"That's because you have been making an ass of yourself. While the other fellows have been improving themselves you have been loafing around public-houses. Good night," and Penrose left him alone. Tom felt rather miserable; he was somewhat angered too. He didn't like the way Penrose had spoken to him. In the old days he had been proud of his respectability, and before he had made Polly Powell's acquaintance, and when Alice Lister had shown a preference for him, Tom was very ambitious. Now he knew he had not only sunk in the social scale, but he had less self-respect than formerly. "After all," he argued to himself presently, "I didn't join the Army to go to Sunday School, I joined to lick the blooming Germans." Still he could not help recalling the feelings which possessed him on the night he came out of the great hall at the Mechanics' Institute. He had felt stirred then; felt indeed as though he had heard the call of some higher power. Hitherto he had looked upon wearing the King's uniform as something ignoble; then it had appeared to him almost as a religious act. The speaker had called upon him to fight against brutality, butchery, devilry, and his heart had burned at the thought of it. Something which he felt was holy made him leap to his feet and give his name, yet now he found his chief delights in coarse associations and debasing habits. He was still fond of Polly Powell. The girl's coarse beauty made a strong appeal to him, but he remembered Alice Lister; remembered the things which she had said to him, and he could not help sighing. "Eh, Tom, is that you?" Tom turned and saw a tall raw-boned fellow in kilts. "Ay, Alec; wher't' baan?" "There's a wee lassie I promised to meet to-nicht," replied the other. Alec McPhail belonged to the Black Watch, a battalion of which was stationed in the town, and Tom and Alec had become friends. "What's thy lass's name?" asked Tom. "I dinna ken reightly, except that they ca' her Alice. Come wi' me, Tom; mebbe she has a friend." "Nay," replied Tom, "I doan't feel like skylarking with the lasses to-night." "Weel, I'm not ower particular mysel', but I have not much siller. Three bawbees will have to last me till Saturday, otherwise I'd be asking ye to come and have a drop of whisky wi' me." "I am stony-broke too," said Tom. "I expect I have been a fool." "Nay, man, nae man's a fool who spends his siller on good whisky." By this time they were walking together towards the outskirts of the town. "What is this lass o' yourn?" asked Tom after a silence. "I think she's a wee bit servant lassie," replied the Scotchman; "she's a bonny wee thing too, and fairly enamoured wi' a kilt." Tom still walked on aimlessly; the thought of going to meet a girl who might never come did not have much attraction for him; still he didn't know where to go. "I don't think I'll come any further," he said presently. "Nay, what makes ye alter your mind, Tom?"