He and Gregor--who, like a good chum, did his best to keep his purse to the level of his friend’s--made many quaint discoveries in the matter of restaurants where they got a cut off the joint and two vegetables and bread, and choice of cheese or sweets, for the all-round sum of one shilling. Marching days, however, were lean days with them, when they were dependent on the none-too-filling sandwiches and biscuits, and apples and ginger-beer, of the travelling canteen. And those nights they took home tremendous appetites and were unjovial till they had been satisfied,--a task which they divided about equally between The Red House and the White. Mrs MacLean rejoiced whenever they went to her, and would have liked them to come every night, and she was never caught short. The girls did their best. But the boys’ movements were as a rule so unforeseeable, and at all times subject to such unexpected alteration on the spur of the moment, that providing for them was no easy matter. Gregor, at all events, showed no sign of complaint, and doubtless the presence of the girls more than made up for any little defects in the commissariat. Noel expressed himself freely on the subject if occasion offered. “Wait till we go into camp,” grinned Gregor. “You’ll learn things, my boy. Bully beef and hard potatoes, and mouldy cheese, and jam that’s all the same whatever it calls itself!” “Rotten! They might at all events feed us properly.” “It’s a shame,” said Honor. “I should strike, or mutiny, or whatever’s the proper thing to do in such a case.” “Proper thing is to grin and bear it and buy some extra grub outside to fill up with. If you kicked you’d be taken out and shot at dawn,” said Gregor gravely. “I don’t think soldiering’s as nice as I thought it was.” “It’s not,--not all of it. But it’s got to be done since the Kaiser’s said so.” “The wretch! I wish he would die.” “Not yet. He’ll suffer a lot more if he lives. At least I hope so.” “He can never suffer as he deserves to,” said Vic. “I would have all the pain and misery he has brought about visited on his own head, but that’s not humanly possible.” “He’ll suffer,” said Gregor weightily. “If we lick him all to pieces, as we shall do,” said Noel, “he’ll surrender to England and be given a palace to live in and a nice little pension. We’re altogether too soft-hearted. When a man’s down we’re always sorry for him, no matter what he’s done, and we sentimentalise over him like a lot of silly schoolgirls.” “That all you know?” said Honor. “What about those kilts?” asked Vic. “Next week, please the powers! Things are turning up by degrees. A lot of sporrans and spats came in this afternoon. I saw them myself.” “We’ll be getting clothed bit by bit,” said Gregor. “You’ll see us swanking it in one spat and a sporran maybe. There’s no kilts come yet, and as for tunics!--you see there’s more khaki wanted than they can turn out, though the mills are working night and day, they say.”