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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!’”
