THE STRAFING OF MÜLLER
joy in his een, his bullets twangin' like hairp-strings. But Tam the Tempest is no' bothered. Cal-lm an' a'most majeestic in his sang-frow— a French expression—he leps gaily to the fray—an' here A' am!"
"But, Tam," protested Galbraith, "that's a rotten story. What happened after the lep—did you get up to him?"
"A' didna lep oop," said Tam gravely; "A' lep doon—it wis no' the time to ficht—it wis the time to flee—an' A'm a fleein' mon."
That he would deliberately shrink an issue with his enemy was unthinkable. And yet he rather avoided than sought Müller after this encounter.
One afternoon he came to Galbraith's quarters. Galbraith was rich and young and a great sportsman.
"Can A' ha'e a waird wi' ye?" asked Tam mysteriously.
"Surely," said the boy. "Come in—you want a cigar, Tam!" he accused.
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