to see if my mouth’ll hold water!”

HE WANTED POTATOES

A section of British infantry entered a French village in the evening and were going to billet for the night, so many thought it a good chance to cook a hot supper. A private had foraged round and found everything to make a good Irish stew except the potatoes. Being unable to speak French, he asked his section commander what was the French for potatoes. The section commander, being a bit of a wit and scenting some fun, replied, “Bon soir” (“Good evening”).

The private in perfect good faith went up to a house door and was answered by a Frenchwoman, who did not understand one word of English, and the following conversation occurred:

Private—“Bon soir.”

Frenchwoman—“Bon soir, monsieur.”

Private—“Yes, bon soir.”

Frenchwoman—“Bon soir, monsieur.”

Private—“Yes, yes! Some bon soirs, please.”

Thomas Atkins, seeing the look of amazement on the good Frenchwoman’s face, and seeing a potato lying in the roadway, thought he had better adopt different tactics, so, picking up the potato and showing it to the woman, said: “Here, missus, give us some of these blooming spuds!”

ABSENT-MINDED BEGGAR

The “Tommy” on leave from the front had been given a free railway pass to take him home to see his people, and he utilized part of his brief holiday to get married. On the return journey, when the ticket-inspector asked to see his pass, he produced by accident his marriage lines.

The inspector handed the paper back with a glimmer of a smile.

“This is a ticket for a very long and wearisome journey, young man,” he said, “but not on this line.”

AND THE TOOTUNS, TOO

First Native—“We’re doin’ fine at the war, Jarge.”

Second Native—“Yes, Jahn; and so be they Frenchies.”

First Native—“Aye; an’ so be they Belgians an’ Italyuns an’ Rooshians.”

Second Native—“Aye; an’ so be they Allys. Oi dunno where they come from, Jahn, but they be perfect fiends for fightin’.”

WAR BRIDE RETORTS

Soldier’s Unmarried Wife (who has been living with her man for eleven years, to charming and aristocratic widow, the local representative of the Soldiers’ and Sailors’ Families’ Association)—“Well, ma’am, I am going to be married next week, and I want you to come to the wedding. You’ve been so kind it would not be right without you.”

Fair Widow—“I shall be delighted to come, Mrs. Brown. What day is it?”

Mrs. Brown—“On Thursday, ma’am.”

Fair Widow—“That is very unfortunate. I am afraid I cannot go, as I have another important engagement.”

Mrs. Brown—“Is it very important, ma’am? Can’t you put it off?”

Fair Widow—“Well, the truth is, I am going to be married myself.”

Mrs. Brown—“Ah, I quite understand. It doesn’t do to miss the chance of getting righted when you gets the opportunity, does it now, ma’am?”

TO A CIGARETTE—IN THE TRENCHES

SOME BOSS

How Lord Kitchener is regarded in the English army was shown once in amusing fashion at a “geographical tea-party.”

It was noticed that a young subaltern came into the room with a tiny portrait of Lord Kitchener in his buttonhole. No one could guess what geographical significance could be attached to it. At last the young man explained that what he had intended to convey was “The Bos-phor-us.”

WHAT MUFFS ARE FOR

“You are a regular muff, sir,” said an exasperated sergeant, after vainly trying to drill a recruit.

“Thank you sir,” replied the latter; “if I am a muff, I have done my duty—I have made you warm!”

GOING THE LIMIT

Even the war has its bright side. Two negro porters were discussing it as they waited for a train to pull into the station.

“Man,” said the first, “dem Germany submaroons is sho’ly gwine to sink de British navy. Yas, sir-ee, dey’s sho’ly gwine to ’splode dem naval boats dat’s waitin’ out yonda.”

“Sho!” said porter number two. “An’ what’s gwine ter happen den?”

“Why, dem Germany submaroons’ll come right on ’cross de ocean an’ splode de rest ob de naval boats ob de world. Dat’s what’ll happen den, Sambo!”

“Well, looky heah, Gawge. Ain’t yo’ an’ me better decla’ ouahselves a couple o’ noot—nootral—nootralities?”