is
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.

"A' doot whither A'll gi'e ye a moostache," said Tam, surveying his
handiwork, "it's no necessairy to a fleein'-mon, but it's awfu' temptin'
to an airtist."

He scratched his head thoughtfully.

"Ye should be more tanned, Angus," he said and took up the varnish
brush.

At last the great work was finished. The dummy was lifelike even outside
of the setting which Tam had planned. From the cap (fastened to the
plaster head by tacks) to the gloved hands, the figure was all that an
officer of the R. F. C. might be, supposing he were pigeon-toed and limp