffaw.
Presently he soberly inquired what his nephew's parents had said on
the matter.

'I ha'ena tell't them yet.' 'Ah, that's bad. What--what made ye
enlist?'