THE NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC MAGAZINE 



"let's not talk shop' 



Everybody at the table concludes that 

 "he'd better wait until he's got something 

 to worry about." But, upon questioning, 

 most of them admit that sometimes the 

 things one sees are not exactly pretty. 



"For example," says one, "that time the 

 'big one' came just when sixty of us were 

 coming out after 'fourteen days of it.' " 



At which an elderly man speaks up : 



"The saddest sight ever I saw was this 

 morning, in Notre Dame. A nun came 

 in with forty-eight children all in black. 

 She told me that every one had been or- 

 phaned by the war. 



"But, let's not talk shop. I^et's talk 

 about the funny things one sees. Once 

 I was driving in a long line of transport 

 lorries. Suddenly, it seemed almost be- 

 fore I heard the shell, I saw an overcoat 

 sailing through the air. The sleeves were 

 waving wildly and I laughed till I cried. 

 I ran up to it and saw there was some- 

 thing inside ; but I kept right on laugh- 

 ing. When I got back to my car I met 

 a mate, who said : 'Say, I got a fine pair 

 o' legs here. You know who owns what 

 goes with 'em ?' " 



A disheveled boy, sinking exhaustedly 

 into a chair, exclaims: 



"Geeminy crickets, I'm tired. Paree or 

 no Paree, I'm going to bed right after tea. 

 My back aches and I'm full of bruises." 



"Too bad," I say, "just in from line, 

 I suppose." 



"Line nothing," he sneers. "I've been 

 learning to roller-skate." 



As I fill his cup for the second time, 

 a nice "homey" sort of a lad wants to 

 know "where all the pretty workers come 

 from." He goes on : 



CHOCOLATES ALL GONE — TIME FOR THE 

 WAR TO END 



"Now that little one in black, with all 

 the yellow hair, will do me. She told me 

 yesterday that after the twentieth of the 

 month you won't be able to find a single 

 chocolate in all Paris. Think of that, 

 fellows ! Just about time for this nasty 

 war to end, don't you think ? This place 

 is certainly top hole, and I wrote in the 

 visitors' book how I felt about it. What 

 did I write ? Just 'Better than a married 

 life.' " 



"Proving, of course, that you are not 

 married," I say. 



"Proving, of course, that / am/' savs 

 he. 



After a minute I'm asked if I've seen 

 Mack today. 



"He promised to meet me at the corner 

 of the Roo Day Rivullay and the Roo 

 Fourth Day September, and I waited till 

 my feet got sore. I say — here he is now. 

 If you don't mind too much, Mack, I'd 

 like to know"' — 



"Yes," fumes Mack, "all I had to do 

 was to find that corner. After I'd hunted 

 for it most of the afternoon I asked a 

 Frenchy. He began with the first verse, 

 which he did solo. When he got to the 

 second quite a crowd had collected. So 

 I said: 'I'm a peaceable man myself. 

 Have it your way.' And here I am." 



"Mack" seems a good sort and tells me 

 he likes music. From the wide, soft, 

 many-plaited band around his hat I know 

 that he likes "swank," too. Also he likes 

 books and asks me if I've read the story 

 of Gallipoli, just published by an Aus- 

 tralian. He goes on to relate that his 

 mother has sent him a copy, but that it's 

 "no bone" (pas bon), for the author con- 

 tends that every Australian is a hero. 



During the shouts of derision which 

 follow this statement I defiantly an- 

 nounce that every Australian is a hero. 

 At which five modest youngsters rise, 

 make me a gallant bow, and exclaim as 

 with one voice, "We nevah contradict a 

 lady." 



"i KNOW IRISH EYES WHEN I SEE THEM" 



After they have gone there is sufficient 

 time to permit me to clear my table and 

 prepare it for the next "reinforcements." 

 I slip over to another part of the room, 

 where three "workers" are intently lis- 

 tening to a fourth, who is narrating 

 something thrilling, beginning: "And he 

 said" — But I shall never know what he 

 said, for a glance over my shoulder shows 

 me that again every seat at my table is 

 occupied. So I hurry back. 



"Why, you're all Canadians this time, 

 aren't you? That's nice," I say, as I 

 busy myself about my pleasant task. 



"Easy, easy, lady," says a mischievous- 

 looking baby. "I'll venture to say you 

 smiled just like that at your last tableful, 



