William Thaw, the young Pittsburgh millionaire who has done such wonderful flying in France, was being praised at a luncheon party.

“Mr. Thaw,” said a pretty girl, “is as brave as he is witty. I saw him make a splendid flight one day, and on his descent I said to him:

“‘Flying requires some special application, doesn’t it?’

“‘Oh, no,’ said he. ‘Any old kind of horse liniment will do.’”