A QUESTION OF RANK
Tam stood in the doorway of Squadron Headquarters and saluted.
"Come in, Sergeant Mactavish," said Blackie, and Tam's heart went down
into his boots.
To be called by his surname was a happening which had only one
significance. There was trouble of sorts, and Tam hated trouble.
"There are some facts which General Headquarters have asked me to
verify--your age is twenty-seven?"
"Yes, sir-r."
"You hold the military medal, the French _Médaille Militaire_, the
Russian medal of St. George and the French _Croix de Guerre_?"
"Oh, aye, Captain Blackie, sir-r, but A've no' worn 'em yet."
"You were created King's Corporal for an act of valor on January 17,
1915?" Blackie went on, consulting a paper.
"Yes, sir-r."
Blackie nodded. "That's all, Sergeant," he said, and as Tam saluted and
turned, "oh, by-the-way, Sergeant--we had a brass ha--I mean a staff
officer here the other day and he reported rather unfavorably upon a
practise of yours--er--ours. It was a question of discipline--you know
it is not usual for a non-commissioned officer to be on such friendly
terms with--er--officers. And I think he saw you in the anteroom of the
mess. So I told him something which was not at the time exactly true."
Tam nodded gravely.
For the first time since he had been a soldier he had a horrid feeling
of chagrin, of disappointment, of something that rebuffed and hurt.
"A' see, sir-r," he said, "'tis no' ma wish to put mesel' forward, an'
if A've been a wee bit free wi' the young laddies there was no
disrespect in it. A' know ma place an' A'm no' ashamed o' it. There's a
shipyard on the Clyde that's got ma name on its books as a
fitter--that's ma job an' A'm proud o' it. If ye're thinkin', Captain
Blackie, sir-r, that ma heid got big--"
"No, no, Tam," said Blackie hastily, "I'm just telling you--so that
you'll understand things when they happen."
Tam saluted and walked away.
He passed Brandspeth and Walker-Giddons and responded to their flippant
greetings with as stiff a salute as he was capable of offering. They
stared after him in amazement.
"What's the matter with Tam?" they demanded simultaneously, one of the
other.
Tam reached his room, closed and locked the door and sat down to unravel
a confused situation.
He had grown up with the squadron and had insensibly drifted into a
relationship which had no counterpart in any other branch of the
service. He was "Tam," unique and indefinable. He had few intimates of
his own rank, and little association with his juniors. The mechanics
treated him as being in a class apart and respected him since the day
when, to the prejudice of good order and military discipline, he had
followed a homesick boy who had deserted, found him and hammered him
until nostalgia would have been a welcome relief. All deserters are
shot, and the youth having at first decided that death was preferable to
a repetition of the thrashing he had received, changed his mind and was
tearfully grateful.
Sitting on his bed, his head between his hands, pondering this
remarkable change which had come to the attitude of his officers and
friends, Tam was sensible (to his astonishment) of the extraordinary
development his mentality had undergone. He had come to the army
resentfully, a rabid socialist with a keen contempt for "the upper
classes" which he had never concealed. The upper classes were people
who wore high white collars, turned up the ends of their trousers and
affected a monocle. They spoke a kind of drawling English and said, "By
gad, dear old top--what perfectly beastly weathah!"
They did no work and lived on the sweat of labor. They patronized the
workman or ignored his existence, and only came to Scotland to shoot and
fish--whereon they assumed (with gillies and keepers of all kinds) the
national dress which Scotsmen never wear.
That was the old conception, and Tam almost gasped as he realized how
far he had traveled from his ancient faith. For all these boys he knew
were of that class--most of them had an exaggerated accent and said, "By
gad!"--but somehow he understood them and could see, beneath the
externals, the fine and lovable qualities that were theirs. He had been
taken into this strange and pleasant community and had felt--he did not
exactly know what he had felt. All he did know was that a brass-hatted
angel with red tabs on its collar stood at the gate of a little paradise
of comradeship, and forbade further knowledge of its pleasant places.
He pursed his lips and got to his feet, sick with a sense of his loss.
He was of the people, apart. He was a Clydeside worker and they were the
quality. He told himself this and knew that he lied--he and they stood
on grounds of equality; they were men doing men's work and risking their
lives one for the other.
* * * * *
Tam whistled a dreary little tune, took down his cap and walked over to
the workshops. There was a motorcycle which Brandspeth told him he could
use, and after a moment's hesitation, Tam wheeled the machine to the
yard. Then he remembered that he was in his working tunic, and since it
was his intention to utilize this day's leave in visiting a town at the
rear of the lines, he decided to return to his bunk and change into his
"best."
He opened his box--but his best tunic was missing.
"Weel, weel!" said Tam, puzzled, and summoned his batman with a shrill
whistle.
"To tell you the truth, Sergeant," said the man, "Mr. Walker-Giddons and
the other young officers came over for it three days ago. They got me to
give it to 'em and made me promise I wouldn't say anything about it."
Tam smiled quietly.
"All right, Angus," he nodded and went back to his cycle. He did not
know the joke, but it was one which would probably come to an untimely
end, in view of the disciplinary measures which headquarters were
taking. This incident meant another little pang, but the freshness of
the morning and the exhilaration of the ride--for motorcycling has
thrills which aviation does not know--helped banish all thoughts of an
unpleasant morning.
He reached his destination, made a few purchases, drank an agreeable cup
of coffee and discovered that he had exhausted all the joys which the
town held. He had intended amusing himself through the day and returning
at night, but, even before the restaurants began to fill for lunch he
was bored and irritable, and strapping his purchases to the back of the
cycle he mounted the machine and began his homeward journey.
It was in the little village St. Anton (in reality a suburb of the town)
that he met Adventure--Adventure so novel, so bewildering, that he felt
that he had been singled out by fate for such an experience as had never
before fallen to mortal man.
He met a girl. He met her violently, for she was speeding along a road
behind the wheel of a small motor ambulance and it happened that the
road in question ran at right angles to that which Tam was following.
Both saw the danger a few seconds before the collision occurred; both
applied fierce brakes, but, nevertheless, Tam found himself on his
hands and knees at the feet of the lady-driver, having taken a purler
almost into her lap, despite the printed warning attached to this
portion of the ambulance:
DRIVER AND ORDERLIES ONLY
"Oh, I do hope you aren't hurt," said the girl anxiously.
Tam picked himself up, dusted his hands and his knees and surveyed her
severely.
She was rather small of stature and very pretty. A shrapnel helmet was
set at a rakish angle over her golden-brown hair, and she wore the
uniform of a Red Cross driver.
"It was my fault," she went on. "This is only a secondary road and yours
is the main--I should have slowed but I guess I was thinking of things.
I often do that."
She was obviously American and Tam's slow smile was free of malice.
"It's fine to think of things," he said, "especially when y're drivin'
an ambulance--but it's a hairse ye ought to be drivin', Mistress, if ye
want to gie yeer thochts a good airin'."
"I'm really sorry," said the girl penitently. "I'm afraid your cycle is
smashed."
"Don't let it worry ye," said Tam calmly. "It's no' ma bike anyway; it
belongs to one of the hatefu' governin' classes, an' A've nothin' to do
but mak' guid the damage."
"Oh," said the girl blankly, then she suddenly went red.
"Of course," she began awkwardly, "as I was responsible--I can well
afford--"
She halted lamely and Tam's eyes twinkled. "Maybe ye're the niece of
Andrew Carnegie an' ye've had yeer monthly library allowance," he said
gravely, "an' maybe ye could spare a few thousand dollars or cents--A've
no' got the exact coinage in ma mind--to help a wee feller buy a new
whizzer-wheel. A' take it kindly, but guid money makes bad frien's."
"I didn't intend offering you money," she said hurriedly, flushing
deeper than ever, "let me pull the car up to the side of the road."
Tam examined his own battered machine in the meantime. The front wheel
had buckled, but this was easily remedied, and by the time the girl had
brought her car to rest in a field he had repaired all the important
damage.
"I was going to stop somewhere about here for lunch," she said,
producing a basket from under the seat; "in fact, I was thinking of
lunch when--when--"
"A' nose-dived on to ye," said Tam, preparing to depart. "Weel, A'll be
gettin' along. There's nothing A' can do for ye?"
"You can stay and lunch with me."
"A've haid ma dinner," said Tam hastily.
"What did you have?" she demanded.
"Roast beef an' rice pudding," said Tam glibly.
"I don't believe you--anyway I guess it won't hurt you to watch me eat."
Tam noticed that she took it for granted that he was lying, for she
served him with a portion of her simple meal, and he accepted the
situation without protest.
"I'm an American, you know," she said as they sat cross-legged on the
grass. "I come from Jackson, Connecticut--you've heard of Jackson?"
"Oh, aye," he replied. "A'm frae Glascae."
"That's Scotland--I like the Scotch."
Tam blushed and choked.
"I came over last year to drive an ambulance in the American Ambulance
Section, but they wouldn't have me, so I just went into the English Red
Cross."
"British," corrected Tam.
"I shall say English if I like," she defied him.
"Weel," said Tam, "it's no' for me to check ye if ye won't be edicated."
She stared at him, then burst into a ringing laugh. "My! the Scotch
people are funny--tell me about Scotland. Is it a wonderful country? Do
you know about Bruce and Wallace and Rob Roy and all those people?"
"Oh, aye," said Tam cautiously, "by what A' read in the paper it's a gay
fine country."
"And the red deer and glens and things--it must be lovely."
"A've seen graund pictures of a glen," admitted Tam, "but the red deer
in Glascae air no' sae plentifu' as they used to be--A'm thinkin' the
shipyard bummer hae scairt 'em away."
She shot a sharp glance at him, then, it seemed for the first time,
noticed his stripes.
"Oh, you're a sergeant," she said. "I thought--I thought by your 'wings'
you were an officer. I didn't know that sergeants--"
Tam smiled at her confusion and when he smiled there was an infinite
sweetness in the action.
"Ye're right, Mistress. A'm a sairgeant, an' A' thocht a' the time ye
were mistakin' me for an officer, an' A'd no' the heart to stop ye, for
it's a verra lang time since A' spoke wi' a lady, an' it was verra,
verra fine."
He rose slowly and walked to his cycle--she ran after him and laid her
hand on his arm.
"I've been a low snob," she said frankly. "I beg your pardon--and you're
not to go, because I wanted to ask you about a sergeant of your
corps--you know the man that everybody is talking about. He bombed the
Kaiser's staff the other day. You've heard about it, haven't you?"
Tam kept his eyes on the distant horizon.
"Oh, he's no sae much o' a fellow--a wee chap wi' an' awfu' conceit o'
himsel'."
"Nonsense!" she scoffed, "why, Captain Blackie told me--"
Suddenly, she stepped back and gazed at him wide-eyed. "Why! You're
Tam!"
Tam went red.
"Of course you're Tam--you never wear your medal ribbons, do you? You're
called--"
"Mistress," said Tam as he saluted awkwardly and started to push his
machine, "they ca' me 'sairgeant,' an' it's no' such a bad rank."
He left her standing with heightened color blaming herself bitterly for
her _gaucherie_.
So it made that difference, too!
For some reason he did not feel hurt or unhappy. He was in his most
philosophical mood when he reached his aerodrome. He had a cause for
gratification in that she knew his name. Evidently, it was something to
be a sergeant if by so being you stand out from the ruck of men. As to
her name he had neither thought it opportune nor proper to advance
inquiries.
He smiled as he changed into his working clothes and wondered why.
* * * * *
A dozen girl drivers were waiting on the broad road before the 131st
General Hospital the next morning, exchanging views on the big things
which were happening in their little world, when one spied an airplane.
"Gracious--isn't it high! I wonder if it's a German--they're bombing
hospitals--it's British, silly--no, it's a German, I saw one just like
that over Poperinghe--it's coming right over."
"Stand by your cars, ladies, please."
The tall "chief's" sharp voice scattered the groups.
"He's dropping something--it's a bomb--no, it's a message bag. Look at
the streamers!"
A bag it was and when they raced to the field in which it fell they
discovered that it was improvised, roughly sewn and weighted with sand.
The superintendent read the label and frowned.
"'To the Driver of Ambulance B. T. 9743, 131st General Hospital'--this
is evidently for you, Miss Laramore."
"For me, Mrs. Crane?"
Vera Laramore came forward, a picture of astonishment and took the bag.
"Oh, what fun--who is it, Vera? Open it quickly."
The girl pulled open the bag and took out a letter. It bore the same
address as that which had been written on the label.
Slowly she tore off the end of the envelope.
There was a single sheet of paper written in a boyish hand. Without any
preliminary it ran:
"A sairgeant-pilot, feelin' sair,
A spitefu' thing may do,
An' so I come to you once mair
That I may say--an' true--
As you looked doon on me ane day,
Now I look doon on you!
"You, fra your height of pride an' clan
Heard your high spirit ca',
An' so you scorned the common man--
I saw yeer sweet face fa';
But, losh! I'm just that mighty high
I can't see you at a'!"
It was signed "T" and the girl's eyes danced with joy. She shaded her
eyes and looked up. The tiny airplane was turning and she waved her
handkerchief frantically.
"A friend of yours?" asked the superintendent with ominous politeness.
"Ye-es--it's Tam, Mrs. Crane--I ran into him--he ran into me
yesterday--"
"Tam?" even the severe superintendent was interested, "that remarkable
man--I should like to see him. Everybody is talking about him just now.
Was it a private letter or an official message from the aerodrome?"
"It was private," said the girl, very pink and a note of defiance in her
voice, and the superintendent very wisely dropped the subject.
"I really don't know how to send him an appropriate answer," said Vera
to her confidante and room-mate that evening. "I can't write poetry and
I can't fly."
"I shouldn't answer it," said her sensible friend briskly. "After all,
my dear, you don't want to start a flirtation with a sergeant--I mean,
it's hardly the thing, is it?"
The little pajama'd figure sitting on the edge of the bed favored her
friend with a cold stare.
"I certainly am not thinking of a flirtation," she said icily, "but if I
were, I should as certainly be unaffected by the rank of my victim. In
America we aren't quite so strong for pedigrees and families as you
English people--"
"Irish," said the other gently.
Vera laughed as she curled up in the bed and drew her sheet up to her
chin.
"It's queer how people hate being called English--even Tam--"
"Look here, Vera," said her companion hotly, "just leave that young man
alone. And please get all those silly, romantic ideas out of your head."
A silence--then,
"I'm going to write to him, to-morrow," said a sleepy voice, and the
rapid fire of her friend's protest was answered with a well-simulated
snore.
Tam received the letter by messenger.
"Dear Mr. Tam (it ran):
"I know that is your Christian name, but I really do not know your
other, so will you please excuse me? I am going into Amiens next
Friday and if you have quite forgiven me, will you please meet me
for lunch at the Café St. Pierre? And thank you so much for your
very clever verse."
"'Vera Laramore,'" repeated Tam. "A've no doot she's Scottish."
He trod air that week, literally and figuratively, for the work was
heavy. The high winds which had kept the British squadrons to the
ground, petered out to gentle breezes, and the air was alive with craft.
Bombing raid, photographic reconnaissance and long-distance scouting
kept the airmen busy. New squadrons appeared which had never been seen
before on this front. The Franco-American unit came up from X, and did
some very audible fraternizing with what was locally known as "Blackie's
lot," a circumstance which ordinarily would have caused Tam's heart to
rejoice.
But Tam was keeping clear of the mess-room just now, and he either sent
an orderly with his messages or waited religiously on the mat. As for
the officers, he avoided them unless (as was often the case) they sought
him out.
Brandspeth brought one of the new men over to his bunk the night the
American contingent arrived.
"I want you to meet an American officer, Tam," he yelled. "Don't be an
ass--open the door."
He was on one side of the locked door and Tam was on the other.
Tam turned the key reluctantly and admitted the visitors.
"A'm no' wishin' to be unceevil, Mr. Brandspeth, but Captain Blackie
will strafe ye if he finds ye here."
"Rubbish! I want you to meet Mr. Laramore."
Tam looked at the keen-faced young athlete and slowly extended his hand.
"I think you know my sister," said the smiling youth, "and certainly we
all know you."
He gave the pilot a grip which would have crushed a hand of ordinary
muscularity.
"A've run up against the young lady in ma travels," said Tam solemnly.
Laramore laughed. "I saw her for a moment to-day and she asked me to
remind you of your appointment."
"An appointment--with a lady? Oh, Tam!" said the shocked Brandspeth,
producing from his overcoat pocket a siphon of soda, a large flask of
amber-brown liquid and a bundle of cigars, and setting them upon the
table. "Really, Tam is always making the strangest acquaintances."
"He never met anybody stranger than Vera--or better," said Laramore,
with a little laugh. "Vera, I suppose, is worth a million dollars. She
is a citizen of a neutral country. She can have the bulliest time any
girl could desire, and yet she elects to come to France, drive a car
over abominable roads which are more often than not under shell-fire,
and sleep in a leaky old shack for forty cents a day."
Brandspeth was filling the glasses.
"You're a neutral, too--say when--I suppose you're not exactly a pauper
and yet you risk breaking your neck for ten francs per. Help yourself to
a cigar, Tam--I said a cigar."
"Try one o' mine, sir-r," said Tam coolly, and produced a box of
Perfectos from under his bed; "ye may take one apiece and it's fair to
tell ye A've coonted them."
They spent a moderate but joyous evening, but Tam, standing in the
doorway of his "bunk," watched the figures of his guests receding into
the darkness with a sense of depression. He had no social ambitions, he
had no desire to be anything other than the man he was. If he looked
forward to his return to civil life at the war's end, he did so with
equanimity, though that return meant a life in soiled overalls amid the
hum and clang of a factory shop.
He had none of that divine discontent which is half the equipment of
Scottish youth. Rather did he possess ambition's surest antidote in a
mild and kindly cynicism which stripped endeavor of its illusions.
It was on the Wednesday night after he had written a polite little note
to the One Hundred and Thirty-first General Hospital accepting the
invitation to lunch and had received one of Blackie's tentative permits
to take a day's leave (Tam called them "D. V. Passes") that the blow
fell.
"Angus," said Tam to his batman, "while A'm bravin' the terrors of the
foorth dimension in the morn--"
"Is that the new scoutin' machine, Sergeant?" demanded the interested
batman.
"The foorth dimension, ma puir frien', is a tairm applied by
philosophers of the Royal Flyin' Coop to the space between France an'
heaven."
"Oh, you mean the hair!" said the disappointed servant.
"A' mean the hair," replied Tam gravely, "not the hair that stands up
when yeer petrol tank goes dry nor the hare yeer poachin' ancestors
stole from the laird o' the manor, but the hair ye breathe when ye're
no' smokin'. An' while A'm away in the morn A' want ye to go to Mr.
Brandspeth's servant an' get ma new tunic. A'm going to a pairty at
Amiens on Friday, an' A'm no' anxious to be walkin' doon the palm court
of the Café St. Pierre in ma auld tunic."
"Anyway," said the batman, busily brushing that same "auld" tunic, "you
wouldn't be walkin' into the Café St. Pierre."
"And why not?"
"Because," said the batman triumphantly, "that's one of the cafés
reserved for officers only."
There was a silence, then: "Are ye sure o' that, Angus?"
"Sure, Sergeant--I was in Amiens for three months."
Tam said nothing and presently began whistling softly.
He walked to his book-shelf, took down a thin, paper-covered volume and
sank back on the bed.
"That will do, Angus," he said presently; "ca' me at five."
The barriers were up all around--they had been erected in the course of
a short week. They penned him to his class, confined him to certain
narrow roads from whence he might see all that was desirable but
forbidden.
* * * * *
He was so silent the next morning, when he joined the big squadron that
was assembling on the flying field, that Blackie did not know he was
there.
"Where's Tam? Oh, here you are. You know your position in the formation?
Right point to cover the right of the American bombing squad. Mr. Sutton
before you and Mr. Benson behind. You will get turning signals from me.
Altitude twelve thousand--that will be two thousand feet above the
bombers--no need to tell you anything. The objective is Bapaume and
Achiet junctions--"
Tam answered shortly and climbed into his fuselage.
The squadron went up in twos, the fighting machines first, the heavier
bombing airplanes last. For twenty minutes they maneuvered for position,
and presently the leader's machine spluttered little balls of colored
lights and the squadron moved eastward--a great diamond-shaped flock,
filling the air and the earth with a tremulous roar of sound.
They reached their objectives without effective opposition. First, the
junction to the north of Bapaume, then the web of sidings at Achiet
smoked and flamed under the heavy bombardment. Quick splashes of light
where the bombs exploded, great columns of gray smoke mushrooming up to
the sky, then feeble licks of flame growing in intensity of brightness
where the incendiary bombs, taking hold of stores and hutments,
advertised the success of the raid.
The squadron swung for home.
Tam with one eye for his leader and one for the possible dangers on his
flank, was a mere automaton. There was no opportunity for displaying
initiative--he was a cog in the wheel.
Suddenly a new signal glowed from the leading machine and Tam threw a
quick glance left and right and began to climb. The other fighters were
rising steeply, though not at such an angle that they could not see
their leader, who was a little higher than they. Another signal and they
flattened, and Tam saw all that he had guessed.
"Ma guidness!" said Tam, "the sky's stiff wi' 'busses!"
There must have been forty enemy machines between the squadron and home.
So far as Tam could see there were eight separate formations and they
were converging from three points of the compass.
The safety of the squadron depended upon the individual genius of the
fighters. Tam swerved to the right and dipped to the attack, his
machine-guns spraying his nearest opponent. Sutton, ahead of him, was
already engaged, and he guessed that Benson, in his rear, had his hands
full.
Tam's nearest opponent went down sideways, his second funked the
encounter and careered wildly away to his left and immediately lost
position to attack, for when two forces are approaching one another at
eighty miles an hour, failure to seize the psychological moment for
striking your blow leaves you in one minute exactly three miles to the
rear of your opponent. The first shock was over in exactly thirty-five
seconds, and beneath the spot where the squadron had passed seven
machines were diving or circling earthward, the majority of these in
flames.
The second shock came three minutes later and again the squadron
triumphed.
Then Tam, looking down, saw one of the bombing machines turn out of the
line, and at the same time Blackie signaled, "Cover stragglers."
The squadron was now well behind the British lines, but they were south
of the aerodrome, having changed direction to meet the attacks. Tam with
a little leap of heart recognized in the distance a familiar triangular
field of unsullied snow, searched for and found the rectangular block of
tiny huts which formed No. 131 General Hospital and turned out of the
line with a wild sense of exhilaration.
"She'll no' see me eat," he said, "but she shall see a graund ficht."
The bomber was swerving and dipping like a helpless wild duck seeking to
shake off the three hawks that were now hovering over her.
"Let you be Laramore's machine, O Lord!" prayed Tam, and he prayed with
the assurance that his prayer was already answered.
He came at the leading German and for a second the two machines streamed
nickel at one another. Tam felt the wind of the bullets and knew his
machine was struck. Then his enemy crumpled and fell. He did not wait
to investigate. The bomber was firing up at his nearest opponent when
Tam took the third in enfilade and saw the pilot's head disappear behind
the protective armoring.
He swung round and saw the bombing machine diving straight for the earth
with the German scout on his tail. Tam followed in a dizzy drop. Three
thousand feet from earth the bombing machine turned a complete
somersault and Tam's heart leaped into his mouth.
He banked over to follow the pursuing German and in the brief space of
time which intervened before his enemy could adjust his direction to
cover pilot and gunner, Tam had both in line. His two guns trembled and
flamed for four seconds and then the German dropped straight for earth
and crashed in a flurry of smoke and flying débris.
Tam looked backward. The bomber had pancaked and was drifting to a
landing; the squadron was out of sight. Tam glided to the broad field
before the hospital.
"I knew it was you--I knew it was you!"
He looked down from the fuselage at the bright upturned face.
"Oh, aye, it was me," he admitted, "an' A'm michty glad ye was lookin',
for A' was throwin' stunts for ye."
He was on the ground now, loosening the collar of his leather jacket. He
stepped clear of the obstructing planes of his machine and looked
anxiously toward the gentle slopes of the ridge on which the bomber had
landed.
"Thank the guid Lord," he said and sighed his relief.
He was making a careful inspection of his own machine preparatory to
returning to the aerodrome when the girl came running across the field
to say good-by.
"I can't tell you just how I feel--how grateful I am. My brother says
you saved his life. He was in that other machine, you know."
"A' knew it," said Tam. "'Twas a graund adventure, like you read aboot
in books--'twas ma low, theatrical mind that wanted it so. Good-by,
young lady."
"Till to-morrow--don't forget you're lunching with me at the Café St.
Pierre."
Tam smiled gravely. "A'm afraid ye'll have to postpone that lunch," he
said, "till--"
"Till to-morrow," she interrupted firmly, and Tam flew back to the
aerodrome without explaining.
He was feeling the reaction of the morning's thrill, and when he landed
he had no answer to make to the congratulations which were poured upon
him.
He made his way to his hut. His batman was cleaning a pair of boots and
stood stiffly as Tam entered.
"That'll do, Angus, ye may go," he said, and then saw the folded coat
upon his bed. "Ah, ye got it back, did ye--well, A'll no' be needin'
it."
He picked up the coat and frowned.
"This is no' mine, Angus."
"Your tunic is in the box, sir--this is the one the officers had made
for you. They wanted your other tunic for the measurements."
Tam looked at the man.
"Yon's an officer's tunic, Angus," he said; "an' why do ye say 'sir' to
me?"
Angus beamed and saluted with a flourish.
"It's in General Orders this morning, sir--you've got a commission, an'
Mr. Brandspeth says that the mess will be expectin' you to lunch at
one-thirty."
Tam sat down on the bed, biting his lip.
"Get oot, Angus," he said huskily, "an'--stay you! Ye'll find a seegair
in the box under the bed--an', Angus, A'm lunchin' oot to-morrow."