"As according to your showing 17326 Pte. Hogan will not be born for
another four days we are placed in a position of some difficulty.
_Signed_ ----
"P.S.--What if, when the interesting event occurs, 17326 Pte. Hogan
should be a girl?
"P.P.S.--Or twins?"
Our Albert Edward is just back from one of those Army finishing
schools where the young subaltern's knowledge of SHAKESPEARE and the
use of the globes is given a final shampoo before he is pushed over
the top. Albert Edward's academy was situated in a small town where
schools are maintained by all our brave Allies; it is an educational
centre. The French school does the honours of the place and keeps a
tame band, which gives tongue every Sunday evening in the Grand Place.
Thither repair all the young ladies of the town to hear the music.
Thither also repair all the young subalterns, also for the purpose of
hearing the music.
At the end of every performance the national anthems of all our brave
Allies are played, each brave Ally standing rigidly to attention the
while, in compliment to the others. As we have a lot of brave Allies
these days, all with long national war-whoops, this becomes somewhat
of a strain.
One morning the French bandmaster called on the Commandant of the
English school.
"Some Americans have arrived," said he. "They are naturally as welcome
as the sunshine, but" (he sighed) "it means yet another national
anthem."
The Commandant sighed and said he supposed so.
"By the way," said the _chef d'orchestre_, "what is the American
national anthem?"
"'Yankee Doodle,'" replied the Commandant.
The Chief Instructor said he'd always understood it was "Hail,
Columbia."
The Adjutant was of the opinion that "The Star-Spangled Banner" filled
the bill, while the Quartermaster cast his vote for "My country, 'tis
of thee."
The _chef d'orchestre_ thrashed his bosom and rent his coiffure.
"_Dieu!_" he wailed, "I can't play all of them--_figurez-vous_!"
Without stopping to do any figuring they heartily agreed that he
couldn't. "Tell you what," said the Commandant at length, "write
to your music-merchant in Paris and leave it to him."
The _chef d'orchestre_ said he would, and did so.
Next Sunday evening, as the concert drew to a close, the band flung
into the _Marseillaise_, and the subalterns of all nations kept
to attention. They stood to attention through "God Save the King,"
through the national anthems of Russia, Italy, Portugal, Rumania,
Serbia, Belgium, Montenegro and Monte Carlo, all our brave Allies.
Then the _chef d'orchestre_ suddenly sprang upon a stool and waved
above his head the stripes and stars of our newest brave Ally,
while the band crashed into the opening strains of "When de midnight
choo-choo starts for Alabam." It speaks volumes for the discipline of
the allied armies that their young subalterns stood to attention even
through that.