expressions before his glass. If he ever did get mixed up in a real battle
(which McGregor doubts) he was undoubtedly last in and first out. However
it may appear in print, his military career would not bear close scrutiny;
for that reason McGregor does not propose to scrutinise it. And as for his
indomitable will, he sees nothing to admire in the man's persistence,
since, when he stops persisting, he'll become ungummed and, at the best,
forgotten.

So said McGregor, and when I besought him to come to the point, he said
he'd dealt with it, and if I had any sympathy left for HINDENBURG or his
line I was no better than a slave-driving, sit-at-home-and-push-others-
over-the-parapet Prussian militarist myself. As for the map, it didn't
matter in the least where HINDENBURG took his old line to, since wherever
in Europe it endeavoured to conceal itself his own little line would scent
it out and follow it. And if the HINDENBURG line was more than two hundred
miles long and the Rrobert James McGrregor line less than two hundred
yards, still it didn't matter; for when a Scot takes a dislike to somebody,
that somebody's number is up.

McGregor didn't say that last, but he looked it.

Yours ever, HENRY.

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[Illustration: _McTavish (purchasing paper of posterless newsboy)._ "AWEEL,
IT'S A 'PIG IN A POKE,' BUT AH'LL RISK IT."]

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