Tam went up on patrol flying a new "pup"--a tiny machine powerfully engined, which climbed at an angle of fifty degrees and at a surprising speed. He pushed up through a fog bank at three thousand feet and reached blue skies. His engine was running sweetly, there was just the "give" in his little chaser, the indefinable resilience which a good machine should possess, his guns were in excellent order, his controls worked smoothly, but-- Tam was at a loss how to proceed from that "but." He turned the nose of the "pup" to earth and planed down to the aerodrome. Blackie left the machine he was about to take and walked across to Tam. "Anything wrong?" he asked. "Weel," replied Tam cautiously, "I'd no' go so far as to say that there's verra much wrong wi' the young fellow." Blackie looked at him keenly. "Engines--?" Tam shook his head. "No, they were wairking bonnily--there's nothing to complain aboot only I just felt that 'pup' an' Tam was no thinkin' the same way." "Oh!" said Blackie. He examined the machine, a new one, with the greatest care, tested the controls, examined and sounded stays and struts and shook his head. "Take up Bartholomew's machine--he went sick this morning," he said. Tam superintended the preparation of Lieutenant Bartholomew's "pup" and climbing in gave the signal. "What's the matter with Tam?" Thornycroft, a flight commander of 89 A, had strolled across and stood with Blackie watching Tam's tiny machine humming cloudward. "Tam has what is called on the other side a 'hunch,'" said Blackie; "come and look at this machine and see if you can find anything wrong with it. She's new from the maker," he went on, "in fact, the young gentleman who represents the firm is at this moment in the mess laying down the law on aviation, its past, present and illimitable future--there he is!" Thornycroft paused in his inspection to watch the newcomer. He was a young man of singular confidence, who talked so very loudly to the officer who accompanied him that the two men by the machine felt themselves included in the conversation long before they could make themselves audible in reply. "Hello--hello," said Mr. Theodore Mann, "what's wrong--eh?" "One of my best pilots took her up and didn't like her," said Blackie. "Didn't like her? What's wrong with her--cold feet, eh? Bless you, they all get it sooner or later--'the pitcher goes often to the well,' et cetera. That's a proverb that every flying man should unlearn, eh?" He leapt lightly into the machine and jiggled the joy-stick. "I'll take her up if you don't mind--hi, you!" he called a mechanic, "start her up--ready--contact! Z-r-r-r--!" The little bird skimmed the smooth floor of the aerodrome and dived upward in a wide circle. "She's all right," said Thornycroft, shading his eyes; "what's wrong with Tam, I wonder?" "Tam doesn't funk a thing," protested Blackie, "I've never known him--my God!"