character pass the lines, except the colonel’s wife.”
DID THE CHAPLAIN SWEAR?
Recently, during the operations of the British Egyptian expeditionary force in Palestine, a town to the south of Beersheba was captured, and in it was discovered a splendid example of mosaic pavement.
The excavation of it was placed in charge of a chaplain, and while the work was proceeding some human bones were discovered.
Elated at the find, the padre immediately wired to great headquarters, saying:
“Have found the bones of saint.”
Shortly after the reply came back:
“Unable to trace Saint in casualty list. Obtain particulars of regimental number and regiment from his identity disk.”
ONE SWEET KISS LOST
Before introducing Lieutenant de Tassan, aid to General Joffre, and Colonel Fabry, the “Blue Devil of France,” Chairman Spencer, of the St. Louis entertainment committee, at the M. A. A. breakfast told this anecdote:
“In Washington Lieutenant de Tassan was approached by a pretty American girl, who said:
“‘And did you kill a German soldier?’
“‘Yes,’ he replied.
“‘With what hand did you do it?’ she inquired.
“‘With this right hand,’ he said.
“And then the pretty American girl seized his right hand and kissed it. Colonel Fabry stood near by. He strode over and said to Lieutenant de Tassan:
“‘Heavens, man, why didn’t you tell the young lady you bit him to death?’”
A COINCIDENCE OF WAR
The commandant of one of the great French army supply depots was busy one morning. He was a man of forty; a colonel in the regular French army. He was talking to an American colonel when an erect, sturdy-looking man with white hair and mustache and who wore the single star of a subaltern on his sleeve came up, saluted, delivered a message and then asked:
“Are there any more orders, sir?”
When he was told that there were none he brought his heels together with a click, saluted again and went away.
The commandant turned to the American with a peculiar smile on his face and asked:
“Do you know who that man is?”
“No,” was the reply.
“That is my father,” was the answer.
The father was then exactly seventy-two years old. He was a retired business man when the war broke out. After two years of the heroic struggle he decided that he couldn’t keep out of it. He was too old to fight, but after long insistence he secured a commission. By one of the many curious coincidences of war he was assigned to serve under his son.
GERMAN PAPERS, PLEASE NOTE
The following is posted on the door of a deserted cabin in Coos County, Oregon:
“To whom it may concern:
“There’s potatoes in the wood-shed,
There’s flour in the bin,
There’s beans a-plenty in the cupboard,
To waste them is a sin.
Go to it neighbor if you’re hungry!
Fill up while you’ve a chance,
For I’m going after the Kaiser,
Somewhere over in France.
UNANIMOUS
We should like to print this story in letters of gold, says the London Tit-Bits. It is of a colonel on the British front who wanted twenty men to face almost certain death.
He called the whole company together and made the situation clear to them. Then he asked for twenty volunteers to advance one pace. He loved his men, and it was almost more than he could bear. He closed his eyes to keep back his tears, and when he opened them the men stood in exactly the same formation. He was pained.
“Is there not one volunteer?” he asked.
A sergeant stepped forward at salute. “Every one has advanced one pace, sir,” he said.
PA WAS THE GENERAL
The young subaltern, who was a son of a general and never omitted to rub in that fact, was taking a message from the general to the gunners.
“If you please,” he said to the major, “father says will you move your guns.” The major was in an irate mood. “Oh!” he rejoined, “and what the blazes does your mother say?”
TOUGH ON GOMPERS
Kerensky kissed Arthur Henderson, the British labor politician, as the American Labor Mission calls him, and all England gasped. Kerensky is coming to this country. He may want to kiss Secretary Wilson or even President Wilson. This has led an anonymous poet to suggest that the President put his greetings into a song, and to furnish him with the song, as follows:
“Salute me only with thy fist,
And don’t attempt to buss me;
The very thought of being kissed
Is quite enough to fuss me.
If you must kiss, try it on Gompers —
He hasn’t been kissed since he wore rompers.”
HAD THE RIGHT DOPE
The more things the draft officials do to baseball here the better it flourishes in London, according to Richard Hatteras, of that thriving community, who was recently in New York. Mr. Hatteras says the game is getting a firm hold on every nationality in the British capital.
“Why, recently,” quoth he, “I saw a game in which East Indians were playing. One of these approached the plate at a crucial moment and cried aloud:
“‘Allah, give thou me strength to make a hit.’
“He struck out.
“The next man up was an Irishman. He spat on the plate, made faces at the pitcher, and yelled:
“‘You know me, Al!’ He made a home-run.”
TELL THIS NOT IN BOSTON
An American boy had his first experience in the first line of trenches under fire, and an American woman met him.
“Well, boy,” asked the woman, “what was it like? Pretty awful experience, wasn’t it?”
“Awful?” grinned the Sammee. “Funniest thing you ever saw.”
“Funny?” echoed the woman, amazed. “Why, what in the world
