More Toasts Part 97

One opportunity to serve.

Equal parts of danger and courage.

A sense of duty.

A hot enemy fire.

The other day I met in the street a man in uniform. His coat sleeves were embroidered from shoulder to cuff with bars, stripes, insignia and chevrons of the most gorgeous colors and fantastic designs. My curiosity was too much for me, and I was about to stop and question him, when I discovered he had already halted and was bursting to tell me.

"Yes," he announced, "they are every one authorized by the War Department. These three octangular triangles of orange mean my third cousin did a good deal of war work. These ten vertical mauve stripes are ten embarkations; the ten horizontal stripes denote ten times sea-sick."

"Then you never reached France," I sympathized.

"No, but this gray dot indicates extreme disappointment. Now these pink crosses--"

But I hurried off, and almost ran into a limping soldier with only a small gold chevron on each arm. My curiosity again overcame me. "My boy, how came you by those?" I asked, feeling a.s.sured he could not say much about only two chevrons. He did not.

"Well," he answered as he pa.s.sed, "I was abroad for a while, and I happened to kind of go a little lame."

Upon a wharf where the Yanks were disembarking a reporter b.u.t.tonholed a rosy-cheeked private.

"Are you one of the heroes?" the newspaper man asked, with notebook ready to record a stirring tale of heroism.

"Naw," was the blushing reply. "I'm only a common doughboy. But the lieutenant, over there, is one."

To the officer indicated went the reporter.

"I'm told you're a hero, sir," he said.

"No," laughed the lieutenant. "I merely happened to be on the job when something needed to be done, and I did it. However, I can refer you to the simon-pure article." And he pointed out a sergeant with three wound stripes upon his sleeve.

"Not guilty," declared the sergeant, when questioned. Then, his eyes kindling with admiration, he waved toward a figure standing somewhat aside from the throng. "Talk to the major. You couldn't string on a fat man's bay window the medals he's got, and ought to have."

"Nonsense!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the major, amusedly.

"That's what you all say!" cried the reporter, in despair. "Is hero-ing a criminal career?"

Chuckling, the major beckoned to an ebony-hued stalwart.

"Rastus," the major said, when the Senegambian saluted and stepped forward, "this gentleman is looking for a hero. I think you are one."

"You might say I am, sah. Dey wasn't a wusser, dangerouser job in de army dan mine."

"What was it?" eagerly inquired the reporter.

"Mistah," Rastus solemnly informed him. "I drove a mule team plumb thoo dis wah."

--_Terrell Love Holliday_.

"How perfectly splendid to think you're one of the heroes who went over there to die for your country!"

"Like h--- I did, ma'am! I went over to make some other guy die for his."--_Life_.

FATHER (endeavoring to blend instruction and amus.e.m.e.nt)--"Yes, children, Mr. Lloyd George saved his country just as Joan of Arc saved France."

BRIGHT CHILD--"And when are they going to burn Mr. Lloyd George, daddy?"

HIGH COST OF LIVING

_See_ Cost of living.

HINTING

Despite the chilly spring day little Wilbur was out playing without his coat. This worried a neighbor, but her advice went unheeded.

Finally, she said: "Wilbur, go home and get your coat, and when you come back I'll give you a piece of cake."

The bribe worked, and Wilbur soon returned with his coat on and was duly rewarded. Next day he knocked at the door to announce significantly:

"I ain't got my coat on today."

HISTORY

After reading the famous poem, "The Landing of the Pilgrim Fathers,"

to the cla.s.s, the teacher said: "As a drawing exercise suppose you each draw, according to your imagination, a picture of Plymouth Rock."

All but one little fellow set to work. He paused and finally raised his hand.

"What is it, Edgar?" the teacher asked.

"Please, ma'am," Edgar piped out, "do you want us to draw a hen or a rooster?"