Chapter II: Part 2

“‘He’s a wealthy man, indeed—he’s got a whole box of matches in his pocket.’”

NOW ON A WAR-BASIS

His Honor—“Rufus, didn’t you hear that you had to work or fight?”

Rufus—“Yaas, boss, I sho’ dun hyer dat. So I goes an’ gits married right away.”

HUMANITY IN WAR

During a fierce engagement on the Somme battlefield a British officer saw a German officer impaled on the barbed wire between the lines, writhing in anguish. The fire was heavy, but still the wounded man hung there. At last the Englishman could stand it no longer. He said quietly: “I can’t bear to look at that poor chap.” He went out under the storm of shell fire, released the sufferer, took him on his shoulders and carried him to the German trench. The firing ceased. Both sides watched the act with wonder. Then the commander in the German trench came forward, took from his own bosom the Iron Cross, and pinned it on the breast of the British officer.

FLATLY IMPOSSIBLE

“Yes,” said Simpkins, “I want to do my bit, of course, so I thought I’d raise some potatoes.”

“Well, I thought I would do that,” said Smith, “but when I looked up the way to do it I found that potatoes have to be planted in hills, and our yard is perfectly flat.”

THE FRATERNAL SIDE OF WAR

Jean is a typical French soldier: alert, daring; a keen, educated youth. He is equally at home with the German and the French languages, which accounts for what follows:

One dark night, shortly after midnight, Jean—on a solitary patrol—was lying just outside the wire, about ten meters from the German trench, listening to locate the sentries. There was a faint starlight. Suddenly a whisper came from beyond the wire, a low voice speaking in broken French:

“Why do you lie so quiet, my friend? I saw you crawl up and have watched you ever since. I don’t want to shoot you. I am a Bavarian.”

“Good evening, then,” Jean whispered back in his perfect German.

“So,” said the sentry, “you speak our language. Wait a moment, till I warn the rest of my squad, and I will show you the way through the wire; there are no officers about at this hour.”

Probably not one man in a thousand would have taken such a chance, but Jean did, and ten minutes later was standing in the trench in a German cloak and fatigue cap (in case of passing officers), chatting amiably with a much interested group of Bavarian soldiers. They gave him beer, showed him their dugouts, and arranged a whistle signal for future visits, before bidding him a regretful good night. “We are Bavarians,” they said; “we like and admire the French, and fight only because we must.”

NO TIME TO WASTE

Two soldiers caused some amusement at a golf course the other way. The first man teed up and made a mighty swipe, but failed to shift the ball. The miss was repeated no fewer than three times.

His pal was unable to stand it any longer.

“For heaven’s sake, Bill,” he broke out, “hit the bloomin’ thing. You know we have only four days’ leave.”

HER GENTLE COME-BACK

She was a sweet young thing, and having come down to see her soldier brother, who was on duty at that time, she was being taken round by his chum. She was, of course, full of questions.

“Who is that person?” she asked, pointing to a color sergeant.

“Oh! he shook hands with the king; that is why he is wearing a crown on his arm, you see!” replied the truthful man.

“And who is that?” she asked, seeing a gymnastic instructor with a badge of crossed Indian clubs.

“That is the barber; do you not see the scissors on his arm?”

Seeing yet another man with cuffs decorated with stars, she asked, “And that one?”

“Oh, he is the battalion astronomer; he guides us on night maneuvers!”

“How interesting!” replied the maiden, when seeing her companion’s badge, that of an ancient stringed instrument, she asked, “And does that thing mean you are the regimental liar?”

HIS MIND WAS WANDERING

“Anything I can do for you?” asked a surgeon as he passed the bed of a smiling but badly wounded soldier.

“Yes, doctor; perhaps you can tell me something I’d very much like to know,” answered “Sammie.”

“Fire ahead,” replied the doctor. “What is it?”

“Well, doctor, when one doctor doctors another doctor, does the doctor doing the doctoring doctor the other doctor like the doctor wants to be doctored, or does the doctor doing the doctoring doctor the other doctor like the doctor doing the doctoring wants to doctor him?”

THE SEX OF THE KILTIES

While some Scottish regiments were disembarking in France, several French officers were watching them. One observed: “They can’t be women, for they have mustaches; but they can’t be men, for they wear skirts.”

“I have it,” said another. “They’re that famous Middlesex regiment from London.”

PLAY BALL!

Sing a song of baseball,
Good old Yankee game;
Rain or shine, war or peace,
Play it just the same.
Out behind the trenches,
Swat the little pill,
Helps to boost the spirit
For swatting Kaiser Bill.

HE’D BEEN THERE HIMSELF

Two colored troopers in France called upon the Chaplain.

“Look here, Mr. Chaplain, we wants you for to settle an argument,” said one of them. “Dis here man says lots of saints were colored folks. Would you please tell me how many of dem ’postles were niggers?”

“None of them was a darky,” said the Chaplain.

“Well, Sir, that settles it. Dis man wanted me to believe that St. Peter was a nigger, and I just told him: ‘No, Sah, St. Peter was no nigger, ’cause I heard you say about St. Peter and dat rooster crowin’ twice. If St. Peter was a nigger I jest know dat rooster would never have a chance to crow a second time; no, Sah.’”

EIGHTEEN YEARS OF HOPE

A wife whose husband is on active service recently presented him with a bouncing baby boy. She wrote to ask him when he should get leave, and also when the war would be over. His reply was as follows:

“Dear Lucy:—I don’t know when I shall get leave or when the war will be over, but if the baby should be called up before I get leave, give him a parcel to bring out to me. Your loving husband, Bill.”

A NICKNAME THAT STUCK

The Post School for Soldiers gathered for the afternoon session. The teacher was the Chaplain. The lesson, he said, was about the adverb. “What is an adverb?” There was an eloquent silence. At last a weary voice ventured: “That’s a word that ends in ly. I learned that back in Missouri.”

“Can you give me a definition?” said the Chaplain.

“No, Sir.”

“Can you give me an example of an adverb?”

“Yes, Sir,” came the response; “Kelly.”

Some months afterward, while in camp overseas, the Chaplain addressed a sentry and inquired who was Corporal of the guard. And the answer came: “Kelly, the adverb, Sir.”

PAT WAS SMOKING

Scene: A smoking compartment in a British railway carriage.

Old Gent (to Pat going home to Monaghan on furlough)—“Young man, allow me to inform you that out of every ten cases of men suffering from paralysis of the tongue, nine are due to smoking.”

Pat—“Allow me to inform you, sir, that out of every ten men suffering from broken noses, nine are due to the habit of not minding their own business.”

FORGOT HIS LINES

The Canadians are credited with the story of the stupid Yorkshire sentry:

The first night he stood guard he hailed an approaching officer in proper form:

“’Oo goes there?”

“Canadian rifles.”

There was a moment of silence. Then the Yorkshireman repeated:

“’Oo goes there?”

“The Canadian Rifles,” was the impatient answer. More silence. Then the Yorkshireman again challenged:

“’Oo goes there?”

“The Canadian rifles, you qualified blighter,” shouted the enraged officer.

There was a long period of quiet while the Canadian watched the Yorkshireman’s obviously ready rifle. Then there was a moan from the sentry:

“Blowed if I hain’t forgot what to say next!”

SO THERE’S PLENTY OF IT

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.’”

LIVELY ENEMY

A company of very new soldiers were out on a wide heath, practicing the art of taking cover. The officer in charge of them turned to one of the rawest of his men.

“Get down behind that hillock there,” he ordered, sternly, “and, mind, not a move or a sound!”

A few minutes later he looked around to see if they were all concealed, and, to his despair, observed something wriggling behind the small mound. Even as he watched the movements became more frantic.

“I say, you there,” he shouted, angrily, “do you know you are giving our position away to the enemy?”

“Yes, sir,” said the recruit, in a voice of cool desperation, “and do you know that this is an anthill?”

NO REGRETS

A certain drill sergeant, whose severity had made him unpopular with his troops, was putting a party of recruits through the funeral service. Opening the ranks so as to admit the passage of the supposed cortege between them, the instructor, by way of explanation, walked slowly down the lane formed by the two ranks, saying, as he did so:

“Now, I’m the corpse. Pay attention.”

Having reached the end of the path, he turned round, regarding them steadily with a scrutinizing eye for a moment or two, then exclaimed:

“Your ’ands is right, and your ’eads is right, but you haven’t got that look of regret you ought to ’ave.”

TOO MUCH WASTED EFFORT

A squad of rookies, composed of various nationalities, mostly Italian, on being given the command “mark time!” all executed the command with the exception of one small dark-skinned son of Naples.

The sergeant asked him why he did not execute the movement and he replied:

“Donna wan to.”

“Why not?” sharply demanded the sergeant.

“Cause-a we walk-a like deuce and don’t-a get-a no place!”

MAD ENOUGH TO LICK ANYONE

Before entering the Army this rookie was a peaceful lad, but rising at 5:15 in the morning went against his principles. On this particular morning, as he fell in line by the light of the moon, his bunkie heard him mutter:

“It’s clear to me now. Why didn’t I think of that long ago?”

Bunkie (puzzled)—“What’s clear to you now?”

Rookie—“The reason why all great battles begin at daybreak.”

Bunkie—“Why?”

Rookie—“Because, when men have to get up that time, they feel so much like fighting.”

WORKING THE WAR

Bess: “That’s Mrs. Grabbit—she’s a great war-worker.”

Bob: “Indeed!”

Bess: “Yes; she’s married four of her daughters to soldiers.”

SANDY WAS SCOTCH

Sandy M’Tavish was a highly-skilled workman in a new aeroplane factory. It happened one day that he was asked if he would care to accompany the works aviator on one of his trial flights in a machine. Sandy, after some hesitation, agreed to do so.

During the flight the aviator asked how he was enjoying the trip.

“To tell the truth,” answered the Scot, “I wad rather be on the groun’.”

“Tut, tut,” replied the flying man. “I’m just thinking of looping the loop.”

“For heaven’s sake don’t dae that!” yelled the now very serious M’Tavish. “I’ve some siller in my vest pocket, an’ I micht lose it.”

BROWN WASN’T GREEN

Brown was transferred to another unit his adjutant wrote to the adjutant of the new regiment saying: “We are sending you Brown. He is a nice boy, but he has a shocking bad habit of betting on every conceivable subject. Try and choke him off.”

Brown arrived. At mess on the first night he sat next the colonel and, turning the conversation on India, made the astounding assertion that every white man who went there developed a curious green patch between the shoulder-blades. This rubbish annoyed the colonel. He said that he certainly had no green patch on his back. Brown, with all deference, offered to bet him ten pounds that he had! The bet was accepted by the indignant officer, and in the ante-room afterwards he pulled off his shirt. There was no patch. Brown apologized and paid up. Next day the adjutant wrote to Brown’s former regiment: “Brown turned up. * * * I think we have choked him off. Last night he bet the colonel, etc. * * * and lost.”

The reply came: “Thanks for yours. Before Brown left here he bet us ten pounds apiece all round the mess that he would make the colonel take off his shirt in the ante-room on the first night he arrived.”

ANYTHING TO GET AWAY

A soldier was pleading with his O. C.

“You are always on leave,” exclaimed the officer. “What on earth do you want special leave for now?”

“My sister’s baby going to be vaccinated, sir.”

“And what has that got to do with you?”

“She’s my sister, sir,” explained Tommy, with a hurt look.

“What, the baby?”

“No, sir, the baby’s sister’s my brother—I mean I’m the mother’s baby—er—the father’s my sister. No, I mean—”

“You mean,” broke in the O. C., angrily. “What do they want you for? That is the point.”

“For a godmother, sir.”

NATURALLY WISHED TO SEE HER

Private McGuire, lying in hospital, was very fractious. He pointedly refused to take a second dose of medicine, which was inordinately nasty. Several smiling nurses bent over him and urged him to be good.

“Come,” pleaded one, “drink this and you’ll get well.”

“And rosy, too!” chimed in a second.

M’Guire visibly brightened, and actually sat up in bed.

After surveying the pretty group, he inquired, eagerly, “What wan o’ yez is Rosy?”

ZEPPELINITIS

Mr. Meek was not very well, and the doctor had advised him to take a glass of beer occasionally “for his stomach’s sake.”

“It can’t be done, doctor; it can’t be done,” said Mr. Meek. “Although there is a barrel of beer in the cellar, my wife insists on my being teetotal for the duration of the war.”

“Tut, tut,” said the doctor, as he took his leave; “you must invent a way to overcome your wife’s scruples; an easy matter enough, surely?”

A few days later the medical man received a visit from Mrs. Meek, who was greatly concerned as to the state of her husband’s health. “I am afraid, doctor,” she said, “that the poor man has had a nervous breakdown. He’s continually fancying that he can hear Zeppelins, and goes to hide in the cellar; besides which he often appears to be somewhat strange and aggressive in his manner.”

PALESTINE VS. PURGATORY

In a small village in Ireland the mother of a soldier met the village priest, who asked her if she had had bad news.

“Shure, I have,” she said. “Pat has been killed.”

“Oh, I am very sorry,” said the priest. “Did you receive word from the War Office?”

“No,” she said, “I received word from himself.”

The priest looked perplexed, and said, “But how is that?”

“Shure,” she said, “here is the letter, read it for yourself.”

The letter said: “Dear Mother—I am now in the Holy Land.”

DON’T ALL SPEAK AT ONCE

The American Red Cross has inaugurated so many different kinds of bureaus since its arrival in France, that it is difficult to enumerate them or to know what their duties consist of, but its newest bureau, according to the last issue of the Bulletin, appears to be dabbling in matrimonial matters. The following paragraph is taken from the Red Cross Bulletin, showing that anything might be called for at the headquarters:

“Wanted—An American husband.”

“No kidding. It’s a fact. If you are an eligible young man of American nationality who wants a wife but cannot find anybody that wants to marry you, apply to the office of the Secretary General.

“The office of the Secretary General has not become a matrimonial agency, but received a letter from a French woman in which the writer extolled her excellent qualities and asked that she be found an American husband.”

WELL SEASONED

A soldier in hospital, on recovering consciousness, said:

“Nurse, what is this on my head?”

“Vinegar cloths,” she replied. “You have had fever.” After a pause.

“And what is this on my chest?”

“A mustard-plaster. You have had pneumonia.”

“And what is this at my feet?”

“Salt-bags; you have had frost-bite.”

A soldier from the next bed looked up and said:

“Hang the pepper-box to his nose, nurse, then he will be a cruet.”

NOT TO BE DONE

A certain soldier always looked on the dark side of things. One day a friend tried to cheer him.

“Why don’t you do as the song says, ‘Pack all your troubles in your old kitbag, and smile, smile, smile’?”

“I tried that once,” he said, sadly, “but the Quartermaster didn’t have enough kitbags.”

UNCERTAIN TRAIN SCHEDULE

A soldier was waiting for the Muddleton train, the only one of the day. After he had waited for an unreasonable time the porter hove in sight.

“How long will I have to wait,” the soldier asked, “for that bally train?”

“How long have you got?” asked the porter, with apparent irrelevance.

“Fourteen days.”

“Well,” said the porter, “you’d better walk.”

REAL STRATEGY

A young but distinguished major on furlough was visiting a house where the family consisted of several eligible daughters. The good lady of the house was quick to notice that one of her daughters seemed to be making a favorable impression on her visitor. So before he took his departure the artful mother whispered to him: “There’s a story going the rounds, major, that you are going to marry my daughter Hilda. What shall I say?”

“Just say, my dear madam, that your charming and beautiful daughter refused me,” was the tactful reply.

HE KNEW THE BREED

A young British private was on night guard at a lonely outpost in France, when suddenly he heard the tramp of an advancing regiment. “Halt!” he called. “Who goes there?”

“Irish Fusiliers.”

“Pass, Irish Fusiliers, all’s well.”

Silence reigned for some minutes and then he heard another regiment advancing. “Halt! Who goes there?”

“London Scottish.”

“Pass, London Scottish, all’s well.”

For some time there was silence, and then another regiment was heard. “Halt! Who goes there?”

“None of your d—— business!”

“Pass, Canadians, all’s well.”

DESERVED PROMOTION

“Don’t keep calling me ‘general.’ I’m only a colonel.”

“’Scuse me, boss. I ain’t disputin’ yo’ word, but any military gent’man dat gives dis old waiter a dollar tip is jes natcherly a ‘gen’ral.’”

MIXED HER DATES

The Khaki Gentleman: “Do you love me, darling?”

She: “Yes, Jack, dear.”

The Khaki Gentleman: “Jack! My name’s Harold!”

She (who has numerous admirers—one for each day of the week): “Oh, yes, of course! I keep thinking this is Saturday!”

HOOVER, GOD AND THREE OTHERS

A boy who had a habit of leaving food on his plate was told by his nurse that Mr. Hoover would get after him.

“Well, that makes five,” despondently said the boy.

“Five?” asked the nurse. “What do you mean?”

“Well,” was the answer, “I’ve always had to mind daddy and mother and Aunt Mary and God, and now here comes along Mr. Hoover.”

IT TAKES FIFTEEN YEARS, SON

A young recruit, fresh from a New Hampshire farm, sat watching a group of men in camp, engaged in the usual pastime—“the great American game.” After watching the game silently for a time he inquired: “Is that poker you fellows are playing?” On being informed that it was, he volunteered:

“Well, I’ll be darned! I’ve been watching this game carefully for about fifteen minutes, and I don’t believe I thoroughly understand it yet.”

AW, BE A SPORT, HUBBY

Mrs. Will Irwin, speaking of women’s wartime costumes, said at a Washington Square tea:

“The more immodest fashions would disappear if men would resolutely oppose them.

“I know a woman whose dressmaker sent home the other day a skirt that was, really, too short altogether. The woman put it on. It was becoming enough, dear knows, but it made her feel ashamed. She entered the library, and her husband looked up from his work with a dark frown.

“‘I wonder,’ she said, with an embarrassed laugh, ‘if these ultra-short skirts will ever go out?’

“‘They’ll never go out with me,’ he answered in decided tones.”

NOT ON THE PROGRAM

When the wealthy Mrs. Beldon came to visit her son at his post, the gallant Lieutenant was so pleased that he arranged a theater party in honor of his mother. Officers and their ladies were in all the boxes. When the Lieutenant glanced over the audience he saw that every one was looking at his box. Women held handkerchiefs to their faces and men shook with laughter. Then he noticed that his mother, who held in one gloved hand a fan, rested the other arm upon the rail of the box. Her free hand, she thought, reposed on the lower rail, but in reality it rested upon the bald pate of an old man who sat in the box below. The old gentleman apparently was in agony, but he was very patient. Suddenly the audience started to applaud and the officer’s mother, in total abstraction, affectionately patted that poor bald head, which suddenly arose in crimson rage and left the theater.

WHERE HIS AUTHORITY BEGAN

A tired column of troops clambered down a rocky ledge and went into camp beside a delightful little pool of water. The commanding officer immediately placed his sentry at the pool. Soon more soldiers scrambled down the ledge and a tired Lieutenant quickly prepared for a plunge into that pool. But he was met with a sharp command from across the pond:

“Halt!”

“What are your orders?” said the Lieutenant.

“Sir,” came the answer, “my orders are to prevent all officers, soldiers, and natives from bathing in that pool. The water is reserved for the coffee for supper.”

“Why didn’t you tell me before I stripped?”

“Sir, I have no orders to prevent any man from stripping.”

A TENNYSONIAN TODDY

It was bitterly cold. Captain Price was officer of the day. It was necessary for him to inspect the guard after midnight, and, fearful of the influenza, he sought prevention in hot toddy. Fate decreed that he should be reported drunk on duty. Now, the men in the troop thought much of their genial Captain. They petitioned McSweeny, orderly to the troop commander, to go to the court-martial and swear to anything, but to be sure to clear the Captain. So it came to pass that McSweeny appeared as a witness. The Judge Advocate said he must swear to the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. Then he thundered:

“Do you know the accused?”

“Yes, Sir,” came the answer, “he is my troop commander, Captain Price.”

“Did you see the accused on this date?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“What was the condition of the accused?”

“The Captain was sober, Sir.”

“The testimony reads that he was intoxicated.”

“No, Sir.”

“It is further stated that you helped the accused to his quarters.”

“No, Sir; I went over to the quarters with the Captain.”

“It is said that you helped the accused into his bunk.”

“No, Sir: I took off his boots.”

“Did the accused say anything that would lead you to suspect that he was intoxicated?”

“No, Sir; he only said one thing.”

“What was that?”

“When I was leaving, Sir, he said: ‘McSweeny, call me early. I am going to be Queen of the May.’”

WHY REMIND THEM OF IT?

Terry O’Neill was steward on an army transport. Before the mess call sounded Terry always visited the different staterooms. Pushing the door ajar, he would say to the officers: “Gentlemen, do you wish me to throw your luncheon overboard, or will you do it yourselves?”

HE’D HEARD HER SING

“And did you have a good crossing?” asked the friend of the adventurous lady who had just returned from France.

“Oh, a most terrible crossing, terrible. The most awful storm I’ve ever been in. Yet I wasn’t a bit afraid. The other passengers were in a panic running all over the boat, till at last the captain, who had heard that I was a singer, asked me to sing to them and quiet them, and I did. And all the time I was singing the heavy seas were running.”

“I don’t blame ’em!” growled her father. “I don’t blame those heavy seas a bit.”

WHY FRANCE WON

A Frenchwoman was torn by a shell while rendering service to the soldiers, and General Petain, of the French Armies, accompanied by his staff and by General Pershing as a guest, went to the woman’s bedside and pinned on her breast the Croix de Guerre, the soldiers’ cross of war.

“My general,” said the woman to Petain, “I am glad to have been struck so that you may see and know that the daughters as well as the sons of France are ready to suffer and, if need be, to die for France and for her liberty.”

MUCH THE SAFEST PLAN

A recruiting sergeant stationed in the south of Ireland met Pat and asked him to join the army. The latter refused, whereupon the sergeant asked his reason for refusing.

“Aren’t the King and the Kaiser cousins?” asked Pat.

“Yes,” said the recruiting sergeant.

“Well,” said Pat, “begorra, I once interfered in a family squabble, and I’m not going to do so again.”

THE OLD FAMILIAR WORDS

Some time ago, when a British corps was reviewed by Sir Ian Hamilton, one officer was mounted on a horse that had previously distinguished itself in a bakery business. Somebody recognized the horse, and shouted, “Baker!” The horse promptly stopped dead, and nothing could urge it on.

The situation was getting painful when the officer was struck with a brilliant idea, and remarked, “Not today, thank you.” The procession then moved on.

WITH A COMMA AFTER “RED”

“Mrs. Bing’s new baby is just in the fashion.”

“How do you mean?”

“It is such a red cross affair.”

HOLES CLEAR THROUGH HIM

The melancholy youth was lying in the hospital bed entertaining his visitors with tales of the battlefield.

“Yes,” he said, almost tearfully, “I have had a rough time. I was once so riddled with bullets the fellows behind me complained of the draft.”

WAS THIS FOREORDAINED?

The Presbyterians are having their day, it seems, if one looks over a list of the foremost men of today. Woodrow Wilson is a Presbyterian elder; Robert Lansing, Secretary of State, is likewise. Thomas R. Marshall, Vice President of the United States, is a Presbyterian; and so are General Pershing, in command of America’s legions abroad; General Peyton C. March, the new Chief of Staff; and General Hugh Scott. General Field Marshal Haig, of the British armies, is a member of the Church of Scotland, which is Presbyterian; and Field Marshal Joffre is a member of the Reformed Church, which in France is similarly nearest to the Presbyterian Church in the United States.

WILLING TO PAY THE PRICE

A Tommy on furlough entered a jeweler’s shop and, placing a much-battered gold watch on the counter, said, “I want this ’ere mended.”

After a careful survey the watchmaker said, “I’m afraid, sir, the cost of repairing will be double what you gave for it.”

“I don’t mind that,” said the soldier. “Will you mend it?”

“Yes,” said the jeweler, “at the price.”

“Well,” remarked Tommy, smiling, “I gave a German a punch on the nose for it, and I’m quite ready to give you two if you’ll mend it.”

WAR’S COMPENSATIONS

“Lady (young) will gladly MARRY and give up life to the care and happiness of WOUNDED HERO, blinded or incapacitated by the war.—_Genuine, Box M 770, the London Times._”

CAP WAS A SURE WINNER

The captain of the SS. Piffle listened patiently to a passenger’s account of his shooting abilities, then he quietly remarked:

“I don’t think you could hit this bottle at twenty yards, placed on the taffrail, while the ship is heaving like this.”

“It would be only child’s play,” said the passenger.

“Well, I’ll bet you a guinea you don’t hit it three times out of six.”

“It’s a wager. Come along.”

The bottle was placed in position. Crack! The passenger hit it, and it disappeared in fragments into the sea.

“Trot out another one,” said the marksman.

“Not at all. The conditions were that you hit that one three times out of six. Five shots more.”

ONLY A RUSE AFTER ALL

The called-up one volubly explained that there was no need in his case for a medical examination.

“I’m fit and I want to fight. I want to go over on the first boat. I want to go right into the front trenches, but I want to have a hospital close, so that if I get hit no time will be wasted in taking me where I can get mended right away, so that I can get back to fighting without losing a minute. Pass me in, doctor. Don’t waste any time on me. I want to fight, and keep fighting!”

The doctor, however, insisted, and, when he got through, reported a perfect physical specimen.

“You don’t find nothing wrong with me, doctor?”

“Nothing.”

“But, doctor, don’t you think I’m a bit crazy?”

TRY IT ON THE YANKS

She—“Yes, sir, I believe that woman’s place in this war is right beside the men on the battle line.”

He—“And suppose a commander sent a party of six men and six women out in the woods to see if the enemy were in sight, would you call that war? That would be a picnic!”

HER MEASURE OF SUCCESS

He—“And how are you getting on with your collecting for the soldiers?”

She—“Splendidly! I’ve had my name in the papers four times already.”

BETTER MAKE AN OMELET

“I’ll put you in the commissary department if you’ll answer the following question: What would you do if you had one hundred soldiers and only ninety-nine eggs?”

“I’d shoot one of the soldiers!”

THE USUAL PREFERENCE

That the British “Tommy” is as ready with his tongue as with his gun was aptly shown the other day when a number of wounded soldiers were being admitted to a hospital.

One of the patients was being carried to a ward named L, but at the door the stretcher bearers were met by the Sister in charge, who said, “I’m sorry, but L’s full.”

“All right,” cheerily replied the irrepressible “Tommy,” “we’ll just go to ’eaven.”

NOTHING TO FIGHT FOR

Jem—“Why don’t you shoulder a gun?”

Ben—“Ah ain’t got nothin’ against nobody in dis here world, and if I have I forgive ’em!”

Jem—“But your country is at war and you’ve got to carry a gun.”

Ben—“Man, the only time Ah carry a gun is when I’m after one lone man and not after an army!”

Jem—“But why don’t you fight for your country?”

Ben—“Ah live in the city!”

BOTH UP AND DOWN, AUNTIE

Aunt Nancy was visiting an army camp and as she approached some rookies were sitting on their heels and then rising to a standing position in perfect unison.

“What are the boys doing now?” she asked.

“Why, those are the setting-up exercises,” explained an obliging sergeant.

“Humph,” remarked auntie. “Looks to me more like settin’ down exercises.”

SECURING A TEMPORARY DIVORCE

There is a man in Bozeman, Mont., who will probably go through life bewailing the injustice of the draft board that certified him for service, despite the fact that he presented a letter written by his wife to prove that he had a dependent family. Here is the letter:

“Dear United States Army: My husband ast me to write a reckomend that he supports his famly. He can not read so dont tell him. Jus take him. He ain’t no good to me. He aint done nothing but play a fiddle and drink lemmen essense since I married him, eight years ago, and I got to feed seven kids of his. Maybe you can get him to carry a gun. He’s good on squirrels and eatin’. Take him and welcum. I need the grub and his bed for the kids. Don’t tell him this but take him.”

REMINDS ONE OF PLATTSBURG

“Now, Lieutenant Tompkins,” said the general, “you have the battalion in quarter column, facing south—how would you get it into line, in the quickest possible way, facing northeast?”

“Well, sir,” said the lieutenant, after a moment’s fruitless consideration, “do you know, that’s what I’ve often wondered.”

MONOLOGUE, BY NAT M. WILLS

(As delivered in Chicago.)

I just asked a policeman the quickest way to the hospital. He told me to go down to Jefferson street and yell hurrah for the czar. John D. Rockefeller wants to go to the front, but I don’t think he’ll do much for the country. When the officer says advance he’ll raise the price of gasoline.

You know all that peace talk is over. The peace party crawled into a hole and pulled the hole in after them—they’re afraid of the draft.

Some men are born soldiers, others develop into fighters after they marry. I’ve been in four battles.

The very first night I was married my wife broke this news to me. “You know, dear, I can’t dress myself,” so I got her a French maid; and, “I can’t drive my own car,” so I got her a chauffeur. Then she said: “You know I walk in my sleep,” so I had to get her a night watchman.

Uncle Sam is preparing all right in a hundred different ways we know nothing about. A man who comes up to you on the street may be an officer. If you get a drink in Kansas City, well, that’s secret service.

It certainly was pretty windy around the Masonic temple today. You know two girls were passing; one had red, white and blue stockings on and the other green; they were going in the opposite direction. I didn’t know which to look at, but decided to see America first.

Sousa and I got together a couple of seasons ago. His band was going to play my songs. I met him the other day just as I was going into a saloon. He said: “Nat, my band of 300 men will accompany you.” I said: “That’s all right with me, Phil, but do you think there’ll be room?”

PARDONABLE MISTAKE

Captain Jones was a very round-shouldered and eccentric officer.

On a particularly dark night in Egypt, while practicing his company in outpost duty, he approached one of the sentries who failed to halt him.

In a great rage the officer demanded of the now trembling sentry the reason why he had omitted to challenge him.

“If you please, sir,” stuttered the confused soldier, “I thought you was a camel.”

HE WAS REAL MAD ABOUT IT

Two privates met the other morning near the canteen, which, from the fact that a monkey was kept on the counter, was popularly known as the “Monkey House.”

“Halloa, Jack,” said the first. “You look a bit off this morning.”

“Yes, Bill,” replied Jack. “I haven’t the price of a wet.”

“Neither have I,” replied Bill; “but I think I know how to get a couple of pints. Come into the Monkey House.”

They entered the canteen and Bill called for two pints. While the barman’s back was turned Bill hit the monkey a clout on the head, which caused the animal to scream out.

“What was that for?” asked the barman, wrathfully.

“Not the first time he has done that,” shouted Bill, angrily.

“Done what?” asked the barman.

“Why, picked up my shilling and swallowed it,” replied Bill.

“Well,” said the indignant barman, “why didn’t you tell me before you hit the monkey? There’s your two pints and your sevenpence change. And don’t you interfere with my monkey again.”

HE KNEW WHERE THEY WERE

The scene was a cinema palace, as they call ’em in England, where the Somme battle-pictures were being flickered.

As the Warwickshires were seen going over the top to the attack, an excited Birmingham man exclaimed, triumphantly: “What about your Highland regiments now?”

As luck would have it, there was a short, bandy-legged Scot in a kilt within hearing.

He flared up and replied: “What about oor Hielant regiments? Why, they are keepin’ back the Germans while your men are gettin’ their photographs took.”

JUST A BIT OF TRENCH REPARTEE

Australian Soldier (to American)—“You Yanks think you’ve done a lot, but you forget we Australians have been at the game for four years.”

“Well, what have you done, anyway?”

“Done? We’ve been at Gallipoli, Mesopotamia, the plains of Bethlehem, and——”

“The plains of Bethlehem?”

“Yes; I slept a week there myself.”

“Well, I guess that was a busy week for the shepherds watching their flocks!”

NOT MENTIONABLE IN SOCIETY

“I know you have pet names for the big guns, but what do you call the shells?”

“Depends, ’ow close you are to where they burst, mum!”

NOW SHE KNOWS WHY

She had intently watched the soldier for some time. Then she ventured: “The chin strap, I suppose, is to keep your hat on, my man?”

“No,” replied Yank, “it’s to rest the jaw after answering questions.”

INTERCEPTED WAR MESSAGES

A wire from Secretary of War Baker: “Discuss no war news in front of horses. They carry tails.”

Cable from King George to the President: “Send me over 5,000 sewing machines, we want to hem the Germans on the border.”

From King George: “Must have $5,000,000; if it can’t be had any other way get it from the waiters at the Waldorf.”

Stone wires: “If war breaks out I’ll stand behind the army.”

Cable from Russian general: “Over a million pairs of pajamas at once; Russian army ready to retire.”

Wire from Empress of Germany to Queen Mary (sent collect): “Am sitting on my veranda crocheting; would like to have you join me—Nit.”

From the Czar of Russia: “It’s pretty tough to be seated on the throne one minute and thrown on your seat the next.”

WHAT MOTHERS ALWAYS SAY

“Remember, my son,” said his mother as she bade him good-by, “when you get to camp try to be punctual in the mornings, so as not to keep breakfast waiting.”

FASHION NOTE FROM THE FRONT

“Where are you going?” asked one rookie of another.

“Going to the blacksmith shop to get my tin hat reblocked.”

ONE GERMAN WE FORGIVE

The following story which is going the rounds of the Continental papers, including even those of Austria, must make the Germans gnash their teeth.

A German and a Dane met recently in Schiller’s house in Weimar. As they stood gazing reverently on the scene the German, swelling with pride, remarked to his fellow-visitor:

“So this is where our national poet, Schiller, lived.”

“Pardon me,” said the other; “not national, but international.”

“How so?” asked the German, with surprise.

“Why, consider his works,” the Dane replied. “He wrote, ‘Mary Stuart’ for the English, ‘The Maid of Orleans’ for the French, ‘Egmont’ for the Dutch, ‘William Tell’ for the Swiss—”

“And what did he write for the Germans, pray?” broke in the other. Pat came the Dane’s answer:

“For the Germans he wrote, ‘The Robbers.’”

EQUINE “NOW I LAY ME”

Tommy (to the “charger” he has borrowed during a week-end leave after it has been down three times in ten minutes)—Wot! On yer knees agen? Go on—get on with it—“Bless Pa and Ma an’ make me a good ’orse. Amen.”

ONE BRITISH ATROCITY

The “Swanky” One—“I’m smoking a terrible lot of cigars lately.”

The Other (with conviction)—“You’re right, if that’s one of them!”

NEVER MIND THE NAME

How to pronounce some of the names of the towns which the Americans get into puzzles the boys, so they have their own pronunciation. Thus, when they captured Seringes, it became Syringe, and Fismes became Fiz. When Fismettes was taken, the battalion commander went back to report, made several assaults upon its pronunciation and finally said:

“Well, I can’t tell you what town it is, but I’ve taken the damned place, anyhow.”

FRENCH IN THE TRENCH

Tommy (to Jock, on leave)—“What about the lingo? Suppose you want to say ‘egg’ over there, what do you say?”

Jock—“Ye juist say ‘Oof.’”

Tommy—“But suppose you want two?”

Jock—“Ye say, ‘Twa oofs,’ and the silly auld fule wife gies ye three, and ye juist gie her back one. Man, it’s an awfu’ easy language.”

SCOTCH PROVISIONS

Captain John Stevenson met a recent arrival from the “auld countree” and speedily got into a chat with him over conditions there. The new arrival told feelingly of the terrible toll of war on the fair land of Scotia, the sad tales of young men killed and maimed, the sufferings of the families left behind. His was a right sad tale in every way.

“Wy, man, we’re jist plum distrackit wi’ it,” he concluded.

“And I suppose the war has caused the price of provisions to go up in Scotland as well as everywhere else?” commented Captain Stevenson with sympathy.

“Aye, man, ye’re richt,” agreed the visitor. “Proveesions have gone up saxpence the bottle.”

VERY LIKE MOSES

The conditions in the trenches were dreary in the extreme after the drenching and long-continued rainfall, but the irrepressible spirits of the “Pals” were not yet entirely quenched when the order came to leave the trenches.

“Hurry up out of this, my gallant soldiers,” was the cheery call of the sergeant to his waist-deep and rain-sodden men.

“Soldiers!” came the derisive answer from one of them. “I’m not a soldier; I’m a blooming bulrush!”

THEY FIXED YOU, WILLIE

“We played fool,” declared the Crown Prince “I see it now.”

“Huh?”

“We had the whole world to pick a fight with.”

“Well?”

“And look at the crowd we picked out.”

SAFETY FIRST

Messages had come to the office of a great illustrated paper that Zeppelins were approaching London.

The editor at once summoned his staff of photographers.

“Now, boys, we’ve got to have a picture of this Zepp. We were badly beaten on the last. The moment it approaches I want every man to rush to the roof with his camera and stay there, whatever happens, until he gets a picture. Let me know directly you get it. You’ll find me under the heap of coal bags in the right-hand corner of the lower cellar!”

NO SUGAR IN HEAVEN

First Tommy (as he reads the local paper sent from home)—“O, Bill, what do you think of it? They’re issuing a list in Blighty of the people what are going to do without using any more sugar!”

Second Tommy (eagerly grasping the paper and straining his eyes to find the list of names)—“Where did you see, it Harry?”

First Tommy—“Why, there” (pointing to the death column).

YOU CAN’T DO THIS IN BATTLE

The military maneuvered. All the afternoon the attackers had attacked and the defenders defended, with conspicuous lack of incident or bravery. Operations were beginning to drag horribly when the white flag went up.

The officer in command of the attackers stared in amazement.

“A flag of truce!” he exclaimed. “What do they want?”

The sergeant-major endeavored to cover up a smile.

“They say, sir,” he reported, “that, as it’s tea time, they’d like to exchange a couple o’ privates for a can of condensed milk—if you can afford it.”

NOW IT’S “ALL DUNN”

An Irish recruit named Dunn was arranging to let his friends know where he was when on active service.

“If I go to France,” he said, “I shall sign my letter F. Dunn; to Egypt, E. Dunn.”

“When the war is over and you come home, what will you sign?”

“We’re Dunn!”

“Well done,” shouted his friends.

A LAST FAREWELL

Private Doolan was six feet three inches in his socks. Beside him the sergeant on duty was a bantam.

“Head up there, Doolan!” he cried. Doolan raised his head.

“Up higher,” shouted the little sergeant.

“There, that’s better. Don’t let me see you with your head down again.”

“Am I to be always like this?” asked Doolan, staring away above the little man’s head.

“You are.”

“Then I’ll say good-bye to ye, sergeant, for I’ll never see ye again.”

TOO MODEST BY FAR

During a camp parade of the buglers recently an Irish corporal was in charge. He was asked by the commanding officer if all the buglers were present: He replied: “No, sorr, wan man absent.”

“Well, then,” said the officer, “go and find him and ask him what he has to say for himself.”

A few minutes later Pat came running back. “Shure, sorr,” he cried, “and weren’t we a pair of duffers not to know it? It wor meself. Bedad, sorr, Oi forgot to call me own name entoirely.”

ANOTHER WAR CASUALTY

“You don’t seem to feel so enthusiastic as usual about speech-making.”

“Well,” answered Senator Sorghum, “times have changed and it isn’t so easy for a man in a silk hat and a frock-coat to stand out before a lot of men in khaki uniforms or overalls and assert that he is saving the country all by himself.”

PREACHER HAD A SCOOP

An editor in the Far West dropped into church for the first time in many years. The minister was in the very heart of the sermon. The editor listened for a while, and then rushed to his office.

“What are you fellows doing? How about the news from the seat of war?”

“What news?”

“Why, all this about the Egyptian Army being drowned in the Red Sea. The minister up at the church knows all about it, and you have not a word of it in our latest. Bustle round, you fellows, and get out an extra-special edition.”

THERE IS TIME FOR BOTH

One industrious war-gardener is pictured as working busily and reflecting on the virtue of raising his own food-supply.

“If everybody grew his own vegetables and ate less meat,” he soliloquized, “we’d put old Bill on the bum in a hurry. This is tough work, but I’ll stick to it if it kills me. I’m with Hoover on this.”

At this point a fine assortment of earthworms was unearthed. The digger’s reflections immediately shifted to a shady stream and the final scene shows him happily fishing.

“Oh, well,” he reflects to soothe his conscience, “vegetables or fish; it’s all the same to Mr. Hoover.”

THEY DO SOUND ALIKE

“Now,” said the Colonel, looking along the line of recruits, “I want a good smart bugler.”

At that out stepped a dilapidated fellow who had a thick stubble of black beard.

“What!” said the colonel, eying him up and down. “Are you a bugler?”

“Oh, bugler!” said he. “I thought you said burglar.”

NO TIME TO SAY ALL OF IT

“So,” sobbed Ilma Vladoffovitchskioffsky, “Ivan Nine-spotski died in battle. You say he uttered my name as he was dying?”

“Part of it,” replied the returned soldier—“part of it.”

NO MAIL TO HADES

Willie Hohenzollern (after Berlin fell)—“But, mein friendt, I want to write a letter to papa.”

Yankee Guard—“Nothin’ doin’, Heinie. We don’t have asbestos stationery around here.”

MORE TO THE PURPOSE

Officer—“So you captured a thousand Germans by just calling across No Man’s Land. What did you do—promise them a square deal if they surrendered?”

Yankee Private—“No; I promised them a square meal.”—_Life._

WHAT WE MAY EXPECT NOW

The war was over and the new woman was fully developed. Gone were the petticoats and faldelals. Women aimed at being rational in character and dress.

In such an after-the-war household Mr. Bigboy was washing out baby’s bottle when his wife came down dressed for going out.

“Are you going out?” whined Mr. Bigboy.

“Yes,” said his wife, patting his cheek. “It’s the big meeting at the lodge.”

“Then—then,” said the man, and his lips trembled, “if you’re not in by 11 o’clock I’ll—I’ll go home to father.”

EIGHT MILES FOR HIM

A story is told of a German spy who was captured within the English lines in France. An English Tommy was detailed by his commander to march the German four miles back of the lines and there shoot him. After marching through mud and water for four miles, all tired out and rain soaked, the pair finally reached the four-mile point. The German was exasperated by this time and blurted: “Vot’s the idea of marching me four miles through mud and rain to be shot?”

“My word,” the English Tommy said. “What are you kicking about? Think of me. I gotta walk back!”

NO FIGHTING FOR HIM

One of the recruiting canvassers in an English provincial town was a well-known magistrate. In most cases he succeeded in obtaining the promises he wished, but at last he knocked at one cottage-door which was opened to him by a sturdy son of the soil.

“My man,” said the magistrate, in his most persuasive tones, “are you willing to fight for your King and country?”

“No, I beant, sir,” was the prompt reply. “An’ I be surprized at you askin’ me for to do it. Two years ago come next month you yourself fined I twenty shillings for fighting wi’ Bill Smith, and you said it wor wicked to fight, an’ I promised you as I wouldn’t repeat the offense, an’ allus kept my word.”

HOW HUNS TICKLED THEMSELVES

Berlin, April—There is no question that terrible damage was caused in London by the latest Zeppelin raid. The commander of the Zeppelin L-10 has brought back with him to Germany a sketch which he made while he was flying over the British metropolis. It clearly shows the houses of Parliament in flames and Sir Edward Grey running along Piccadilly with his coat-tails afire. The sketch has been warmly commended by art and military critics.

’TWASN’T HIS FAULT

An English girl gave General Pershing quite a jolt while he was in London. She had been placed at his disposal as the driver of his automobile. One day he said to his girl driver:

“Can you please come for me here at the War Office at 6 o’clock?”

“Yes, General,” answered the girl.

At six o’clock, military-like, the General was on the steps awaiting his car.

At three minutes past six it swung to the curb. The General, with his eyes a-twinkle, said to the girl, as he took out his watch: “You are three minutes late.”

“That should hardly count with you, General,” was the instant answer. “You are three years late.”

VERY GOOD, PUNCH

A Chertsey pig-breeder has been granted total exemption. The pen, it seems, is still mightier than the sword.—_Punch._

HE KNEW ABOUT COWS

Mrs. Parker—“Now, young man, why aren’t you at the Front?”

Young Man (milking cow)—“’Cos there ain’t any milk that end, missus!”

WILLING TO TREAT

Examining Surgeon—“Have you any scars?”

Rookie Marine Applicant—“No, sir; but I have some cigarets in my coat over there.”

AND FULL OF TABASCO

“Are they seasoned troops?”

“They ought to be. They were first mustered in by their officers, and then peppered by the enemy.”

CAUSE FOR DEPRESSION

“No, my ’usband ain’t killed, Mrs. Marks. No sooner did I put all the kids in mournin’, even to Biby in the pram, when I gets a telegram a sayin’ ’e’s alive and well. Yes, an’ all this expense for nothin’.”

“Wot a crool shame!”

ENOUGH TO WARRANT EXEMPTION

Recruiting Officer—“How about joining the colors? Have you anyone dependent on you?”

Motorist—“Have I? There are two garage owners, six mechanics, four tire dealers, and every gasoline agent within a radius of 125 miles.”

CHANGED HIS TUNE

Cockney Tommy (surveying fat German soldier who, being brought in a prisoner, still has his hands up): “Blow me if this ain’t the old blighter who used to play, ‘I fear no foe in shining armor’ dahn ahr street.”

FROM HIS POINT OF VIEW

It is, of course, well known that Sir Douglas Haig is a soldier first, last and all the time, regarding all other professions as of quite negligible importance, a trait in his character which lends point to the anecdote.

He was, it appears, inspecting a cavalry troop, and was particularly struck with the neat way in which repairs had been made in some of the saddles.

“Very good work,” he remarked to the troop sergeant-major. “Who did it?”

“Two of my troopers, sir,” was the reply.

“You’re fortunate to have two such expert saddlers in your troop,” said Haig.

“As a matter of fact, sir,” was the reply, “they’re not saddlers, in civil life being lawyers.”

“Well,” ejaculated Sir Douglas, “how men who can do work like that could have wasted their lives over law I can’t imagine!”

THOSE PET NAMES FOR OFFICERS

A very tall, thin lieutenant reported in Flanders to a Canadian battalion commanded by a bald, elderly colonel. After a few days he approached his commander and asked permission to air a grievance.

“I wish you would use your influence, sir, to restrain my platoon from referring to me as ‘Legs,’” he said.

“Sure, my lad, sure,” replied the Colonel solemnly, “if you’ll use yours to stop my whole battalion calling me ‘Old Baldy.’”

TOO MUCH HARVARD