"They're no' so bad," he admitted, "but yeer ain seegairs never taste so bonnie as the seegairs yeer frien's loan ye." "They came in time," said Carter; "we'd started a League for the Suppression of Cigar Cadging." "Maybe ye thocht o' makin' me treesurer? Naw? Ah weel, a wee seegair is no muckle to gie a body wha's brocht fame an' honor to the Wing." "I often wonder, Tam," said Carter, "how much you're joking and laughing at yourself when you're talking about 'Tam, the Terror of the Clouds,' and how much you're in earnest." A fleeting smile flickered for a second about Tam's mouth and vanished. "In all guid wairks of reference, fra' Auld Morre's Almanac to the Clyede River Time-Table," he said soberly, "it's written that a Scotsman canna joke. If A'd no talk about Tam--would ye talk aboot ye'sel's? Naw! Ye'd go oop an' doon, fichtin' an' deein' wi'oot a waird. If ye'll talk aboot ye'sel's A'll no talk aboot Tam. A' knaw ma duty, Mister Carter--A'm the offeecial boaster o' the wing an' the coor, an' whin they bring me doon wi' a bullet in ma heid, A' hope ye'll engage anither like me." "There isn't another like you, Tam," laughed Carter. "Ye dinna knaw Glasca,'" replied Tam darkly. * * * * * Lieutenant Carter went up on "a tour of duty" soon after and Tam was on the ground to watch his departure. "Tam," he shouted, before the controls were in, "I liked that cigar--I'll take fifty from you to-night." "Ower ma deid body," said Tam, puffing contentedly at the very last inch of his own; "the watch-wairds o' victory are 'threeft an' economy'!" "I've warned you," roared Carter, for now the engine was going. Tam nodded a smiling farewell as the machine skipped and ran over the ground before it swooped upward into space. He went back to his room, but had hardly settled himself to the examination of a new batch of blood-curdling literature before Blackie strode in. "Mr. Carter's down, Tam," he said. "Doon!" Tam jumped up, a frown on his face. "Shot dead and fell inside our lines--go up and see if you can find Müller." Tam dressed slowly. Behind the mask of his face, God knows what sorrow lay, for he was fond of the boy, as he had been fond of so many boys who had gone up in the joy and pride of their youth, and had earned by the supreme sacrifice that sinister line in the communiques: "One of our machines did not return." He ranged the heavens that day seeking his man. He waited temptingly in reachable places and even lured one of his enemies to attack him. "There's something down," said Blackie, as a flaming German aeroplane shot downward from the clouds. "But I'm afraid it's not Müller this time." It was not. Tam returned morose and uncommunicative. His anger was increased when the intercepted wireless came to hand in the evening: "Captain Müller shot down his twenty-seventh aeroplane." That night, when the mess was sitting around after dinner, Tam appeared with a big armful of cigars.