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!”
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 cookedhis 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!’”
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 nowthis particular American is more of an admirer of Englishmen than ever.
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.”—LondonOpinion.
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.”
“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.”
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.
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.”
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 wason 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.
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?”
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.
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.”
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, witha 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.
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 thenecessity of extending the eastern frontier of this domain of Foch, Pershing, et al.
To our exchange desk has recently come a copy of theKriegszeitung, 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.
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.”
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.
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?”
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 awaymy 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.”
Miranda’s dropt her fancy-work and sailed across the StraitsAs a temporary “lady of the lamp;”And Jane’s abandoned portraiture to wash the cups and platesOf the Tommies in a temporary camp;And Ethel—nervy Ethel!—is a motor-driving Waac,And fairly saved her special BrigadierThe day that Fritz got busy and our line came surging backIn 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 mateWhen 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 inTo show how Armageddon should be runAre the views of Thomas Atkins as to who is going to win,And his personal opinion of the Hun.—Punch.
Miranda’s dropt her fancy-work and sailed across the StraitsAs a temporary “lady of the lamp;”And Jane’s abandoned portraiture to wash the cups and platesOf the Tommies in a temporary camp;And Ethel—nervy Ethel!—is a motor-driving Waac,And fairly saved her special BrigadierThe day that Fritz got busy and our line came surging backIn 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 mateWhen 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 inTo show how Armageddon should be runAre the views of Thomas Atkins as to who is going to win,And his personal opinion of the Hun.—Punch.
Miranda’s dropt her fancy-work and sailed across the StraitsAs a temporary “lady of the lamp;”And Jane’s abandoned portraiture to wash the cups and platesOf the Tommies in a temporary camp;And Ethel—nervy Ethel!—is a motor-driving Waac,And fairly saved her special BrigadierThe day that Fritz got busy and our line came surging backIn a temporary movement to the rear.
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 mateWhen he isn’t in a temporary port.
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 inTo show how Armageddon should be runAre the views of Thomas Atkins as to who is going to win,And his personal opinion of the Hun.—Punch.
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.
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!”
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 impassableabyss. 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.”
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’!”
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 accordinglytalked 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.”
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!”
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 totouch 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.”
“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?”
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 limplyon 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?’”
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.’”
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.”
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.”
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.’”
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!”
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 Samkain’t make you fight. But he can take you where de fightin’ is, and after that you kin use you’ own judgment.”
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?”
“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!”
“Were you happy when you started for France?”
“Happy? We were in transports.”
“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.”
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’.”
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.
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.
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.
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.’”
“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.”
“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?”
“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.”
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.
“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?”
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.”
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.
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?”
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.”
The colonel had ridden his horse to town in the afternoon, and it was dark when he returned to camp. Some distance outside the guard line he was challenged by a voice from the darkness:
“Halt! Who goes there?”
“Colonel,” he answered.
“Dismount, colonel. Advance and be recognized.”
He was certain that there was some mistake, for no guard was supposed to be posted there. But asentry’s orders are not to be disobeyed, so he grumblingly dismounted and led his horse forward, inwardly vowing vengeance against the sergeant of the guard who had caused him all this trouble.
As he approached the sentry he burst out wrathfully:
“Who in thunder posted you here?”
“No one, sir. I’m just practicing.”
Doris: “Was your C. O. pleased, Algy, when you told him my idea for beating the Germans on the Western Front?”
Algy: “Pleased! I should jolly well think he was. Why, he laughed for hours!”
Two rookies were indulging in the soldier’s privilege—growling about his station and how the soldier gets stung for everything.
“I ordered a chicken dinner at a cafe downtown and they charged me a dollar and six bits,” Bone was saying.
A newsie overheard him. “Say, mister,” he said, “I know where you can get a chicken dinner for two bits. A good big one, too.”
The soldiers looked skeptical, but the newsie insisted that he was telling the truth. Finally the soldier who had been stung asked him where this placewas located. The newsie mentioned an address on one of the side streets of San Antonio.
A few days later the two soldiers went to the city and determined to visit the cheap restaurant. They found the address. It was a feed store.
Moses and Aaron were partners in business when Aaron was called up and had to go to camp. About a month after Aaron had departed he received a telegram from Moses. The telegram read:
“Business burned out. Got $10,000 insurance. What shall I do?”
Aaron immediately wired back:
“Start another business.”
One month later Aaron received another telegram from Moses:
“Business burned out again. Got $13,000 insurance. What shall I do?”
Aaron immediately wired back:
“Keep the home fires burning.”
The German artillery were doing their best to erase a small town from the map. Every few minutes there would be a deafening crash and the remains of a house would soar skyward enveloped in a cloud of smoke.
In a field on the outskirts of the town some Canadiansoldiers, relieved from the trenches for a few days, were indulging in their favorite game of baseball. The pitcher had just pitched the ball and the batsman had hit an easy catch to one of the fielders when a huge shell landed in the adjoining field. The fielder’s attention was fixed on the shell, which burst with a deafening crash, and he missed the catch.
“For the love of Mike,” roared the pitcher, who was a typical Irish-Canadian, “if you are going to play baseball, play baseball, and quit watching the shells.”
Mrs. Flatbush—So your husband is “somewhere in France”?
Mrs. Bensonhurst—So I believe.
Mrs. Flatbush—But don’t you know where?
Mrs. Bensonhurst—No.
Mrs. Flatbush—Don’t you feel somewhat concerned?
Mrs. Bensonhurst—Why, no. When he was here I knew he was somewhere in America, but half of the time I didn’t know where.
A tired and dusty doughboy drew up in front of a shell-battered house in Château-Thierry and asked a French woman if he could get a drink of water.
“Oui, mon garcon,” said the woman. “You come right along with me.”
After the soldier had obtained his drink and was about to depart, he remarked that her house had suffered more or less from the guns.
“Yes,” was the reply. “I used it as a dressing station for the Americans who were wounded here, and the Boche seemed to know about it. But it’s all right. We will build it up again and everything will be the same.”
She explained in detail just how she would rearrange the architecture, how the windows would be built larger.
“We will have to carry a lot of rock,” she smiled. “You see, those are all shot to pieces. But it’s not far to the river.”
Then she turned and resumed her task of clearing away the debris that had once been the east wall of her house.
Pat was serving in the Army, and his two companions happened to be an Englishman and a Scotsman. These two gave their Irish friend a lively time with their jokes and teasing.
One day Pat was called away, and left his coat hanging on a nail. The Englishman and Scotsman, seeing some white paint near, seized the opportunity of painting a donkey’s head on the back of Pat’s coat.
The latter soon returned, and looking first at his coat, and then fixing his eye on his chums, said slowly: “Begorra! and which of you two has wiped your face on my coat?”
“Come, corporal,” said the colonel, “say definitely what you mean. Was the prisoner drunk, or wasn’t he?”
“’E wasn’t himself, sir; he was under the influence of drink. When I saw him he’d been washing his face in a puddle an’ he was trying to wipe it on a wire doormat, cursin’ the holes in the ‘towel.’”
The sergeant-major had trouble in finding an accountant for his captain, but at last brought in a private for trial.
“Are you a clerk?” demanded the captain.
“No, sir,” replied the man.
“Do you know anything about figures?” asked the captain.
“I can do a bit,” replied the man, modestly.
“Is this the best man you can find?” asked the officer.
“Yes, sir.”
“Well,” growled the captain, “I suppose I’ll have to put up with him!” Turning to the private, he snapped, “What were you in civilian life?”
“Professor of mathematics at the State College, sir,” was the unexpected reply.
He was in khaki, but it’s better not to say what branch of the service he is in, and it certainly would be cruel to hint at his company. There are probably gold bars in it, and the guardhouse is not the place for a returned soldier. Here’s the story he tells. He says it’s true:
“Sometimes overseas,” he said, “it seems as if every other man you met was a second lieutenant.
“One day last spring Gen. Pershing and his staff found themselves out in the open with a chance for a bit of rest, the first in days, but nary a place to take it in.
“Well, ‘Black Jack’ thought what was good enough for his men wasn’t so worse for him. He just quietly rolled himself up in his cape and lay down under a hedge where the mud wasn’t more than a foot deep, and the staff took the next hedge and did likewise.
“Pretty soon along comes a regiment and stops for a minute. Some of the men drop out for a snooze, and one of them comes along to the hedge which was ‘Black Jack’s’ private ‘boodoir’ and lies down beside him. Pretty soon he begins to talk to the chief friendly like, and Pershing talks to him and it was mighty dark.
“Pretty soon the regiment’s ordered to fall inand the Johnny leaves ‘Black Jack’ casual like and starts to rejoin. But on his way he meets an orderly and he asks him, ‘Who’s that decent guy under the hedge?’
“‘My gracious,’ or words to that effect, as they say at the court-martials, remarks the orderly, ‘Don’t you know that’s General Pershing?’
“Well, that soldier does some tall thinking for a minute and then he goes back to the hedge and stands at salute and begs Pershing’s pardon most pretty. The General looks up at him and our friend swears he was grinning a little and he says slow and thoughtful like:
“‘Never mind. That was an interesting talk and I understand. It’s all right with me, but,’ and the eyes of him looked as sober as if he was talking tactics with Foch, ‘Don’t try it with any of those new second lieutenants.’
“And,” concluded the man in khaki, “the guy went away just a-shuddering with thinking what would have happened if it had been a second lieutenant instead of just a General.”
Willis—How do you like army life? Quite a number of new turns for a fellow to get used to, I suppose.
Gillis—You bet. At night you turn in, and just as you are about to turn over somebody turns up and says, “Turn out.”
The Colonel beckoned to his orderly.
“Smith, I wish you’d ride into the town and get the correct time.”
“Why, sir,” Smith hesitated, “I haven’t got a watch.”
“A watch, a watch,” the Colonel roared. “What in the name of sense do you want a watch for? Write it down on a piece of paper, man.”
All sorts of stories come from across the water relative to misunderstandings between Yanks and the ladies over there, and not the least amusing is one told at the Washington Press Club by one of the correspondents.
Seems the doughboy had taken an English girl to a baseball game, and, after it was over, was eager to make sure that she had understood and appreciated the great American game.
“Now, if there’s anything you didn’t understand tell me and I’ll explain,” he pleaded in her fair ear.
“Well,” she answered, “really, don’t you know, I didn’t understand a bit of it, and some of it sounded awfully silly.”
“What was so awfully silly?” demanded the doughboy. “Tell me and I’ll explain.”
“Well,” replied the girl, dubiously, “why do they call the seats the stands?”
And, at last reports, the soldier was still trying to tell her.
Camp Devens, Mass.—These colored noncommissioned officers are efficient or nothing.
A newly-made corporal, recently from Dixie, was superintending the breaking up of some old cases down in the 13th Battalion today. A dark recruit was wielding an ax with vigor and with fair success. The corporal apparently couldn’t find any specific thing the matter with his work, but he stopped him just the same. “Boy,” said the dignified corporal, “boy, does you know how to do dis yere work?”
“Co’se ah does,” replied the recruit rather indignantly.
The corporal eyed him dangerously. “Sojer,” he said, darkly, “did ah evah show you how dis should be done? Have yo’ evah received any constructions fum me?”
“No,” admitted the rookie reluctantly, “yo’ nevah tol’ me nuthin’.”
“Den, man, yo’ don’ know nuthin’,” exploded the corporal, and the private meekly dropped his ax.
Old Lady (to severely wounded soldier): “Poor man, have you lost your leg?”
Tommy: “Yes, mum.”
Old Lady: “Oh, poor fellow! Do have an apple!”
Tommy (to his chum, when the old lady had departed): “Bill, I think I’ll have my other leg off before she comes next week. I might get a banana!”
“That’s how we do things in the Army,” said Tommy, pointing to a news heading which bore the word, “Five Hundred Germans Drowned in Champagne.” “Got nothing to beat that in the Navy, I’ll bet.”
“Oh, haven’t we?” retorted his sailor friend. “My lad, that’s nothing to get excited about—nothing at all. In that last little affair along the Belgian coast we sank three German submarines in port!”
When Charles Schwab was inspecting the Seattle shipbuilding yards he was accompanied by his friend, Dr. Eaton. Both are eloquent speakers, the crowd always calling for more. It was horse and horse between the two as to which could tell the most impossible story on the other.
One day while addressing a few thousand shipbuilders, Dr. Eaton scored a base hit with this:
“Boys, I’ll tell you something in strict confidence. A few days ago when in Tacoma, Charlie and I went aboard a new ship that was nearly ready to go in service. As we walked along the clean, new deck,Charlie noticed some large lids and wondered what was inside. So the sailors came and lifted the hatch, and when he looked down into the hold he said, ‘Why, the damn thing is hollow!’”
Then Charlie came to bat and told how on leaving Portland “Doc” rushed to him in great excitement with the announcement that he had lost his baggage.
“‘It’s too bad,’ I said. ‘How did it happen?’
“‘Why, the cork came out,’ moaned the Doctor.”
One day in a French village two soldiers were being served coffee by an old French woman when one of them remarked, “Gee, Bill, this don’t taste like coffee.”
“Ain’t,” answered his companion; “it’s chicory.”
The first soldier looked at him in admiration and said: “Here we only struck this place yesterday and you’re learning the language already.”
The Officer (to recruit reported for insubordination, who has refused to enter the swimming pool)—And what have you got to say for yourself?
Recruit—Please, sir, I’ve only been in the navy three days. The first day the doctor drawed two o’ me teeth; the second day I was vaccinated, and now a petty orficer, he says, “Come along! We’re goin’ ter drown yer!”
Bill is a soldier in France. Several months ago his sweetheart, Dolly, sent him a box of fruit, nuts, etc. Two weeks later she sent a letter and incidentally asked him if he got the goodies. She evidently didn’t write distinctly or Bill didn’t read carefully. To her surprise she received a letter from him saying: “Yes, every soldier gets the cooties.” So much alike, yet so different.
After coming in from a 20-mile “hike” the officer in command of a negro company said, before dismissing them: “I want all the men who are too tired to take another hike to take two paces forward.”
All stepped forward except one big, husky six-footer. Noticing him, the officer said: “Well, Johnson, ready for twenty miles more?”
“No, sah,” replied Johnson. “Ah’m too tired to even take dem two steps.”
Sambo, a dusky warrior in the American army, had only recently landed, and was comparing London with New York. He paused before a shop window full of watches. His gaze became fixed on a very shiny watch on a velvet cushion, on which was pinned a card bearing the words, “This watch will go for eight days without winding.”
Sambo pondered, and then walked straight into the shop: “Say, boss, will you tell how long dat darn watch will go if you do wind it up?”
“Look at that fellow doing the ‘falling leaf,’ the ‘tail spin,’ and other fancy tricks away up there in the air.”
“I see him.”
“I never thought I’d live to see a man as much at home in the air as a bird.”
“Umph! No bird is in the same class with an expert aviator when it comes to flying. Did you ever see a bird that could fly upside down?”
Camp Devens, Mass.—Seven hundred and fifty medical replacement troops have just left this camp for service overseas. Just before their departure a sergeant from the Depot Brigade came to Lieut.-Col. C. C. McCornack, Division Surgeon, and asked for a transfer to the detachment then about to leave.
“Colonel,” he pleaded, “I’ve been in this doggone army more than a year. In that time I’ve scarcely set foot outside this camp. If I don’t get across now, I never will. I’ll be a hell of a soldier, won’t I?”
Col. McCornack leaned back in his chair and laughed.
“Sergeant,” he said, “you’ve got a fine chance ofgetting any sympathy out of me on that score. I’ve been in the Army twenty years and haven’t got across. What are you kicking about?”
The Liberty Bond squad had some interesting experiences. “I am not subscribing for this $50 Liberty Bond to please you,” explained a woman, as doleful as she is wealthy. “I am doing it to please my own self.”
“Make it $100,” said the young solicitor, “and give yourself one roaring, rousing good time.”
The chaplain of a certain camp was challenged by a sentry with, “Halt! Who goes there?”
The minister answered, “Chaplain.”
“Advance, Charlie,” ordered the sentry, “and be recognized.” For which he was banished to the guardroom.
The flappers were taken out to tea by two staff officers resplendent in scarlet and khaki. Being “on the staff” caused the two young men to be very popular with themselves, and to treat the flappers rather patronizingly. The younger of the two girls was lost in admiration. Looking up her escort adoringly, she cooed:
“O, what lovely boots! And spurs, too! Why do you wear spurs?”
“O,” chipped in the other girl, who objected to being regarded as an infant, “the spurs are to keep the feet from slipping off their office stools!”