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And his experience has actually been shared by many a poor fellow and by many another who might have counted himself lucky if he had lost no more than a leg, as Tamson did. But the laddies of my battery, though they were shooting now at Germans they could not see, had had many a close up view of Fritz in the past, and expected many another in the future.
Looking up to him, she said, "Lord help yer e'e-sight, Maister Tamson!" "Lord help my e'e-sight, woman! What has that to do with it?" "Ou," said she, "because ye ha'e nae nose to put spectacles on!" As it happened, poor Mr. Thomson had, by some accident or disease, so little of a nose left, if any at all, that the bridge of the nose for holding up the spectacles was almost entirely wanting.
"Ye'll be late gittin' to the ram-paddock, Tamson," remarked M'Nab, treating Cooper with the silent contempt usually lavished upon men of his physique. "Axpect thon's where ye're makin' fur?" "I say you better camp with us to-night," suggested Thompson, evading the implied inquiry.
His name was Samson, and if it had been Tamson she would hae ta'en him. Ay, you may look, but it's true. Her name was Turnbull, and she had another gent after her, name o' Tibbets. She couldna make up her mind atween them, and for a while she just keeped them dangling on. Ay, but in the end she took Tibbets. And what, think you, was her reason?
There was a hospital in Glasgow, and there a man who had gone to see a friend stopped, suddenly, in amazement, at the side of a cot. He looked down at features that were familiar to him. The man in the cot was not looking at him, and the visitor stood gaping, staring at him in the utmost astonishment and doubt. "I say, man," he asked, at last, "are ye not Tamson, the baker?"
I micht get started the morn," he said breaking in upon her thought. "A' richt, Robin," she replied with a sigh of resignation. "I suppose it'll hae to be done. It'll be yer first start in life, an' I hope ye'll aye be found doin' what's richt; for guid never comes o' ill thinkin' or ill doin." "If I get a job, mither, maybe I'll get one-an'-tippence a day like Dick Tamson.
The wounded man opened his eyes, and looked up, weakly. "Aye," he said. "I'm Tamson, the baker." His voice was weak, and he looked tired. But he looked puzzled, too. "Weel, Tamson, man, what's the matter wi' ye?" asked the other. "I didna hear that ye were sick or hurt. How comes it ye are here? Can it be that ye ha' been to the war, man, and we not hearing of it, at all?"
And there was the strange ease of my friend, Tamson, the baker, of which I told you earlier. No a man never knows his fate! So it seemed to me, as we drove toward Arras, and watched that mysterious figure, that God Himself had chosen to leave it there, as a sign and a warning and a promise all at once. There was no sign of life, at first, when we came into the town. Silence brooded over the ruins.
Tamson has charge of the prisoners." Or it would be: "They've gotten pistols, sir. What's the orders?" and the answer would be: "Stick to your batons. The guns are posted on the knowe, so we needn't hurry." And over all the din there would be a perpetual whistling and a yelling of "Hands up!" I would sing, too, of Wee Jaikie, who was having the red-letter hour of his life.
"Aye, I think so," said Tamson, still weakly, but as if he were rather glad of a chance to talk, at that. "Ye think so?" asked his friend, in greater astonishment than ever. "Man, if ye've been to the war do ye not know it for sure and certain?" "Well, I will tell ye how it is," said Tamson, very slowly and wearily. "I was in the reserve, do ye ken.
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