Chapter III: Part 3

“That ’ere Yank’s an educated toff from ’arvard,” said Tommy Atkins, leaning on his spade. “I’m jolly well weary of ’is learnin’, too, that I am. We’re ordered to throw up trenches along the Marne, and as ’e picks up ’is spade, th’ bloomin’ college blighter says, says ’e: ‘Well, Tommy, come on; it looks like we’re infra dig!’ And wot I says is: Blarst a college education, anyhow, eh?”

WOULDN’T INSULT THE JACK

On a road in Belgium a German officer met a boy leading a jackass, and addressed him in heavy jovial fashion as follows:

“That’s a fine jackass you have, my son. What do you call it?... Albert, I bet!”

“Oh, no, officer,” the boy replied quickly. “I think too highly of my King.”

The German scowled and returned: “I hope you don’t dare to call it William.”

“Oh, no, officer. I think too highly of my jackass.”

ONE WAY TO GET EVEN

Here is a story our wounded boys have brought back from the front about Sir Douglas Haig.

Sir Douglas was in a great hurry to get to a certain place. He found his car, but the chauffeur was missing. So Sir Douglas got in the car and drove off by himself. Then the driver appeared and saw the car disappearing in the distance.

“Great Scot!” cried the driver, “there’s ’Aig a-driving my car!”

“Well, get even with him,” said a Tommy, standing by, “and go and fight one of ’is battles for him.”

“HONEY” DRAWS THE LINE

I’ve beamed when you hollered, “Oh, Girlie!”
I’ve hopped when you bellowed, “Oh, say!”
I’ve fallen for “Dearie” and “Missus,”
And everything else till today.
But there’s one thing that’s got to be different,
From now till the Great War is done—
Unless you’re prepared for a riot,
You’ve got to quit calling me “Hun!”

WILLING TO EXPLAIN

Staff Colonel—“Your reports should be written in such manner that even the most ignorant may understand them.”

Sergeant—“Well, sir, what part is it that you don’t understand?”

CAUSE FOR ANNOYANCE

The latest example of English as she is spoken comes from Egypt, where a native interpreter, who had overstayed his leave, wrote the following letter to his chief:

“My absence is impossible. Someone has removed my wife. My God, I am annoyed.”

SHE KNEW HIS MERITS

Her son had enlisted, and she was a proud old woman as she harangued a knot of friends on the village street. “Jarge always done ’is duty by me, ’e did, an’ now ’e’s doin’ ’is duty by King an’ country,” she said. “I feel right down sorry for them Germans, to think of ’im goin’ into battle with ’is rifle in ’is ’and and ‘It’s a Long Way to Tipperary’ on ’is lips.”

“Poor Germans, indeed!” exclaimed one of the audience. “Pity’s wasted on ’em! P’r’aps you ’aven’t ’eard of their cruelties?”

“P’r’aps I ’aven’t,” agreed the old lady. “An’ p’raps you ’aven’t ’eard Jarge sing.”

CENSORING THE CLOUDS

Rural Constable—“Sketching the harbor is forbidden, sir.”

Artist—“Oh, that’s all right. I’m making a study of clouds.”

Rural Constable (impressively)—“Ah, but supposin’ your picture got into the hands of the enemy’s aircraft department, see the use they could make of it!”—_Punch._

IT CAN’T BE DONE

All this talk of hyphenated citizenship has evidently had its effect upon a San Francisco youngster, American-born, who recently rebelled fiercely when his Italian father whipped him for some misdemeanor.

“But, Tommaso, your father has a right to whip you when you are bad,” someone of the family said.

Tommaso’s eyes flashed. “I am a citizen of the United States,” he declared. “Do you think I am going to let any foreigner lick me?”

A TWO-BIT HERO

“I’m going to decorate you for bravery, Mr. Wadleigh. Put this French war-orphan medal on your coat.”

“But I haven’t performed any deed of heroism.”

“But you will when you give up twenty-five cents.”

ONE OF THE FEW THAT HAVE

“Can you tell me,” said the Court, addressing Enrico Ufuzzi, under examination at Union Hill, N.J., as to his qualifications for citizenship, “the difference between the powers and prerogatives of the King of England and those of the President of the United States?”

“Yezzir,” spoke up Ufuzzi promptly. “King, he got steady job.”

HOWL INDEFINITELY POSTPONED

One of the good stories in circulation is told by Joe Tumulty, secretary to the President. He likes his job, but he dislikes one thing about it: that he can’t tell the boys—the friendly reporters—about all they wish to know. He illustrated his inability to give information once by quoting the case of Johnny.

Johnny was crying in the hall as his mother came along, hatted and coated. She asked what had happened.

“You are going away; and so is papa!” Johnny sobbed.

“Why, child, I shall be away two or three days, but father is not going away!”

“Yes, he is!” cried Johnny. “He’s going to Rome.”

“Rome? What do you mean, dear?” asked the surprised mother.

“He said today to Mr. Brown that he would make Rome howl when you left!”

“Indeed! Well, dear, I sha’n’t leave you now.”

AND THEY DRINK GRAPE JUICE

A torpedo with a corkscrew course has been observed. If it misses the port side it turns and strikes the starboard; sometimes on missing there it even turns again, striking the port side. The ship’s officer unaccountably omitted to add that after the explosion the fragments reunite and return to the submarine as a complete missile ready to be fired anew.—_New York Sun._

LESS METERS, LESS GAS

John—“The French have gained four hundred meters from the enemy.”

Auntie—“How splendid! That should help to put a stop to those dreadful gas-attacks!”

YOU KNOW THAT PAPER

First War Correspondent—“Did your dispatch get past the censor?”

Second War Correspondent—“Only the part that wasn’t true.”

“Well, isn’t that all your paper wants?”—_Life._

CHANCE TO GET EVEN

“Footlyte actually seemed pleased at leaving a $300-per-week theatrical engagement to serve as a $30-per-month sergeant in France.”

“Why not? Three dramatic critics are privates in his company.”

THE WAY THINGS LOOKED IN 1916

“Before I left the United States,” said Col. George Harvey in London, “I agreed with a Columbia professor who said preponderant power in men and money was bound to win the war; but now I have a stronger argument—one which fell from the lips of a recruiting sergeant in the Strand yesterday.

“‘Don’t you want to be on the winning side?’ said the soldier to a group of civilians who he was suggesting should don khaki.

“‘How do you know ours will be the winning side?’ asked a prospective recruit.

“‘Well, my lad,’ said the sergeant, ‘you know the Germans have been trying for more than a year and a half to win and have failed, don’t you?’

“‘Yes,’ replied the questioner.

“‘Well, then, we’ve been trying to lose during the same period and we couldn’t.’”

CAUSE FOR REJOICING

As the regiment was leaving, and a crowd cheering, a recruit asked: “Who are all those people who are cheering?”

“They,” replied the veteran, “are the people who are not going.”—_Life._

BUT NOT THIS TIME

Officer (to boy of thirteen who, in his effort to get taken on as a bugler, has given his age as sixteen)—“Do you know where boys go who tell lies?”

Applicant—“To the front, sir.”

EVIDENCE OF REFINEMENT

Two fair munition workers were discussing their personal affairs.

“Got a chap yet, Liz?” inquired one.

“Yes; and he’s a regular toff. He’s manager at ——.”

“You don’t say so! Why, they tell me he’s real refined.”

“Rather! Why, he took me to a restaurant last week, and when we had coffee he poured it into a saucer to cool it, but he didn’t blow it like common people would—he fanned it with his hat!”

EVENING THINGS UP

A farmer the other day took a plowshare to the blacksmith’s to be sharpened, and while the blacksmith worked the farmer chuckled and bragged about a sale of hogs he had just made.

“Them hogs was only eight months old,” he said, “and none too fat, nuther; but I seen that the buyer was at his wits’ end, and by skillful jugglin’ I boosted up the price on him just 300 per cent. Yes, by gum, I got three times more for them hogs than I uster get before the war.”

The plowshare being done, the farmer handed the smith 50 cents.

“Hold on,” said the smith; “I charge $1.50 for that job now.”

“You scandalous rascal!” yelled the farmer. “What do you mean by treblin’ your price on me? What have you done it for?”

“I’ve done it,” said the blacksmith, “so’s I’ll be able to eat some of that high-priced pork of yours this winter.”

AN INTERIOR PROBLEM

“Those Germans are certainly efficient,” said father at the breakfast table.

“How so? How?” asked mother.

“Why,” said father, “I see they have put the whole question of the food supply into the hands of the Minister of the Interior.”

BEEN “GETTING UP” EVER SINCE

When Gen. Leonard Wood was a small boy he was called up in the grammar class.

The teacher said: “Leonard, give me a sentence and we’ll see if we can change it to the imperative mood.”

“The horse draws the cart,” said Leonard.

“Very good. Now change it to an imperative.”

“Get up!” said young Wood.

MERELY A WAY-STATION

“Going to France?” asked a traveling man at the station of a negro soldier.

“No, sah! I’se not going to France,” replied the dusky soldier. “I’se goin’ to Berlin, but I may stop in France for a showt time on de way.”

OBEYING ORDERS

He was a new and not very intelligent soldier, and took Army Regulations very seriously. He was strolling down the Strand smoking a pipe, when he was passed by a Brigadier-General. When he failed to salute, the mighty one pulled him up.

“Why the deuce didn’t you salute me?” he roared.

“Well, sir,” replied the delinquent, secure in the consciousness of an adequate excuse, “my sergeant has always taught me never to salute with a pipe in my mouth!”

NO ABSENT TREATMENT WANTED

A party of wounded marines were being taken to a base-hospital on a much over-crowded motor-truck. The nurse accompanying them became anxious about their wounds.

“I hope I am not hurting any of you,” she said.

“You’re hurting me a lot,” replied one of the soldiers.

“But I am nowhere near you,” exclaimed the nurse indignantly.

“That’s what’s hurting me,” was the calm reply.

CAUSE FOR CONFIDENCE

An English private had captured a German captain. Tommy marched his prisoner into headquarters with the air of a major-general on parade and stood waiting for his turn to deliver over his captive.

The German captain smirked disdainfully, glanced about the tent, and hissed at Tommy, “You stupid English, you dink dat you vill vin dis var. Vell, I tell you dot you von’t, for ve haf the German Gott on our side.”

“That’s all right, old boy,” replied Tommy promptly, “we’ve got the Yanks on ours.”

JUST GOT ON TO IT

Captain: “You say this man called you a hippopotamus four weeks ago. Why report it now?”

Sergeant: “Because I only seen a hipperpotamus for the first time yesterday, sir!”

READY FOR ANY SNAKE

“This is no time to talk peace,” declared Representative Thomas Heflin, of Alabama. “Rather it is the time to keep on preparing. Germany dragged us into this war against our will, and now that we are in it we have to go through with it. We can win this war in a year beyond doubt, but we have got to keep going. The United States is in pretty good shape now, and there is no reason why we should talk peace.

“There was an old fellow down in north Alabama and out in the mountains; he kept his jug in the hole of a log. He would go down at sundown to take a swig of mountain dew—mountain dew that had never been humiliated by a revenue officer nor insulted by a green stamp. He drank that liquid concoction that came fresh from the heart of the corn, and he glowed. One evening while he was letting the good liquor trickle down his throat he felt something touch his foot. He looked down and saw a big rattlesnake coiled ready to strike.

“The old fellow took another swig of the corn, and in defiance he swept that snake with his eyes.

“‘Strike, dern you, strike; you will never find me better prepared.’

“That’s the way I feel about the present situation.”

DID HE GET HER MEANING?

“If you refuse to marry me I’ll enlist.”

“What a pity you did not ask me four years ago.”

IT’S THE SHELLS

Waiter—“Yes, sir; omelets has gone up on account of the war.”

Diner—“Great Scott! Are they throwing eggs at each other now?”

OFFENSIVE PREPARATIONS

German General—“Have our brave troops been informed that we shall be in Paris in four days?”

Subordinate—“Yes, General.”

“They understand that the Great War was forced upon us?”

“Perfectly, General.”

“They have been told that the Americans always kill our machine gunners if they surrender?”

“That is well understood, General.”

“They have been instructed that the few Americans opposed to us are cowardly and inexperienced?”

“Hand-bills announcing that fact are passed around each evening.”

“Then let the offensive begin.”

GETTING BACK AT HEINE

A German sergeant on the staff of a prison hospital in Germany, where a number of captured English officers were being treated, became quite friendly with the prisoners under his care. One day he told them that he had been ordered to active service on the Somme front. He felt convinced that he would be captured by the English, and asked the English officers if they would not give him some sort of testimonial which he could show if he were taken prisoner, so he would not be ill-treated.

The English officers were much amused at this idea, and concocted a note of introduction, written in English. The German sergeant knew no English and could not understand his testimonial, but he tucked it in his pocket, well satisfied.

In due time he was sent to the Somme front, and was captured by the “women from hell,” as the Germans call the Scotch kilties. He at once presented his note of introduction, and his captors laughed heartily when they read:

“This is L——. He is not a bad sort of chap. Don’t shoot him; torture him slowly to death.”

ZOOLOGICAL MONSTROSITY

When certain soldiers from the antipodes were in New York a little while ago, a woman was heard to say to another:

“There goes one of them Australians.”

“How do you know?”

“You can tell by the Kangaroo feathers in his hat.”

NOT WANTED ANYWHERE

“This can’t be hell—there are no Germans here.”

“Yes, it is; but the regular people put up such a kick, we built an annex for them.”—_Life._

THERE WAS A PAIR OF THEM

A private of a well-known regiment, who was always wanting leave on some excuse or other, applied at the orderly room and asked his commanding officer if he might have a few days’ leave, as his wife was ill and had sent him a letter asking him to come at once.

But his commanding officer, getting tired of his always wanting leave, said: “This is strange, Private Cheek, as only this morning I received a letter from your wife, saying she did not want you to see her any more, so hoped I would not grant you leave.”

Private Cheek—“Then I suppose I can’t have leave, sir?”

Commanding Officer—“No, you cannot.”

Private Cheek (turns as he gets to the door)—“Sir, may I compliment you?”

Commanding Officer—“Yes, certainly; on what?”

Private Cheek—“In having two such lovely liars in the regiment, because I’m not married at all.”

NOT AS INTENDED

Queen Mary sent a beautiful bouquet that had been presented to her to a soldiers’ hospital. To show their appreciation, the inmates commissioned one of their number to stand at the hospital gate the following morning, holding the gift, when the queen passed. He did so—with rather unexpected results. Queen Mary, seated in her car, saw the soldier standing there, bouquet in hand, and assuming that he wished to present it to her, she reached out and took it. After she had thanked him, her car passed on.

The soldier stood quite dumfounded—then recovering his speech, he said: “Well, she’s pinched ’em.”

CHEERING NEWS

War Correspondent in France—“My editor seems very disappointed; what news can I send to cheer him up?”

Soldier—“Write and tell him you’ve been killed in action.”

WHY THIS DELAY?

Ensign Paul Perez, formerly well known to the screen, is back from another trip to Europe with a brand new seasick story. An amateur navigator making his first trip across is the victim and the first day out he was in the throes of the mal-est mal de mer extant when the ship surgeon visited him in his stateroom.

“What’s the matter?” was the latter’s callous query.

“O-o-oh,” was the only response as the young navy man rolled over in agony.

“Come, get up,” derided the surgeon, grinning unfeelingly. “The ship’s been submarined and will sink in ten minutes.”

“Ten minutes?” the sick man protested feebly. “Can’t you make it any sooner?”

PERHAPS YOU HAVE WONDERED

A doughboy is an American soldier, and American soldiers, infantrymen, artillerymen, medical department, signal corps sharps, officers and men alike, all are called doughboys. Our cartoonist is one, so is General Pershing.

The term “doughboys” dates back to the Civil War when army wit was aroused by large globular brass buttons on infantry uniforms. Somebody (he must have been a sailor) dubbed the buttons “doughboys” because they reminded him of the boiled dumplings of raised dough served in ships’ messes and known to all sailors as doughboys. Originally it referred only to an enlisted infantryman, but the A. E. F. applies it to all branches and all grades of the service.—_The Stars and Stripes._

NO CREEDS IN WARTIME

A strict Baptist mother visited her son in one of the cantonments on a recent Sunday. She was deeply solicitous that her boy should receive proper religious instruction.

“Is there a Baptist preacher in camp?” asked the mother. The son did not know, but he would inquire. Yes, one was to hold a service that afternoon and give an address in a Y. M. C. A. hut. The two went and heard an inspiring address on how Christ is always the comrade of all men who fight for righteousness, even when they are not conscious of his presence.

The mother was delighted and after the service told the preacher how happy she was that her son could hear such good Baptist doctrine.

“But, madam,” said the speaker, “I am not a Baptist; I am an Episcopalian.”

Thus are all denominational lines being battered down in the camps.

BUT IT’S MEN WHO PAY THEM

“It is remarkable that so many women should be working.”

“Women have always worked,” replied Miss Cayenne. “The principal difference just now is that they are working away from home and getting paid for it.”

ACQUIRING WIFELY ARTS

Harold, the only son of a wealthy widowed mother, was drafted, and duly arrived at the camp where he was to receive instruction in the manly art of warfare. Imagine his surprise and chagrin when he was detailed to what is known as K. P. duty (“Kitchen police” duty). In this he became quite proficient, however, as one of his letters shows:

“Dear Mother:—I put in this entire Christmas day washing dishes, sweeping floors, making beds and peeling potatoes. When I get home from this camp I’ll make some girl a mighty fine wife!”

THE NERVE OF THE COOK

One mess in the British front line was the envied of all the neighborhood units because it enjoyed fresh vegetables every day. The cook was often asked about it. “We get them from a garden near by,” he always said. At last the supply ceased. The mess soon asked why. “We’ve had all there were,” said the cook, “except a few that were right on the edge of the Boche trench.” Then it turned out that he had gone out every night into “No Man’s Land” and gathered green vegetables from a garden which ran right down to the German front line.

FOOD WILL WIN THE WAR

Sandy and Pat were discussing the war economies of their respective landladies.

“Indade,” said Pat, “the other day Oi saw that wumman O’Grady countin’ the paes to put in the broth.”

“Och,” replied Sandy, “where I am the landlady melts the margarine an’ paints it on yer bread wi’ a brush!”

GIVING THEM A SEND-OFF

He was a wounded soldier who was traveling in a train. At a point on the line where it ran parallel with the road he saw a brand-new territorial battalion marching up to the front. He stuck his bandaged head out of the door and yelled, “Are you dahn-hearted?” The Terriers, from the colonel to the smallest drummer, shouted, “No-o-oh!” The wounded man replied: “Well, you d—d soon will be when you get in those trenches.”

DON’T BELIEVE ALL YOU HEAR

Private A—“Some funny things hev happened in this war. I heard of a bloke the other day who lost his right hand and didn’t know it till he tried to take a package of fags out of his pocket!”

Private B—“That’s not so bad; but I heard of a bloke who got his head shot off and didn’t know it till he tried to scratch it!”

YOU’VE SEEN THEM

Dasher—“I don’t believe the war-films we saw last night were taken at the front.”

Mrs. Dasher—“Of course they were; didn’t you notice the bullet-holes at the end of each reel?”—_Puck._

PLACING THE BLAME

A sergeant and a private were out sniping. The private was troubled with a cold, and was continually sneezing, which rather annoyed and put the sergeant’s shots off their mark.

“Confound you, Coldhead,” yelled the enraged sergeant at last, “you made me miss again.”

“Well, I didn’t do nothing, sergeant,” exclaimed the private, amazed.

“Yes, you did. It was your blinkin’ sneeze.”

“I didn’t sneeze,” again protested the private.

“Of course you didn’t,” roared the sergeant. “It’s the first bloomin’ time you’ve missed, and—I allowed for it, you chump!”

PROOF POSITIVE

A “Jack Johnson” had exploded with a deafening roar, and Murphy, wiping his eyes clear of mud with his respirator, looked round to see Clancy, his chum, lying very still.

“Spake to me, Terence!” he whispered. “Are ye alive or dead?”

“Dead!” faintly murmured Clancy.

“What a liar the man is!” soliloquized Murphy, much relieved.

Then Clancy sat up.

“Ye know I must be dead, Murphy,” he said, “or it isn’t the likes of you would be calling me a liar!”

CARBOLIC STARTED THIS

J. F. Hartz, of Detroit, the dean of the American Surgical Trade Association, said at the fiftieth annual convention in New York:

“The war has kited the price of carbolic acid up to $1.65 a pound—it sold before the war at 9 cents a pound. The hospitals that use carbolic now have to be as economical and sparing as old Josh Lee.

“Old Josh Lee was a miser, and he breakfasted every morning on oatmeal. To save fuel, he cooked his week’s supply of oatmeal on Sundays. This supply, by the time Saturday came round, was pretty stiff and tough and hard to down.

“One Saturday morning old Josh found his oatmeal particularly unappetizing. It had a crust on it like iron. He took a mouthful of the cold, stiff mixture—then he half rose, thinking he’d have to cook himself some eggs.

“But he hated to give in. He hated to waste that oatmeal. So he took out the whisky-bottle, poured a generous glass, and setting it before his plate, he said:

“‘Now, Josh, if you eat that oatmeal you’ll get this whisky; and if you don’t, you won’t.’

“The oatmeal was hard to consume, but Josh, with his eye on the whisky, managed it. Then, when the last spoonful was gone, he grinned broadly, poured the whisky back into the bottle again, and said:

“‘Josh, my son, I fooled you that time, you old idiot!’”

BY JOVE, QUITE RIPPING

Everybody who has been in Epsom has seen the big gates on which are perched two stone dogs. An American officer saw them recently for the first time.

He approached a native with a joke on his lips, expecting to see it fall flat, as he had been taught would be the case. “When do they feed these dogs?” he asked.

“When they bark,” said the Epsomite, and now this particular American is more of an admirer of Englishmen than ever.

FROM SANTA CLAUS IN WASHINGTON

At one stage of the war Uncle Sam’s steamers crossing the Atlantic had enormous stars and stripes painted on both sides of their hulls, bow and stern, and between these flags the space was occupied by the ship’s name. At night brilliant lights illuminated the whole gaudy color scheme. A steamer so decorated was signaled by a British cruiser, “What ship is that?” The reply came: “United States mail steamer So-and-So.” Said the cruiser: “Thanks. Thought you were a Christmas tree out of season.”—London _Opinion_.

THIS BEATS ALL

A young French officer, speaking of bravery on the field of battle, tells this story on himself: “I was in front of my section at night, when suddenly, about ten feet away, I saw a line of enemy riflemen. I told my men to lie down. Then I looked closely, and very clearly made out moving helmets. With my men behind me we all suddenly arose and charged. I went ahead and, revolver in hand, I threw myself forward, shouting in German with all my strength: ‘Surrender! You are prisoners!’ only to find that we had charged several rows of beet stalks with their heads nodding in the wind.”

PAT WAS STRINGING HIM

“Well, Pat, my good man, what did you do?” inquired a patronizing stranger of the Irishman back in London on leave, with his arm in a sling.

The stranger’s air annoyed Pat, who blandly said:

“Faith, an’ I walked up to one of them an’ cut off his feet.”

“Cut off his feet! Why not his head?”

“Sure, an’ that was already cut off.”

ANOTHER HUN ATROCITY

An officer recently on leave brought home and gave to a lady a bottle of eau de cologne found in a German colonel’s dugout.

She was at a dinner party shortly afterwards, exhibited it, and she and other ladies dabbed their faces with the perfume.

The room became very warm, and soon they were horrified by the appearance of black stains on their features.

The stuff was a hair dye, which only developed its color when heated. The worst of it was the stains did not disappear for some days.

KNEW HIM WELL

First Tommy—“Here’s a nice letter for a fellow to receive! The scoundrel who wrote it calls me a blithering idiot.”

Second Tommy—“What’s his name?”

First Tommy—“That’s just what I’d like to find out; but there’s no signature.”

Second Tommy—“Don’t you recognize the writing? It must be somebody who knows you.”

ENOUGH TO MAKE A KING LAUGH

A gallant British officer, granted leave, went to London to get married, and upon his arrival was very much astonished to receive a summons from the King to an “audience” at five o’clock in the afternoon. He was married at four o’clock, and so, after the ceremony, he drove to Buckingham Palace, and said to his bride: “Now, if you will wait in the carriage I won’t be more than half an hour. These audiences are always very perfunctory and brief.”

When he was received by the King he found, however, that he was quite alone, was received most informally, and that His Majesty was very keen to know of the officer’s exploits and movements at the front. Then, before the officer was aware how time had flown, His Majesty said: “We have dinner in half an hour and of course you will stay. The ladies will want to hear your story.”

The officer had not the courage to tell the King that his bride of an hour had already been waiting in the carriage for three hours, and so, finding no chance to send word out to her, he remained for dinner. The dinner was very leisurely served, there was much talk about the front, and it was after ten o’clock when the party broke up. The officer was on edge to leave, when the King said: “You will be shown to your room, and tomorrow morning I shall have something to give you.”

The officer thanked him, and, as he was going to his room, he called one of the equerries of the household to him and confided to him his dilemma. Within five minutes there was a knock at the officer’s door, and when he opened it the King stood there fairly convulsed with laughter. “My dear chap,” said the King, “why didn’t you tell me? Of course it was hard on you and your lady, but really this is the best joke I’ve heard for a long time.”

The bride was found, brought in, and under the King’s and Queen’s graciousness any feelings toward her new husband and his hosts which she may have had in her carriage wait of six hours melted away; and the happy bridal couple spent their marriage night at Buckingham Palace.

TOO SLEEPY TO BE SCARED

All Paris is laughing over the sangfroid of a young married midinette on the occasion of an air raid on Paris.

The heroine resides on the top story of a large apartment house, and when the warning was given was sound asleep.

The concierge, finding that she did not descend to the underground shelter, raced upstairs and banged at the door.

After repeated hammerings he woke the lady up, and called to her to immediately descend to the basement as a raid was on and she was in great danger on the top floor.

The reply he got was:

“Go away and let me sleep. My husband is in the trenches. Do you think he gets into a dugout every time a shell falls? Why should I, therefore, be frightened of an air raid?”

SHE UNDERSTOOD WOMEN

He wanted to buy a Christmas present for his girl back home, so that she could show it to all the other girls, and destroy their peace of mind because it had come from France. He knew just what he wanted, too, but every time he thought of going into the shop and trying to ask in French for the thing he wanted he got red behind the ears. He had gone over the top in the past, unafraid, but he couldn’t do this.

At last, when his leave was up, he went into the canteen and asked the Y. M. C. A. woman there to make the purchase for him. He gave her the address and hoped it wouldn’t be too much trouble to send the package.

“Of course it wouldn’t,” said the Y. M. C. A. woman, who buys dozens of such gifts each week. “I’ll enjoy it. I’ll see that the package goes all right, and, if you like, I’ll write her a little note, too, telling her how well you’re looking.”

“That will be nice,” said the private. He counted out the money, a generous amount. Still he lingered, and it was evident that he had something else on his mind.

“Anything else I can do for you?” asked the woman.

“It’s like this,” began the private, hesitatingly. He stopped, swallowed, and started all over again. “Please be careful what you say in that note, won’t you, ma’am? You see—my girl—she’s funny about some things—she might think—well, you know how women are!” finished the private wisely.

“I’ll tell you what,” said the American woman. “I’ll tell her I enjoyed meeting you because I have a son in the army myself. Will that do?”

“That will be fine,” said the private heartily. “I wouldn’t have mentioned it, only you know how women are.” He smiled at her understandingly, saluted, turned and went out.

WELL, THAT WAS HIS COMPANY

First Officer—“What was the joke about Lieutenant Footle?”

Second Officer—“Why, the Major’s wife said she’d be glad of his company at her house on Wednesday, and the silly ass took all his men along.”

SPOIL OF WAR

The proudest Yankee in the whole advancing army that entered Saint Mihiel was the driver of a motor truck who, when he came within five miles of the town, discovered a little girl, four years old, with a doll in her arms, sitting by the road, crying. The American immediately stopped the truck, gathered the little one in with her doll, put her on the seat of honor at his left, and thus drove into the town, to the joy of the Yankee soldiers when they discovered her. No one has claimed the little one and she is still the mascot of the company, as happy as a lark and, of course, literally spoiled to death by the worshiping soldiers, who give her so many sweets that the poor little one is sick about once a week. Then the boys take her to the base hospital and, after a day, she is back again as well as ever.

CHEERFUL NEWS FROM ‘OVER THERE’

It’s a shame to do it, but public safety impels us to expose the sergeant who is palming off his Mexican border service ribbon as an American croix de guerre, thereby raising his own holdings of “amourique Amerique” stock in the eyes of petite Madélon.

Even so, sleeping on the rocks has its advantages, for in the rosy days of the future when friend wife turns the lock on our late nocturnal home-coming, we can curl up on the front porch with sleepful abandon.

And when we are in the parlor with our best girl telling her of the great rôle we played in the world-safe-for-democracy drama, we’ll not mind it a bit if the passing guard orders, “Camouflage those lights!”

So many Yanks are over here now that there is scarcely room to house them, thereby creating the necessity of extending the eastern frontier of this domain of Foch, Pershing, et al.

To our exchange desk has recently come a copy of the _Kriegszeitung_, the official organ of the Seventh German Army. The most we can say for the sheet is that it is Boche and bosh.

What gets us guessing is how this daylight-saving plan works out in the land of Eskimos, but we suppose all they have to do is to get up six months earlier each morning.

Elsie Janis danced so gracefully that, after she had alighted from a perfectly stunning flip-flop, a doughboy in the third row was heard to remark: “Just like a wheelbarrow I saw in the air after a high explosive hit near it.”

Our staff correspondent who made the trip to Paris is recovering from a rather severe headache.

Cursed be the mule whose braying is like unto the whistling of a shell.—_The Ohio Rainbow Reveille_, Official Organ, 166th Infantry, Somewhere in France.

HE KNEW WHAT TO USE

A sergeant standing at a window in the barracks saw a private pass in full-dress uniform, with a bucket in his hand in the act of fetching water from the pump.

Sergeant—“Where are you going?”

Private—“To fetch some water, sir.”

Sergeant—“Not in those trousers, surely?”

Private—“No, sir; in the bucket.”

THEY CAN’T WORK THIS ANY MORE

A manufacturer in Switzerland who had been in the habit of purchasing many of his supplies in Germany before the war recently met a German commercial traveler with whom he had been accustomed to trade. The man smilingly offered his wares, but he was met with a peremptory refusal.

“Is it because I am a German that you refuse to give me an order?”

“Certainly,” said the Swiss.

“Have you had reason to complain of the way I have executed your orders in the past? You have not, have you? Very well, then, if you are friendly to France that is no reason why you should go against your own interests. You know very well that the goods you get of me will cost you at least twice as much if you buy them of French makers.”

“I know that, but I will make a sacrifice.”

The Boche traveler was not discouraged. “You are making a mistake,” he remarked. “If you do business with us I will give you what no one in France can give you.”

“Very likely.”

“You have no doubt relatives who are French soldiers.”

“Certainly.”

“Listen to me,” said the Boche, interrupting him. “There is, perhaps, one who has the misfortune to be a prisoner in our country. Give me your usual order, tell me the name of the prisoner, one, no more, and I swear to you that I will secure his release as permanently disabled.”

The salesman was asked to repeat his offer. He did so, and the merchant said: “Very well; I will try you to see whether you keep your word.”

“Try me and see,” answered the German.

The manufacturer gave the order so ardently desired, and furnished the traveler with the name and address of one of his nephews who was a prisoner in Prussia. A week later the nephew arrived in Switzerland, with a number of prisoners who were totally disabled, astounded at his liberty, because he was perfectly well!—_Ladies’ Home Journal._

IMPORTANT INFORMATION WANTED

Officer—“Now, Private Jenkins, I am going to give you a very responsible job. Under our advanced trench is a large mine. I want you to stay there, and when the mine goes up I want you to blow this whistle. Now, do you clearly understand?”

Private Jenkins—“Well, there’s one thing I’m not certain of, sir. When do I blow the whistle—going up or coming down?”

THAT WAS THE HYMN NUMBER

A soldier got mixed recently. He tells about it in a letter home: “They put me in barracks; they took away my clothes and put me in khaki; they took away my name and made me ‘No. 575;’ they took me to church, where I’d never been before, and they made me listen to a sermon for forty minutes. Then the parson said: ‘No. 575, art thou weary, art thou languid?’ and I got seven days in the guardhouse because I answered that I certainly was.”

TEMPORARY

Miranda’s dropt her fancy-work and sailed across the Straits
As a temporary “lady of the lamp;”
And Jane’s abandoned portraiture to wash the cups and plates
Of the Tommies in a temporary camp;
And Ethel—nervy Ethel!—is a motor-driving Waac,
And fairly saved her special Brigadier
The day that Fritz got busy and our line came surging back
In a temporary movement to the rear.

A temporary Major they’ve contrived to make of Bob
(He was always pretty hefty at his drill),
While the rank of air-mechanic—and he hustles at his job—
Is the temporary perquisite of Bill;
Old Joseph drives a tractor most surprising true and straight
(He’s sixty, but a temporary sport),
While Augustus sails the ocean as a temporary mate
When he isn’t in a temporary port.

There’s a temporary shortage of the things we eat and wear,
And the temporary pleadings of the Tank,
Plus the temporary taxes that we’re called upon to bear,
Lead to temporary trouble at the bank;
The only things that haven’t changed since Wilhelm butted in
To show how Armageddon should be run
Are the views of Thomas Atkins as to who is going to win,
And his personal opinion of the Hun.
—_Punch._

BOOZE FIGHTERS

An inquisitive old lady asked a royal defense corps veteran what the letters “R. D. C.” meant.

“Reformed Drunkards’ Corps, ma’am,” he replied solemnly.

“Dear me,” she murmured, “what miracles those recruiting sergeants do perform!”

VERY PROPER ANSWER

A retired army officer tells of an army examiner who had before him a very dull candidate. The man proving, apparently, unable to make response to the most simple questions, the examiner finally grew impatient and, quite sarcastically, put this question:

“Let it be supposed that you are a captain in command of infantry. In your rear is an impassable abyss. On both sides of you there rise perpendicular rocks of tremendous height. In front of you lies the enemy, outnumbering you ten to one. What, sir, in such an emergency, would you do?”

“I think, sir,” said the aspirant for military distinction, “I would resign.”

WHAT DISCOURAGED HIM

A sergeant was trying to drill a lot of raw recruits, and after working hard for three hours he thought they seemed to be getting into some sort of shape, so decided to test them.

“Right turn!” he cried. Then, before they had ceased to move, came another order, “Left turn!”

One hoodlum left the ranks and started off toward the barracks-room.

“Here, you!” yelled the angry sergeant. “Where are you going?”

“I’ve had enough,” replied the recruit in a disgusted tone. “You don’t know your own mind for two minutes runnin’!”

GOING SOMEWHERE

A colored soldier on the fighting front got a two days’ leave shortly after the signing of the armistice, and immediately prepared to make a date in the French capital. When leaving the front, however, he got held up by a French sentry, who was unable to understand Sam’s explanations. Sam accordingly talked louder and louder, shaking his fist at the Frenchman, who threatened to shoot if Sam proceeded. Finally Sam said: “Looka here, boss, I got a mother in heaven, a father in the other place, and a sweetheart in Paris, and I’m agoin’ to see one of ’em tonight.”

OUTRANKED IN THE KITCHEN

The son of the well-to-do family had recently joined up as a private, and was spending his Christmas leave at home.

Returning from a walk, his mother espied a figure in the kitchen with the housemaid.

“Clarence,” she called to her son, “Mary’s got someone in the kitchen. She knows perfectly well that I don’t allow followers. I wish you’d go and tell the man to leave the house at once.”

Clarence duly departed to the kitchen, but returned in about half a minute.

“Sorry, mother, but I can’t turn him out.”

“Can’t turn him out? Why on earth not?”

“He’s my sergeant!”

SURPRISE FOR THE GERMANS

It was during the nerve racking period of waiting for the signal to attack that a seasoned old sergeant noticed a young soldier fresh from home visibly affected by the nearness of the coming fight. His face was pale, his teeth chattered, and his knees tried to touch each other. It was sheer nervousness, but the sergeant thought it was sheer funk.

“Tompkins,” he said, “is it trembling you are for your skin?”

“No, no, sergeant,” said he, making a brave attempt to still his limbs. “I’m trembling for the Germans—they don’t know I’m here.”

NO LEAD PIPE CINCH

“Conscription has, maybe, saved the country,” growled the soldier, “but what I object to is the company it drives a man into. I’m a plumber by trade, an honest workman, yet I’m compelled to suffer the society of such professionals as a lawyer, a minister, and an auctioneer.”

“Not a bad selection, Jock,” remarked his friend.

“O, maybe no in a way; but when the minister and the lawyer start an argument on Egyptian law in the middle o’ the nicht across half a dozen beds, wi’ the blessed auctioneer as umpire, what chance has even a plumber of stopping the gas leak?”

SERVED HIM RIGHT!

A professor at Princeton who has taken much interest in the woman suffrage movement was persuaded to carry a banner in a wartime parade held in Washington.

His wife observed him marching with a dejected air and carrying his banner so that it hung limply on its standard, and later she reproved him for not making a better appearance.

“Why didn’t you march like somebody, and let the people see your banner?” she asked.

“Dearie,” sighed the professor, “did you see what was on that banner? It read, ‘Any man can vote. Why can’t I?’”

QUITE A CONTRAST

It’s all a matter of comparison, according to H. T. Webster, the cartoonist, who told the following as proof at a race meeting of the Salmagundi Club:

“Shrapnel shrieked all about. Bombs dropped from the sky, and every so often a big German shell burst overhead. Suddenly one Yank burst into a fit of laughter.

“‘S’matter, Buddy?’ his mate asks, fearing that he had suddenly gone insane.

“‘I was thinkin’, Bill,’ replied the other between chuckles, ‘of the runt that held me up one night in Memphis with a 22-caliber revolver.’”

AND HOLDING IT YET

Gen. Von Spew sat in his room and studied the map. Then he rang the bell at his elbow. In came Dunderkopf, his aide-de-camp.

“Dunderkopf, glance over this map. Do you see this hill?”

“I do, Excellency.”

“That hill must be captured. Attend to the matter and let me know when it is done.”

Twenty minutes passed and there was a knock at the door. Dunderkopf strode in, clicked his heels together and saluted.

“I have the honor to announce, Excellency, that the hill has been captured.”

“Already captured! Fine, my son, fine! Who occupies it?”

“The Americans, Excellency.”

FOOLING THE COOTIES

I wrote to my brother in France, who had been in action, asking if he had acquired “cooties.” His reply came back, “Yes, indeed, I had cooties. One is not a regular soldier until he does have them, but I got rid of mine in this fashion: I sprinkled my clothes all over with salt, then laid them down on a river bank. The cooties became very thirsty and got off the clothes to get a drink, then I pulled them away quickly. Nine-tenths of the cooties died from mortification and the other tenth from lonesomeness.”

THIS IS A MAN

Edith Wharton, at her flat in Paris, told a war story.

“The American wounded were being brought in from the Marne battlefield,” she said, “and a fussy American woman in a khaki uniform and Sam Browne belt bent over a stretcher and said:

“‘Is this case an officer or only a man?’

“The brawny corporal who stood beside the stretcher gave a grim laugh and said:

“‘Well, lady, he ain’t no officer, but he’s been hit twice in the innards, both legs is busted, he’s got bullets in both arms and we dropped him three times without his lettin’ out a squawk, so I guess we can call him a man.’”

WANTED SOMETHING STATIONARY

On an American transport two days out from New York:

First Sambo, who is really enjoying the sea, to his dark companion, who has gone below: “Nigger! Come on up! We’re passing a ship!”

Voice from below: “I don’t want to see no ship. You jes’ call me when we’re passing a tree!”

YET THEY FOUGHT NOBLY

Two negroes were discussing the possibilities of being drafted.

“’Tain’t gwine do ’em any good to pick on me,” said Sam. “Ah certainly ain’t gwine do any fightin’. Ah ain’t lost nothin’ oveh in France. Ah ain’t got any quarrel with a-n-ybody, and dey kain’t make me fight.”

The other pondered over this statement for a moment. “Yo right,” he said at length; “Uncle Sam kain’t make you fight. But he can take you where de fightin’ is, and after that you kin use you’ own judgment.”

PHYSICAL IMPOSSIBILITY

During the fighting on the Aisne front one American company pushed out far ahead and lost touch with the neighboring companies on either side. Their zeal in chasing the Germans was leading them into danger of being enfiladed by machine gun fire from the flanks. A major stormed up to the captain.

“Why the hell don’t you hold your men back?” he yelled.

“How the hell can I told ’em back when the whole German army can’t?”

THE QUICKER THE SOONER

“Goodness!” gasped the sergeant of the guard, sticking his head out of the window, “what is the man playing at?”

Private Murphy, who was on sentry go, was running as hard as he could from end to end of his beat.

“Hi, Mike!” yelled the noncom, “what’s the trouble?”

“Sure, an’ there’s no trouble at all, at all,” replied Murphy, panting as he paused in his scurry.

“Then what are you running for?”

“Well, ain’t I on duty here for two hours? I’m only trying to get me two hours done quick!”

TRANSPORTS OF JOY

“Were you happy when you started for France?”

“Happy? We were in transports.”

WHERE HE IS EXPERT

“So you’ve joined the Army, Mose?”

“Yes, sah.”

“What branch of the service are you in?”

“Well, sah. Ah’s in de infantry, but when we get t’ France Ah’se done asked de captain to put me on dat night-raid wo’k. Gittin’ into de odder fellow’s backyard durin’ de night hours is a job dat ah considers mahs’l particularly experienced at.”

NO MULES IN THE AIR

American Soldier: “So you are in the aviation corps. I thought you enlisted in the cavalry?”

Gentleman of Color: “Ah dun change.”

American Soldier: “What was the reason?”

Gentleman of Color: “Wal, suh, for one thing, an aeroplane, after it throws yo’ out, very seldom walks over an’ bites yo’.”

DEAR LITTLE BOY

He was probably the smallest “middy” in the navy, and one evening he was invited to attend a party in the saloon. He was such a little chap that the ladies had no idea that he was a midshipman at all, but took him for somebody’s “dear little boy” in a Royal Navy all-wool serge. At last one of them, on whose lap he had been sitting, and who had just kissed him, asked:

“And how old are you, little dear?”

“Twenty-two,” he said, in a voice like a foghorn. Then the lady swooned.

THEN SHE HAD THEM PRESSED

A seasoned sergeant major recently was horrified to see a pair of shamelessly baggy trousers appear at the top of the window in the orderly room at a London depot. He shouted out what he thought, as they descended the ladder, and the face of a woman window cleaner only completed his discomfiture.

UNUSUAL OFFICER

An Australian soldier had overstayed his leave. He knew his Commanding Officer was fed up with hard-luck excuses, so wired:

“Not sick, nobody dead, got plenty of money, having a good time. Please wire two days’ extension.”

He got three.

NOT SERIOUSLY DAMAGED

Lieut. John Philip Sousa, while organizing military bands for the navy, was talking to a correspondent about the submarine danger.

“A friend of mine, a cornet virtuoso,” he said, “was submarined in the Mediterranean. The English paper that reported the affair worded it thus:

“‘The famous cornetist, Mr. Hornblower, though submarined by the Germans in the Mediterranean, was able to appear at Marseilles the following evening in four pieces.’”

ORDERS, BUT NO SALES

“And what were you in civilian life?” asked the captain.

“I was a traveling salesman, sir,” replied the recruit.

“That’s all right, then. You’ll get plenty of orders around here.”

THOSE FOOL QUESTIONS

“Have you been to France?”

“Yes. Came back last week.”

“Now, I wonder if you saw anything of that young nephew of mine out there—Smith is his name?”

PROUD OF THEIR SOLDIERS

“Our Joe’s joined the army,” announced Mary Brown, proudly, “an’ ’e’s gettin’ on fine wiv ’is drill. In fac’, when ’is regiment passed ’ere the other day hevery one wot was in it was out of step ’cep’ ’im.”

“O, that’s nuffin,” retorted Tommy Johnson.

“When our ’Arry went to the front the captain ’e shouted: ‘Is Private ’Arry Johnson in the ranks?’ ‘Yes,’ sez somebody. ’Then let the war begin,’ sez he.”

NOT FLATTERING HIM ANY

First Soldier (looking at portraits of himself)—Which do you think is the best, Mike?

Second Soldier—Well, personally I think the one of you in the gas mask is the best.

ONLY KIND HE KNEW

“I’ve just had some good news,” said Bearnstean, upon meeting his friend Mr. Abrahams. “My son Solly has got a commission in the Army.”

“Go on,” replied Abrahams, rubbing his hands; “how much?”

NOT HIS KIND OF JEWELRY

Tommy: “Look ’ere, Jack, now you’re for Blighty, why don’t you make up to Kitty? Go in and win, mate! Upon my life she’s a regular pearl!”

Jack: “That may be, but I can’t stand the mother of pearl.”

MORE DANGEROUS, ALSO

Corp—Can you think of anything more unmilitary than putting your hands in your pockets?

Sarg—Sure! Putting your hands in somebody else’s pockets.

SAME IN ALL LANGUAGES

Jack Tar: “How do you manage to get on so well with the French girls when you can’t speak their lingo?”

Soldier: “I’m surprised you’re so slow. Can’t you kiss a girl without a dictionary?”

SHE KNEW JIM

A soldier at the front got short of money, so he sent home the following letter:

“Dear Mary—We lost a trench this morning, and we must replace it at any cost, so will you please send me $25 at once.”

Sad to say he had a wily wife, who sent the following reply:

“Dear Jim—Sorry, I have not $25 toward replacing the lost trench, but I enclose two candles to help you look for it.”

THEN HE GOT THIRTY DAYS K. P.