"Get awa' ahint me, Satan," said Tam piously. "A've gi'en oop cadgin' seegairs an' A' beg ye no' tae tempit a puir weak body. Just puit the box doon whair A' can reach it an' mebbe A'll help mesel' absintminded. A' came--mon, this is a bonnie smawk! Ye maun pay an awfu' lot for these. Twa sheelin's each! Ech! It's sinfu' wi' so many puir souls in need--A'll tak' a few wi' me when A' go, to distreebute to the sufferin' mechanics. Naw, it is na for seegairs A'm beggin', na this time--but ha'e ye an auld suit o' claes ye'll no be wantin'?" "A suit? Good Lord, yes, Tam," said Galbraith, jumping down from the table on which he was seated. "Do you want it for yourself?" "Well," replied Tam cautiously, "A' do an' A' doon't--it's for ma frien', Fitzroy McGinty, the celebrated MacMuller mairderer." Galbraith looked at him with laughter in his eyes. "Fitzroy McGinty? And who the devil is Fitzroy McGinty?" Tam cleared his throat "Ma frien' Fitzroy McGinty is, like Tam, an oornament o' the Royal Fleein' Coor. Oor hero was borr-rn in affluent saircumstances his faither bein' the laird o' Maclacity, his mither a Fitzroy o' Soosex. Fitz McGinty lived i' a graund castle wi' thoosands o' sairvants to wait on him, an' he ate his parritch wi' a deemond spune. A' seemed rawsy for the wee boy, but yin day, accused o' the mairder o' the butler an' the bairglary of his brithers' troosers, he rin frae hame, crossin' to Ameriky, wheer he foon' employment wi' a rancher as coo-boy. Whilst there, his naturally adventurous speerit brocht him into contact wi' Alkali Pete the Road-Agent--ye ken the feller that haulds oop the Deadville stage?" "Oh, I ken him all right," said the patient Galbraith; "but, honestly, Tam--who is your friend?" "Ma frien', Angus McCarthy?" "You said Fitzroy McGinty just now." "Oh, aye," said Tam hastily, "'twas ain of his assoomed names." "You're a humbug--but here's the kit. Is that of use?" "Aye." Tam gathered the garments under his arm and took a solemn farewell. "Ye'll be meetin' Rabbie again--A' means Angus, Mr. Galbraith--but A'd be glad if ye'd no mention to him that he's weerin' yeer claes." He went to a distant store and for the rest of the day, with the assistance of a mechanic, he was busy creating the newest recruit to the Royal Flying Corps. Tam was thorough and inventive. He must not only stuff the old suit with wood shavings and straw, but he must unstuff it again, so that he might thread a coil of pliable wire to give the figure the necessary stiffness. "Ye maun hae a backbone if ye're to be an obsairver, ma mannie," said Tam, "an' noo for yeer bonnie face--Horace, will ye pass me the plaister o' Paris an' A'll gi' ye an eemitation o' Michael Angy-low, the celebrated face-maker." His work was interluded with comments on men and affairs--the very nature of his task brought into play that sense of humor and that stimulation of fancy to which he responded with such readiness.