soldiers, and General Petain, of the French Armies, accompanied by his
staff and by General Pershing as a guest, went to the woman’s bedside
and pinned on her breast the Croix de Guerre, the soldiers’ cross of
war.
“My general,” said the woman to Petain, “I am glad to have been struck
so that you may see and know that the daughters as well as the sons of
France are ready to suffer and, if need be, to die for France and for
her liberty.”
MUCH THE SAFEST PLAN
A recruiting sergeant stationed in the south of Ireland met Pat and
asked him to join the army. The latter refused, whereupon the sergeant
asked his reason for refusing.
“Aren’t the King and the Kaiser cousins?” asked Pat.
“Yes,” said the recruiting sergeant.
“Well,” said Pat, “begorra, I once interfered in a family squabble, and
I’m not going to do so again.”
THE OLD FAMILIAR WORDS
Some time ago, when a British corps was reviewed by Sir Ian Hamilton,
one officer was mounted on a horse that had previously distinguished
itself in a bakery business. Somebody recognized the horse, and
shouted, “Baker!” The horse promptly stopped dead, and nothing could
urge it on.
The situation was getting painful when the officer was struck with a
brilliant idea, and remarked, “Not today, thank you.” The procession
then moved on.
WITH A COMMA AFTER “RED”
“Mrs. Bing’s new baby is just in the fashion.”
“How do you mean?”
“It is such a red cross affair.”
HOLES CLEAR THROUGH HIM
The melancholy youth was lying in the hospital bed entertaining his
visitors with tales of the battlefield.
“Yes,” he said, almost tearfully, “I have had a rough time. I was once
so riddled with bullets the fellows behind me complained of the draft.”
WAS THIS FOREORDAINED?
The Presbyterians are having their day, it seems, if one looks over a
list of the foremost men of today. Woodrow Wilson is a Presbyterian
elder; Robert Lansing, Secretary of State, is likewise. Thomas R.
Marshall, Vice President of the United States, is a Presbyterian;
and so are General Pershing, in command of America’s legions abroad;
General Peyton C. March, the new Chief of Staff; and General Hugh
Scott. General Field Marshal Haig, of the British armies, is a member
of the Church of Scotland, which is Presbyterian; and Field Marshal
Joffre is a member of the Reformed Church, which in France is similarly
nearest to the Presbyterian Church in the United States.
WILLING TO PAY THE PRICE
A Tommy on furlough entered a jeweler’s shop and, placing a
much-battered gold watch on the counter, said, “I want this ’ere
mended.”
After a careful survey the watchmaker said, “I’m afraid, sir, the cost
of repairing will be double what you gave for it.”
“I don’t mind that,” said the soldier. “Will you mend it?”
“Yes,” said the jeweler, “at the price.”
“Well,” remarked Tommy, smiling, “I gave a German a punch on the nose
for it, and I’m quite ready to give you two if you’ll mend it.”
WAR’S COMPENSATIONS
“Lady (young) will gladly MARRY and give up life to the care
and happiness of WOUNDED HERO, blinded or incapacitated by the
war.—_Genuine, Box M 770, the London Times._”
CAP WAS A SURE WINNER
The captain of the SS. Piffle listened patiently to a passenger’s
account of his shooting abilities, then he quietly remarked:
“I don’t think you could hit this bottle at twenty yards, placed on the
taffrail, while the ship is heaving like this.”
“It would be only child’s play,” said the passenger.
“Well, I’ll bet you a guinea you don’t hit it three times out of six.”
“It’s a wager. Come along.”
The bottle was placed in position. Crack! The passenger hit it, and it
disappeared in fragments into the sea.
“Trot out another one,” said the marksman.
“Not at all. The conditions were that you hit that one three times out
of six. Five shots more.”
ONLY A RUSE AFTER ALL
The called-up one volubly explained that there was no need in his case
for a medical examination.
“I’m fit and I want to fight. I want to go over on the first boat. I
want to go right into the front trenches, but I want to have a hospital
close, so that if I get hit no time will be wasted in taking me where I
can get mended right away, so that I can get back to fighting without
losing a minute. Pass me in, doctor. Don’t waste any time on me. I want
to fight, and keep fighting!”
The doctor, however, insisted, and, when he got through, reported a
perfect physical specimen.
“You don’t find nothing wrong with me, doctor?”
“Nothing.”
“But, doctor, don’t you think I’m a bit crazy?”
TRY IT ON THE YANKS
She—“Yes, sir, I believe that woman’s place in this war is right beside
the men on the battle line.”
He—“And suppose a commander sent a party of six men and six women out
in the woods to see if the enemy were in sight, would you call that
war? That would be a picnic!”
HER MEASURE OF SUCCESS
He—“And how are you getting on with your collecting for the soldiers?”
She—“Splendidly! I’ve had my name in the papers four times already.”
BETTER MAKE AN OMELET
“I’ll put you in the commissary department if you’ll answer the
following question: What would you do if you had one hundred soldiers
and only ninety-nine eggs?”
“I’d shoot one of the soldiers!”
THE USUAL PREFERENCE
That the British “Tommy” is as ready with his tongue as with his gun
was aptly shown the other day when a number of wounded soldiers were
being admitted to a hospital.
One of the patients was being carried to a ward named L, but at the
door the stretcher bearers were met by the Sister in charge, who said,
“I’m sorry, but L’s full.”
“All right,” cheerily replied the irrepressible “Tommy,” “we’ll just go
to ’eaven.”
NOTHING TO FIGHT FOR
Jem—“Why don’t you shoulder a gun?”
Ben—“Ah ain’t got nothin’ against nobody in dis here world, and if I
have I forgive ’em!”
Jem—“But your country is at war and you’ve got to carry a gun.”
Ben—“Man, the only time Ah carry a gun is when I’m after one lone man
and not after an army!”
Jem—“But why don’t you fight for your country?”
Ben—“Ah live in the city!”
BOTH UP AND DOWN, AUNTIE
Aunt Nancy was visiting an army camp and as she approached some rookies
were sitting on their heels and then rising to a standing position in
perfect unison.
“What are the boys doing now?” she asked.
“Why, those are the setting-up exercises,” explained an obliging
sergeant.
“Humph,” remarked auntie. “Looks to me more like settin’ down
exercises.”
SECURING A TEMPORARY DIVORCE
There is a man in Bozeman, Mont., who will probably go through life
bewailing the injustice of the draft board that certified him for
service, despite the fact that he presented a letter written by his
wife to prove that he had a dependent family. Here is the letter:
“Dear United States Army: My husband ast me to write a reckomend that
he supports his famly. He can not read so dont tell him. Jus take him.
He ain’t no good to me. He aint done nothing but play a fiddle and
drink lemmen essense since I married him, eight years ago, and I got to
feed seven kids of his. Maybe you can get him to carry a gun. He’s good
on squirrels and eatin’. Take him and welcum. I need the grub and his
bed for the kids. Don’t tell him this but take him.”
REMINDS ONE OF PLATTSBURG
“Now, Lieutenant Tompkins,” said the general, “you have the battalion
in quarter column, facing south—how would you get it into line, in the
quickest possible way, facing northeast?”
“Well, sir,” said the lieutenant, after a moment’s fruitless
consideration, “do you know, that’s what I’ve often wondered.”
MONOLOGUE, BY NAT M. WILLS
(As delivered in Chicago.)
I just asked a policeman the quickest way to the hospital. He told me
to go down to Jefferson street and yell hurrah for the czar. John D.
Rockefeller wants to go to the front, but I don’t think he’ll do much
for the country. When the officer says advance he’ll raise the price of
gasoline.
You know all that peace talk is over. The peace party crawled into a
hole and pulled the hole in after them—they’re afraid of the draft.
Some men are born soldiers, others develop into fighters after they
marry. I’ve been in four battles.
The very first night I was married my wife broke this news to me. “You
know, dear, I can’t dress myself,” so I got her a French maid; and, “I
can’t drive my own car,” so I got her a chauffeur. Then she said: “You
know I walk in my sleep,” so I had to get her a night watchman.
Uncle Sam is preparing all right in a hundred different ways we know
nothing about. A man who comes up to you on the street may be an
officer. If you get a drink in Kansas City, well, that’s secret service.
It certainly was pretty windy around the Masonic temple today. You know
two girls were passing; one had red, white and blue stockings on and
the other green; they were going in the opposite direction. I didn’t
know which to look at, but decided to see America first.
Sousa and I got together a couple of seasons ago. His band was going
to play my songs. I met him the other day just as I was going into a
saloon. He said: “Nat, my band of 300 men will accompany you.” I said:
“That’s all right with me, Phil, but do you think there’ll be room?”
PARDONABLE MISTAKE
Captain Jones was a very round-shouldered and eccentric officer.
On a particularly dark night in Egypt, while practicing his company in
outpost duty, he approached one of the sentries who failed to halt him.
In a great rage the officer demanded of the now trembling sentry the
reason why he had omitted to challenge him.
“If you please, sir,” stuttered the confused soldier, “I thought you
was a camel.”
HE WAS REAL MAD ABOUT IT
Two privates met the other morning near the canteen, which, from the
fact that a monkey was kept on the counter, was popularly known as the
“Monkey House.”
“Halloa, Jack,” said the first. “You look a bit off this morning.”
“Yes, Bill,” replied Jack. “I haven’t the price of a wet.”
“Neither have I,” replied Bill; “but I think I know how to get a couple
of pints. Come into the Monkey House.”
They entered the canteen and Bill called for two pints. While the
barman’s back was turned Bill hit the monkey a clout on the head, which
caused the animal to scream out.
“What was that for?” asked the barman, wrathfully.
“Not the first time he has done that,” shouted Bill, angrily.
“Done what?” asked the barman.
“Why, picked up my shilling and swallowed it,” replied Bill.
“Well,” said the indignant barman, “why didn’t you tell me before you
hit the monkey? There’s your two pints and your sevenpence change. And
don’t you interfere with my monkey again.”
HE KNEW WHERE THEY WERE
The scene was a cinema palace, as they call ’em in England, where the
Somme battle-pictures were being flickered.
As the Warwickshires were seen going over the top to the attack, an
excited Birmingham man exclaimed, triumphantly: “What about your
Highland regiments now?”
As luck would have it, there was a short, bandy-legged Scot in a kilt
within hearing.
He flared up and replied: “What about oor Hielant regiments? Why,
they are keepin’ back the Germans while your men are gettin’ their
photographs took.”
JUST A BIT OF TRENCH REPARTEE
Australian Soldier (to American)—“You Yanks think you’ve done a lot,
but you forget we Australians have been at the game for four years.”
“Well, what have you done, anyway?”
“Done? We’ve been at Gallipoli, Mesopotamia, the plains of Bethlehem,
and——”
“The plains of Bethlehem?”
“Yes; I slept a week there myself.”
“Well, I guess that was a busy week for the shepherds watching their
flocks!”
NOT MENTIONABLE IN SOCIETY
“I know you have pet names for the big guns, but what do you call the
shells?”
“Depends, ’ow close you are to where they burst, mum!”
NOW SHE KNOWS WHY
She had intently watched the soldier for some time. Then she ventured:
“The chin strap, I suppose, is to keep your hat on, my man?”
“No,” replied Yank, “it’s to rest the jaw after answering questions.”
INTERCEPTED WAR MESSAGES
A wire from Secretary of War Baker: “Discuss no war news in front of
horses. They carry tails.”
Cable from King George to the President: “Send me over 5,000 sewing
machines, we want to hem the Germans on the border.”
From King George: “Must have $5,000,000; if it can’t be had any other
way get it from the waiters at the Waldorf.”
Stone wires: “If war breaks out I’ll stand behind the army.”
Cable from Russian general: “Over a million pairs of pajamas at once;
Russian army ready to retire.”
Wire from Empress of Germany to Queen Mary (sent collect): “Am sitting
on my veranda crocheting; would like to have you join me—Nit.”
From the Czar of Russia: “It’s pretty tough to be seated on the throne
one minute and thrown on your seat the next.”
WHAT MOTHERS ALWAYS SAY
“Remember, my son,” said his mother as she bade him good-by, “when
you get to camp try to be punctual in the mornings, so as not to keep
breakfast waiting.”
FASHION NOTE FROM THE FRONT
“Where are you going?” asked one rookie of another.
“Going to the blacksmith shop to get my tin hat reblocked.”
ONE GERMAN WE FORGIVE
The following story which is going the rounds of the Continental
papers, including even those of Austria, must make the Germans gnash
their teeth.
A German and a Dane met recently in Schiller’s house in Weimar. As they
stood gazing reverently on the scene the German, swelling with pride,
remarked to his fellow-visitor:
“So this is where our national poet, Schiller, lived.”
“Pardon me,” said the other; “not national, but international.”
“How so?” asked the German, with surprise.
“Why, consider his works,” the Dane replied. “He wrote, ‘Mary Stuart’
for the English, ‘The Maid of Orleans’ for the French, ‘Egmont’ for the
Dutch, ‘William Tell’ for the Swiss—”
“And what did he write for the Germans, pray?” broke in the other. Pat
came the Dane’s answer:
“For the Germans he wrote, ‘The Robbers.’”
EQUINE “NOW I LAY ME”
Tommy (to the “charger” he has borrowed during a week-end leave after
it has been down three times in ten minutes)—Wot! On yer knees agen? Go
on—get on with it—“Bless Pa and Ma an’ make me a good ’orse. Amen.”
ONE BRITISH ATROCITY
The “Swanky” One—“I’m smoking a terrible lot of cigars lately.”
The Other (with conviction)—“You’re right, if that’s one of them!”
NEVER MIND THE NAME
How to pronounce some of the names of the towns which the Americans get
into puzzles the boys, so they have their own pronunciation. Thus, when
they captured Seringes, it became Syringe, and Fismes became Fiz. When
Fismettes was taken, the battalion commander went back to report, made
several assaults upon its pronunciation and finally said:
“Well, I can’t tell you what town it is, but I’ve taken the damned
place, anyhow.”
FRENCH IN THE TRENCH
Tommy (to Jock, on leave)—“What about the lingo? Suppose you want to
say ‘egg’ over there, what do you say?”
Jock—“Ye juist say ‘Oof.’”
Tommy—“But suppose you want two?”
Jock—“Ye say, ‘Twa oofs,’ and the silly auld fule wife gies ye three,
and ye juist gie her back one. Man, it’s an awfu’ easy language.”
SCOTCH PROVISIONS
Captain John Stevenson met a recent arrival from the “auld countree”
and speedily got into a chat with him over conditions there. The new
arrival told feelingly of the terrible toll of war on the fair land of
Scotia, the sad tales of young men killed and maimed, the sufferings of
the families left behind. His was a right sad tale in every way.
“Wy, man, we’re jist plum distrackit wi’ it,” he concluded.
“And I suppose the war has caused the price of provisions to go up in
Scotland as well as everywhere else?” commented Captain Stevenson with
sympathy.
“Aye, man, ye’re richt,” agreed the visitor. “Proveesions have gone up
saxpence the bottle.”
VERY LIKE MOSES
The conditions in the trenches were dreary in the extreme after the
drenching and long-continued rainfall, but the irrepressible spirits of
the “Pals” were not yet entirely quenched when the order came to leave
the trenches.
“Hurry up out of this, my gallant soldiers,” was the cheery call of the
sergeant to his waist-deep and rain-sodden men.
“Soldiers!” came the derisive answer from one of them. “I’m not a
soldier; I’m a blooming bulrush!”
THEY FIXED YOU, WILLIE
“We played fool,” declared the Crown Prince “I see it now.”
“Huh?”
“We had the whole world to pick a fight with.”
“Well?”
“And look at the crowd we picked out.”
SAFETY FIRST
Messages had come to the office of a great illustrated paper that
Zeppelins were approaching London.
The editor at once summoned his staff of photographers.
“Now, boys, we’ve got to have a picture of this Zepp. We were badly
beaten on the last. The moment it approaches I want every man to rush
to the roof with his camera and stay there, whatever happens, until he
gets a picture. Let me know directly you get it. You’ll find me under
the heap of coal bags in the right-hand corner of the lower cellar!”
NO SUGAR IN HEAVEN
First Tommy (as he reads the local paper sent from home)—“O, Bill, what
do you think of it? They’re issuing a list in Blighty of the people
what are going to do without using any more sugar!”
Second Tommy (eagerly grasping the paper and straining his eyes to find
the list of names)—“Where did you see, it Harry?”
First Tommy—“Why, there” (pointing to the death column).
YOU CAN’T DO THIS IN BATTLE
The military maneuvered. All the afternoon the attackers had attacked
and the defenders defended, with conspicuous lack of incident or
bravery. Operations were beginning to drag horribly when the white flag
went up.
The officer in command of the attackers stared in amazement.
“A flag of truce!” he exclaimed. “What do they want?”
The sergeant-major endeavored to cover up a smile.
“They say, sir,” he reported, “that, as it’s tea time, they’d like to
exchange a couple o’ privates for a can of condensed milk—if you can
afford it.”
NOW IT’S “ALL DUNN”
An Irish recruit named Dunn was arranging to let his friends know where
he was when on active service.
“If I go to France,” he said, “I shall sign my letter F. Dunn; to
Egypt, E. Dunn.”
“When the war is over and you come home, what will you sign?”
“We’re Dunn!”
“Well done,” shouted his friends.
A LAST FAREWELL
Private Doolan was six feet three inches in his socks. Beside him the
sergeant on duty was a bantam.
“Head up there, Doolan!” he cried. Doolan raised his head.
“Up higher,” shouted the little sergeant.
“There, that’s better. Don’t let me see you with your head down again.”
“Am I to be always like this?” asked Doolan, staring away above the
little man’s head.
“You are.”
“Then I’ll say good-bye to ye, sergeant, for I’ll never see ye again.”
TOO MODEST BY FAR
During a camp parade of the buglers recently an Irish corporal was in
charge. He was asked by the commanding officer if all the buglers were
present: He replied: “No, sorr, wan man absent.”
“Well, then,” said the officer, “go and find him and ask him what he
has to say for himself.”
A few minutes later Pat came running back. “Shure, sorr,” he cried,
“and weren’t we a pair of duffers not to know it? It wor meself. Bedad,
sorr, Oi forgot to call me own name entoirely.”
ANOTHER WAR CASUALTY
“You don’t seem to feel so enthusiastic as usual about speech-making.”
“Well,” answered Senator Sorghum, “times have changed and it isn’t so
easy for a man in a silk hat and a frock-coat to stand out before a lot
of men in khaki uniforms or overalls and assert that he is saving the
country all by himself.”
PREACHER HAD A SCOOP
An editor in the Far West dropped into church for the first time in
many years. The minister was in the very heart of the sermon. The
editor listened for a while, and then rushed to his office.
“What are you fellows doing? How about the news from the seat of war?”
“What news?”
“Why, all this about the Egyptian Army being drowned in the Red Sea.
The minister up at the church knows all about it, and you have not a
word of it in our latest. Bustle round, you fellows, and get out an
extra-special edition.”
THERE IS TIME FOR BOTH
One industrious war-gardener is pictured as working busily and
reflecting on the virtue of raising his own food-supply.
“If everybody grew his own vegetables and ate less meat,” he
soliloquized, “we’d put old Bill on the bum in a hurry. This is tough
work, but I’ll stick to it if it kills me. I’m with Hoover on this.”
At this point a fine assortment of earthworms was unearthed. The
digger’s reflections immediately shifted to a shady stream and the
final scene shows him happily fishing.
“Oh, well,” he reflects to soothe his conscience, “vegetables or fish;
it’s all the same to Mr. Hoover.”
THEY DO SOUND ALIKE
“Now,” said the Colonel, looking along the line of recruits, “I want a
good smart bugler.”
At that out stepped a dilapidated fellow who had a thick stubble of
black beard.
“What!” said the colonel, eying him up and down. “Are you a bugler?”
“Oh, bugler!” said he. “I thought you said burglar.”
NO TIME TO SAY ALL OF IT
“So,” sobbed Ilma Vladoffovitchskioffsky, “Ivan Nine-spotski died in
battle. You say he uttered my name as he was dying?”
“Part of it,” replied the returned soldier—“part of it.”
NO MAIL TO HADES
Willie Hohenzollern (after Berlin fell)—“But, mein friendt, I want to
write a letter to papa.”
Yankee Guard—“Nothin’ doin’, Heinie. We don’t have asbestos stationery
around here.”
MORE TO THE PURPOSE
Officer—“So you captured a thousand Germans by just calling across
No Man’s Land. What did you do—promise them a square deal if they
surrendered?”
Yankee Private—“No; I promised them a square meal.”—_Life._
WHAT WE MAY EXPECT NOW
The war was over and the new woman was fully developed. Gone were the
petticoats and faldelals. Women aimed at being rational in character
and dress.
In such an after-the-war household Mr. Bigboy was washing out baby’s
bottle when his wife came down dressed for going out.
“Are you going out?” whined Mr. Bigboy.
“Yes,” said his wife, patting his cheek. “It’s the big meeting at the
lodge.”
“Then—then,” said the man, and his lips trembled, “if you’re not in by
11 o’clock I’ll—I’ll go home to father.”
EIGHT MILES FOR HIM
A story is told of a German spy who was captured within the English
lines in France. An English Tommy was detailed by his commander to
march the German four miles back of the lines and there shoot him.
After marching through mud and water for four miles, all tired out and
rain soaked, the pair finally reached the four-mile point. The German
was exasperated by this time and blurted: “Vot’s the idea of marching
me four miles through mud and rain to be shot?”
“My word,” the English Tommy said. “What are you kicking about? Think
of me. I gotta walk back!”
NO FIGHTING FOR HIM
One of the recruiting canvassers in an English provincial town was a
well-known magistrate. In most cases he succeeded in obtaining the
promises he wished, but at last he knocked at one cottage-door which
was opened to him by a sturdy son of the soil.
“My man,” said the magistrate, in his most persuasive tones, “are you
willing to fight for your King and country?”
“No, I beant, sir,” was the prompt reply. “An’ I be surprized at you
askin’ me for to do it. Two years ago come next month you yourself
fined I twenty shillings for fighting wi’ Bill Smith, and you said
it wor wicked to fight, an’ I promised you as I wouldn’t repeat the
offense, an’ allus kept my word.”
HOW HUNS TICKLED THEMSELVES
Berlin, April—There is no question that terrible damage was caused in
London by the latest Zeppelin raid. The commander of the Zeppelin L-10
has brought back with him to Germany a sketch which he made while he
was flying over the British metropolis. It clearly shows the houses of
Parliament in flames and Sir Edward Grey running along Piccadilly with
his coat-tails afire. The sketch has been warmly commended by art and
military critics.
’TWASN’T HIS FAULT
An English girl gave General Pershing quite a jolt while he was in
London. She had been placed at his disposal as the driver of his
automobile. One day he said to his girl driver:
“Can you please come for me here at the War Office at 6 o’clock?”
“Yes, General,” answered the girl.
At six o’clock, military-like, the General was on the steps awaiting
his car.
At three minutes past six it swung to the curb. The General, with his
eyes a-twinkle, said to the girl, as he took out his watch: “You are
three minutes late.”
“That should hardly count with you, General,” was the instant answer.
“You are three years late.”
VERY GOOD, PUNCH
A Chertsey pig-breeder has been granted total exemption. The pen, it
seems, is still mightier than the sword.—_Punch._
HE KNEW ABOUT COWS
Mrs. Parker—“Now, young man, why aren’t you at the Front?”