and weep when he succeeded. Well, he happened to be in our trench one day, showing our Sub a new case of knives, when Charlie Black was carried in on a stretcher in an awful mess.

"'I must operate at once to save your life,' he says.

"Charlie smiled as best he could and said he was agreeable.

"'But there's no anæsthetic here,' he says, 'and I can't do it without. Couldn't you do a faint for me?'

"Charlie says he's sorry, but he's never practised fetching a faint at will, like a woman can.

"'Well, then,' he says, 'you'll have to be stunned.' And he fetches a small sandbag and gives it to the stretcher-bearer.

"'Chap here,' he explains to Charlie, 'will count up slowly, and when he gets to fifty he'll hit you on the head with the sandbag and knock you out.'

"Charlie grins, and the stretcher-bearer begins to count. When he gets to ten he rolls up his sleeves; when he gets to twenty he takes a good grip of the sandbag; at thirty he rolls his eyes and sticks out his jaw; at forty, he lifts the bag over his shoulder and draws one foot back, Charlie watching him all the time. 'For-ty-six,' he says slowly, 'for-ty seven, for-ty-eight, for-ty-nine,' and then——"

"You're not going to tell me that he really——"

"No, he didn't," said Truthful James. "Charlie fainted."

"That was their intention, I presume?"

"Your presumption is correct, Sir. The doctor finished the job before Charlie come to again. Smart, wasn't it?"

"Very smart indeed."

"But that's nothing. Nothing at all to what he could do. He once cut a fellow open, took out his liver, extracted twenty-three shrapnel bullets from it, bounced it on the floor to see it was all right, and put it back, all inside of three minutes. And the fellow what owns the liver hasn't had a to-morrow morning head-ache once since."

"He must be a very clever doctor," suggested the other, to fill in a pause.

"Talking of doctors," James went on, "reminds me of a man I saw out there who wasn't a doctor, leastways not one of ours. We was in the fire-trenches one night when a voice hails us from the other side of the entanglements. After the usual questions we brings him over the parapet, and he explains to our Sub that he's been in front attending to some wounded men in a listening post what was blown up. All perfectly correct and proper; gives his name and rank, too, and is wearing an R.A.M.C. uniform—rank, Captain. As he passes me on his way to the Sub's dug-out I happens to catch sight of his face, and it give me quite a shock. I was took ill immediate. I manages to stagger to the dug-out, and I mutters hoarsely, 'Sir, I'm sick. I think I'm going to die.'

"'Sick?' says the Sub. 'You don't look sick.'

"'I'm sorry, Sir,' I says.

"'Well,' says he, turning to the other man, 'the Captain here will soon put you right.'

"'Certainly,' says the Doc very sharp. 'Where do you feel pain—stomach, heart, head?'

"'No, Sir,' says I, 'I got a nawful pain in me inn'erds.'

"'What did you say?' he asks.

"'In me inn'erds, Sir,' I says, 'spreading from me gizzard to me probossis,' them being the only out-of-the-way words I could think of off-hand.

"'H'm,' says he, pretending to understand perfectly, 'it is probably nothing serious. You must diet yourself; take nothing but light food and——'

"Here the Sub interrupts him, thinking there's something mighty queer about a doctor what is so ready to prescribe diet for a probossis, and asks him a lot more questions. Of course the beer was in the sawdust then, and very soon a guard was called up to take our German Captain Doctor Spy away to a safe place.

"It was lucky I knew his face. Before perfidjus Albion forced this war on the poor Kayser I'd seen him often in London. He was boss of a firm above the place where I worked, and he used to order his Huns about in their own language, and chuck his empty lager bottles out of his window into our yard. I'm glad I got my own back for that."

"Jim," cried an orderly, "you're wanted for your dressing."

James rose languidly. "That means na-poo, then, Sir," he said.

"Na-poo?" echoed the Gazette.

"Where's your learning, Sir?" asked James. "That's French for 'no more.'"

"I hope your dressing will not be painful," ventured the other.

"How would you like to have a probe rammed through your hand twice a day?" demanded James with a smile. "But it's all part of the game. Comforts for Tommy. Everyone has their own way of making us happy, not forgetting the dear lady what sent us three hundred little lavender bags, with pretty little bows on them, all sewn by herself, to keep our linen sweetly perfumed. It's nice to think that they all mean well, and I always follow the advice of the auctioneer what was trying to pass off a plated teapot as solid silver."

"What did he say?"

"Look at the bright side," answered James over his shoulder as he hurried away. "O reevwaw, Sir."

"On the night of February 29th ten thousand women marched through Unter Den London crying 'bread' and 'peace.'"

Daily Gleaner (Kingston, Jamaica.)

We missed them in the Tube.

"WAIT AND SEE."

Mr. Asquith. "WELL, AS WE SAY IN HOME, I HAVE BEEN, I HAVE SEEN——"

Mr. Punch. "THEN YOU NEEDN'T WAIT ANY MORE, SIR; ALL YOU'VE GOT TO DO IS TO GO IN AND CONQUER."

THE PULLING OF PERCY'S LEG.

It was one of those calm quarters of an hour which sometimes happen even in a Y.M.C.A. canteen. Private Penny, leaning over the counter, consumed coffee and buns and bestowed spasmodic confidences upon me as I cut up cake into the regulation slices.

"Oxo and biscuits, please," broke in a languid voice suddenly, and a pale young man with an armlet approached the counter. I turned away for the cup, and Private Penny, laying down his mug, addressed the newcomer.

"Who are you?" he inquired genially.

The young man surveyed him with cold superiority; then he turned to me.

"I'm a Derby man, you see," he began complacently. "A lot of pals'll be here presently, and we're all going to join this afternoon. They're late."

"And what," I asked with resentment, for Private Penny was a friend of mine, "are you going to join?"

It appeared that this superior person, after unprejudiced consideration of the matter, had decided to join the A.S.C. He said he considered he would be of most use in the A.S.C.; he said he was specially designed and constructed by Providence for the A.S.C.; he said....

And then suddenly we became aware that Private Penny was mourning gently to himself over a dough-nut.

"Pore chap!" he was muttering, "pore young feller—'e don't know. None of 'em knows till it's too late, and then they finds their mistake. No good to tell 'em—pore chap, pore chap—so pleased over it, too!"

"What's that you're saying?" the youth cut in anxiously.

"Young man," said Private Penny very solemnly, "if you'd take my advice—the advice of one that's served his country twelve months at the Front—you'd let the Army Service Corps alone. Not that I'm doubting you're a plucky young feller enough, but you ain't up to that. It's nerve you want for it. Well, I wouldn't take it on myself, and I'm pretty well seasoned. Why, you 'ave to go calmly into the mouth of 'ell with supplies, over the open ground, when the Infantry's safe and snug in the trenches. You ain't strong enough for it—reely you ain't."