he door of
his "bunk." "Come away in, man. Is it a report ye want? Sit down on the
bed an' help yeersel' to the seegairs. Ye'll find the whisky in the
decanter."

Corporal Brown sat on the bed because he knew it was there. He dived
into his pocket and produced a notebook, a pencil and a cigaret, because
he knew they had existence, too. He did not attempt to search for the
cigars and the whisky because he had been fooled before, and had on two
separate occasions searched the bunk for these delicacies under the
unsmiling eyes of Tam and aided by Tam's advice, only to find in the end
that Tam was as anxious to discover such treasures as the baffled
corporal himself.

"We will noo proceed with the thrillin' serial," said Tam, spreading
his towel on the window-ledge and rolling down his shirt-sleeves. "Are
ye ready, Alec?"

"'Arf a mo', Sergeant--have you got a match?"

"Man, ye're a cadger of the most appallin' descreeption," said Tam
severely. "A'm lookin' for'ard to the day when it'll be a coort-martial
offense to ask yeer superior officer for matches--here's one. Don't
strike it till ye give me one of yeer common cigarets."

The corporal produced a packet.

"A'll ask ye as a favor not to let the men know A've descended to this
low an' vulgar habit," said Tam. "A'll take two or three as
curiosities--A'd like to show the officers the kind o' poison the lower
classes smoke--"

"Here! Leave me a couple!" said the alarmed non-commissioned officer as
Tam's skilful fingers half emptied the box.

"Be silent!" said Tam, "ye're interruptin' ma train o' thochts--what did
A' say last?"

"You said nothing yet," replied the corporal, rescuing his depleted
store.

"Here it begins," said Tam, and started:

"At ten o'clock in the forenoon o' a clear but wintry day, a
solitary airman micht hae been seen wingin' his lane way ameedst
the solitude o' the achin' skies."

"'Achin' skies'?" queried the stenographer dubiously.

"It's poetry," said Tam. "A' got it oot o' a bit by Roodyard Kiplin',
the Burns o' England, an' don't interrupt.

"He seemed ower young for sich an adventure--"

"How old are you, Sergeant, if I may ask the question?" demanded the
amanuensis.

"Ye may not ask, but A'll tell you--A'm seventy-four come Michaelmas,
an' A've never looked into the bricht ees o' a lassie since A' lost me
wee Jean, who flit wi' a colonel o' dragoons, in the year the battle of
Balaklava was fought--will