side. The mask was firmly strapped in place around the head and neck.

"What does all this mean, sir?" demanded the Master, sharply. "Why the
mask?"

"Is that a necessary question, sir?" replied the aviator, while a buzz
of curiosity and suspicion rose. "You have seen many such during the
war and since its close."

"Badly disfigured, are you?"

"That word, 'disfigured,' does not describe it, sir. Others have
wounds, but my whole face is nothing but a wound. No, let me put it
more accurately--there is, practically speaking, no face at all. The
gaping cavity that exists under this mask would certainly sicken the
strongest men among you, and turn you against me.

"We can't tolerate what disgusts, even if its qualities be excellent.
In exposing myself to you, sir, I should certainly be insuring my
rejection. But what you cannot see, what you can only imagine, will
not make you refuse me."

The Master pondered a moment, then nodded and asked:

"Is it so very bad, sir?"

"It's a thing of horror, incredible, awful, unreal! In the hospital
at Rouen, they called me 'The Kaiser's Masterpiece.' Some of the most
hardened surgeons couldn't look at me, or dress my--wound, let us call
it--without a shudder. Ordinary men would find me intolerable, if they