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Private M'Slattery, asked for an explanation, had pointed out that if he had been treated as per his working arrangement with the police at Clydebank, there would have been no trouble whatever. As for his day off, he was willing to forgo his day's pay and call the thing square.
But Private M'Slattery, No. 3891, soon realised that he and Mr. Matthew M'Slattery, rivet-heater and respected citizen of Clydebank, had nothing in common. Only last week, feeling pleasantly fatigued after five days of arduous military training, he had followed the invariable practice of his civil life, and taken a day off. The result had fairly staggered him.
Private M'Slattery was not impressed, and said so quite frankly. In the lower walks of the industrial world Royalty is too often a mere name. Personal enthusiasm for a Sovereign whom they have never seen, and who in their minds is inextricably mixed up with the House of Lords, and capitalism, and the police, is impossible to individuals of the stamp of Private M'Slattery.
"Maybe he'll tak' a closer look at us," suggested an optimist in the rear rank. "He micht walk doon the line." "Walk? No him!" replied Private M'Slattery. "He'll be awa' hame in the motor. Hae ony o' you billies gotten a fag?" There was a smothered laugh. The officers of the battalion were standing rigidly at attention in front of A Company. One of these turned his head sharply.
Suddenly his eye fell upon Private Mucklewame, blindly and woodenly yelling himself hoarse. In three strides M'Slattery was standing face to face with the unconscious criminal. "Yous low, lousy puddock," he roared "tak' off your bonnet!" He saved Mucklewame the trouble of complying, and strode back to his place in the ranks. "Yin mair, chaps," he shouted "for the young leddy!"
Small wonder that they have begun to doubt, these simple souls, if they are ever going out at all. Private M'Slattery put the general opinion in a nutshell. "This regiment," he announced, "is no' for the front at all. We're jist tae bide here, for tae be inspeckit by Chinese Ministers and other heathen bodies!"
Their one ambition in life appears to be to put as large a space as possible between themselves and their late comrades-in-arms, and, if possible, overtake their captors. Some of them find time to grin, and wave their hands to us. One addresses the scandalised M'Slattery as "Kamarad!" "No more dis war for me!" cries another, with unfeigned satisfaction. After this our progress is more rapid.
Private M'Slattery gave a contemptuous sniff. The excited battalion was called to a sense of duty by the voice of authority. Once more the long lines stood stiff and rigid waiting, waiting, for their brief glimpse. It was a long time coming, for they were posted on the extreme left. Suddenly a strangled voice was uplifted "In God's name, what for can they no come tae us? Never heed the others!"
However, a hidebound C.O. had fined him five shillings and sentenced him to seven days' C.B. Consequently he was in no mood for Royal Reviews. He stated his opinions upon the subject in a loud voice and at some length. No one contradicted him, for he possessed the straightest left in the company; and no dog barked even when M'Slattery said that black was white.
Next behind him came the reformed revolutionary, M'Slattery. Straightway the enemy observed the oncoming reinforcements, and shrapnel began to fly. The men pressed on, at a steady double now. M'Ostrich was the first to go down. Game to the last, he waved encouragement to his mates with a failing arm as they passed over his body. "Come along, boys!" cried Captain Blaikie, suddenly eloquent.
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