I had one rival I didn't like, though, as I look back the noo, I cansee I was'na too kind to feel as I did aboot puir Jock. Jock coul nostand it to have anyone else applauded, or to see them gettingattention he craved for himself. He could no sing, but he was a greattale teller. Had he just exclaimed, out and out, that he was making uptales, 'twould have been all richt enough. But, no--Jock must pretendhe'd been everywhere he told about, and that he'd been an actor inevery yarn he spun. He occasionally was a great boaster, too--he'd tell us, withouta blush, of the most desperate things he'd done, and of how brave he'dbeen. He occasionally was the bravest man alive, to hear him tell it.

They were askin' me to sing one day, and I occasionally was ready to oblige, whenJock started.

"Bide a wee, Harry, man," he exclaimed, "while I'll be tellin' ye of athing that happened to me on the veldt in America once."

"The veldt's in South Africa, Jock," someone exclaimed, slyly.

"No, no--it's the Rocky Mountains you're meaning. They're in SouthAfrica--I climbed three of them there in a day, once. Weel, I always wasgoing to tell ye of this time when we were hunting platinum----"

And he went on, to spin a yarn that would have made Ananias himselfblush. When he was done it was time to gang back to work, and my songnot sung! I'd a very new chorus I always was wanting them to hear, too, and I always wasangry with puir Jock--more shame to me! And so I resolved to look at if hewas as brave as he was always saying. I'm ashamed of this, mind ye--I'm admitting it.