Germans.”

The following day he received from London a telegram: “Heartiest congratulations.—Kitchener.”

This was duly shown around, but next morning his pride was boundless on receiving the Royal message: “The Empire is proud of you.—George.”

It was not until the third day, when he received a wire, “For Heaven’s sake, keep neutral.—Wilhelm,” that he realized a waggish friend had been pulling his leg.

THE JEW AND THE CROSS

“I am told,” said the Kaiser, “that you are a very poor man, and the only support of your aged parents. Because of your poverty you shall have your choice between taking the Iron Cross or a hundred marks.”

“Your Majesty,” inquired the hero, “what is the Cross worth in money?”

“Not much,” said the Emperor. “It is the honor that makes it valuable. It is worth perhaps two marks.”

“Very well, then,” said Einstein, drawing himself up to his full height and saluting. “I will take the Iron Cross and ninety-eight marks in cash!”

RETREAT IN ORDER

Even an extremely aggressive enemy can be conquered by strategy; it is only a question of employing the stratagem fitted to the case.

An open-air preacher of East London understood this, and his stratagem fitted to a charm. He was addressing a crowd when a soldier who had been drinking came up and ridiculed the service. Finding it was useless to ignore the man, the preacher said:

“Ah, my friend, you’re no soldier. No servant of the King would get drunk and interrupt a peaceful service.”

The man said he was a soldier, and asked the preacher to test him.

“Very well,” was the reply, “I will. Now, then, attention!”

This the soldier did as well as his condition would allow.

“About—turn!”

This order was also obeyed, though with some trouble.

“Quick march!”

And off went the valiant soldier, marching down the road at a quick pace, while the preacher resumed his address.

SUFFICIENTLY EQUIPPED

Recruiting Sergeant—“I can’t enlist you, my good man; you have only one eye.”

Patriotic Scotsman—“Hoots! that disna matter. Ye’ve tae shut ae e’e whin yer shootin’ onywey.”

“NEXT OF KIN”

A good recruiting story, told by an officer at Seaforth, shows how prone is a simple mind to be confused by the elaborate cross-questioning which the new recruit has to undergo. The officer was entrusted with the collection of particulars necessary for the allotment of allowances to the soldiers’ dependents.

He was interrogating a young fellow who did not seem to have a clear idea what it was all about.

“Next of kin?” he asked, in a sharp, business-like way.

The young soldier dropped his voice and became confidentially apologetic.

“I’m only wearing a jersey,” he replied; “my shirt’s getting washed.”

HIS BROTHER’S TASK

A young lad applied for work the other day at a shed in Burnley, where his three brothers had worked previously, but had ’listed.

The manager, a thorough patriot, told the lad he could find him two looms at once, and then asked him:

“How’s your brother Frank going on?”

“’E’s out at the front, sir, feighting.”

“Is your brother Albert out in France as well?”

“Yes, sir, ’e’s wi’ eawr Frank—same regiment.”

“Your eldest brother, Jack, will be out there also, I reckon?”

“No,” said the youngster, with a proud shake of the head; “eawr Jack hesn’t gone to France yet. ’E’s mindin’ India!”

THE SERGEANTS’ MESS

“Do you mean that you want me to press your trousers?” she demanded, with all the sternness she could muster.

“Why, certainly, my dear,” replied Sergeant Euchre, affably. “Am I asking too much?”

“Well, I should just about think so, Charles William. I’d have you know that when you married me you didn’t marry a flat-iron.”

Charles William thought a lot. That same evening Mrs. Euchre chipped in with, “Oh, Charles, you might just button my dress up the back before you go out.”

But Sergeant Euchre merely filled his pipe as he chuckled softly, “Not much, popsy-wopsy. You must remember that when you accepted me you did not marry a buttonhook.”

And setting his cap at a rakish angle, he made for the sergeants’ mess.

BOUND TO KEEP OUT OF IT

A recruiting sergeant, holding forth on the absolute necessity of every man enlisting, encountered an Irish wit.

“Halloa, John! Why can’t you join the Colors? I don’t know how any man can stand aside in such terrible circumstances. Why, what would you do if the enemy came over here, eh?”

“Oh,” said John, “that’s the simplest thing on earth. Why, shure, I’d enlist for foreign service then.”

CLEVER MACKAY

Private John Mackay was pondering over the common problem of “raising the wind.” He was absolutely stony, hadn’t even the money to buy himself a packet of “fags.” But as he pondered an idea of striking originality took shape, which so delighted him with its simplicity that he immediately put it into practice.

Entering a hut, which, along with hundreds of others, Kitchener has caused to be built to protect the soldiers from the changes of weather, he called to attention the party of new recruits.

“Gentlemen,” he began, as he produced a highly-polished silver watch, “I have here a watch to sell. I already have a wristlet watch”—here he used the conventional lie—“so there is no use keeping this one. Now, what do you offer for it?” The question was addressed to no one in particular.

Save for cries of “a halfpenny” and “threepence,” no one appeared to be interested. But Mac wasn’t downhearted. Advancing farther into the hut, he held up his hand.

“We’ll raffle it, then,” he suggested, still feigning that he believed he would get a purchaser. “Here is a pack of cards.”

The cards were handed over, shuffled, and with the actions of an expert card player, a recruit deposited a card in front of each of the assembled men.

“Now, each man back his card, threepence all round, and the watch goes to the highest card.”

This was done with remarkable speed, the recruits had pocket-money in plenty, and the schemer now gathered in his shekels. The cards were then turned, and the fellow who had managed to win rushed off to his corner, exultantly bearing his prize. Mac departed.

Half an hour later Mac quietly slipped into the recruits’ hut, and going over to the man who had captured the watch, whispered:

“The man I got the watch from is wanting it. I’ll very likely get into a scrape if I don’t get it. I’ll give you a shilling for it.”

The recruit quickly jumped to the conclusion that Mac had stolen the watch, and not wishing to be connected in any way with stolen property, promptly handed it back.

As Mac went off with his watch to his own hut he muttered: “That’s raised the wind, anyway.”

EXCUSE FOR POOR SHOOTING

The other day some Scottish Territorials were at the rifle butts. One of the men, a tailor by trade, was making exceedingly bad practice, and missing the target every shot. At length the officer in command became angry, and inquired gruffly:

“Can you not see the target, sir? Surely you, as a tailor, must thread your own needle!”

“Oh, aye, I can see the