THE NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC MAGAZINE 



75 



you are.' Just like that! And he never 

 denied it, but started to beat it. 



"The captain stood in the middle of 

 the road, with his mouth wide open, as I 

 started to run after the Dutchy. He 

 could run some, let me tell you. When 

 we got to the first turn there was a big 

 military car painted just like a French 

 one. What do you know about that? A 

 man inside throws open the door, and 

 then I got busy. Bing! Bing! says I, 

 and he went down like a lump o' dough. 



"The fellow in the car jumped out, 

 hauled him in, and the chauffeur started 

 on high. The live one stood up in the 

 back seat, and out o' three shots he made 

 three hits. Whoopee ! This is the life !" 



how the; war "gets" some: 



"Funny how this war 'gets you,' " so- 

 liloquizes a soldier young in years, but 

 old in experience. "Why, when I was at 

 home I couldn't watch my father kill a 

 chicken. Now ? Huh ! Once I was rac- 

 ing along with some o' my pals, when we 

 saw a mess o' squareheads hiding out in 

 a ditch. 'All right/ says I. Take that 

 fer the Lusitania, and that fer the Tus- 

 cania, and that and That and that fer 

 them Belgium babies ! And we threw 

 every grenade we had with us." 



The man from the north of Ireland, 

 who hasn't been an American citizen very 

 long, sighs and says, "Sure I like to lie 

 here and think o' the sea." And the one 

 who tells me he was born in Damascus 

 and can speak seven languages compares 

 his children to "bloomin' roses." The 

 red-faced fat boy yawns, "Oh fer a dip at 

 old Coney," and a fourth asks the nurse 

 if it's true that only seven died last night. 



"PATCH MB UP QUICK, DOC" 



A shoulder, now almost well, is being 

 dressed, and the surgeon's mouth twitches 

 ever so little as he hears, "Patch me up 

 quick, Doc, and get me away from here — 

 I'm needed somewhere else." 



The funny little Frenchman who an- 

 swers to the name of "Blondy" has com- 

 plete charge of the phonograph. He 

 hardly waits for one record to finish be- 

 fore putting on another. Wondering why 

 he should be here, I am told because he's 

 "got the habit." He's been in the hos- 

 pital so long that no one has the heart to 



send him away. Anyhow, he's such a 

 help. "But you ought to see him limp 

 when the major comes around !" 



"Only one thing worries me," an- 

 nounces a faint voice from the nearest 

 cot. "The top of my tin hat and the top 

 of my nut sailed away together, and if 

 they don't give me back that helmet I 

 don't care what becomes of me." 



"You ought to wear your soovneer 

 'round your neck, like I do," admonishes 

 another. He boastfully shows us what's 

 left of a button — really only the rim. His 

 tunic was open when Mr. Bullet said, 

 "Howdy !" "Pretty good work," says he. 

 "But not good enough." 



From the pocket of what he calls his 

 "kimona" a proud owner pulls out a piece 

 of hard tack. In its center is a big chunk 

 of shrapnel, and my attention is called to 

 the fact that said hard tack is still intact. 

 "And then they expect a tooth to crack 

 it," he snorts. 



THE GOLD-TOOTH SOUVENIR 



"I seem to be the only unlucky one 

 here," comes from an interested listener. 

 He has black, curly hair and is so slight 

 that his body is hardly outlined under the 

 blankets. "When I left old Michigan I 

 told my girl I'd bring her a souvenir that 

 WAS a souvenir. 'None o' your old Dutch 

 helmets for me,' says she. 'I want some- 

 thing o-ri-gi-nal.' 'You'll get it, sis ; 

 you'll get it,' says I. So, after I'd croaked 

 my first I started in. He had the hand- 

 somest gold tooth you ever saw. And 

 BEELEEVE me! I worked. I pushed and 

 I pulled and I twisted. And just when 

 I thought I had it, I'll be doggoned if it 

 didn't drop down the poor boob's neck." 



"You unlucky?" demands an indignant 

 bystander. "What do you think of me? 

 First they made me a M. P., and I 

 couldn't sleep nights for worrying about 

 it. But I got out of that all right, all 

 right. How? Well, when it came time 

 to do the arresting, I was hard to catch, 

 that's all. So they dismissed me from the 

 force." 



Some one inquires if its true that bread 

 is so scarce in Paris that you can be ar- 

 rested for feeding crumbs to the birds. 

 Another says whether it's true or not, 

 America's good enough for him. As for 

 France, well, all he's got to say about it 



