“Well,” he answered as he passed, “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 buttonholed 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!” ejaculated 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 amusement)—­“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 class, the teacher said:  “As a drawing exercise suppose you each draw, according to your imagination, a picture of Plymouth Rock.”