"Cauld or het," retorted the gentleman addressed, "it's little dinner
I'll be gettin' this day! And ye ken fine why!" he added darkly.

Private Tosh removed a cigarette from his lower lip and sighed
patiently.

"For the last time," he announced, with the air of a righteous man
suffering long, "I did not lay ma hand on your dirrty wee bit ham!"

"Maybe," countered the bereaved Buncle swiftly, "you did not lay your
hand upon it; but you had it tae your breakfast for all that, Davie!"

"I never pit ma hand on it!" repeated Tosh doggedly.

"No? Then I doot you gave it a bit kick with your foot," replied the
inflexible Buncle.

"Or got some other body tae luft it for him!" suggested Private Nigg,
looking hard at Tosh's habitual accomplice, Cosh.

"I had it pitten in an auld envelope from hame, addressed with my
name," continued the mourner. "It couldna hae got oot o' that by
accident!"

"Weel," interposed Cosh, with forced geniality, "it's no a thing tae
argie-bargie aboot. Whatever body lufted it, it's awa' by this time.
It's a fine day, boys!"

This flagrant attempt to raise the conversation to a less