“Oh,” replied the maiden, cheerfully, “the Senate has to ratify it; and then the President has to—­has to veto it; and then the House of Representatives has to”—­she hesitated for a moment, and knit her pretty forehead.

“Oh, yes!  I remember now,” she said.  “The House of Representatives has to adjourn until the next session!”

“Has this bill been endorsed by the Prohibition party?”

“Yes.”

“And met with the approval of the I.W.W. and the Bolsheviki?”

“Yes.”

“And O.K.’d by Mr. Hearst?”

“Certainly.”

“Then instruct Congress to pass it as another great measure restoring the rights of the people.”

CONSCIENCE

Wilson and Wilton were discussing the moralities when the first put this question:  “Well, what is conscience, anyhow?”

“Conscience,” said Wilton, who prides himself upon being a bit of a pessimist, “is the thing we always believe should bother the other fellow.”

A young fellow who was the crack sprinter of his town—­somewhere in the South—­was unfortunate enough to have a very dilatory laundress.  One evening, when he was out for a practice run in his rather airy and abbreviated track costume, he chanced to dash past the house of that dusky lady, who at the time was a couple of weeks in arrears with his washing.

He had scarcely reached home again when the bell rang furiously and an excited voice was wafted in from the porch: 

“Foh de Lawd’s sake! won’t you-all tell Marse Bob please not to go out no moh till I kin git his clo’es round to him?”

Many a man feels that he could be quite comfortable if his conscience would meet him halfway.

CONSCRIPTION

He was a homesick colored soldier in a labor battalion, and he saw no chance of a discharge.

“De nex’ wah dey has,” he announced to a friend, “dey’s two men dat ain’t goin’—­me an’ de man dey sends to git me.”

A negro registrant from a farming district was called to service.  Arriving in town, he found the local board had moved to another street.  At the new address another negro languished in the doorway.

“Is dis whar de redemtion bo’d is at?” queried the newcomer.

“Sho’ is,” answered the second.  “But de blessed redeemer done gone out fo’ lunch.”

Zeb Smith was a drafted man.  He saw heavy fighting in France and was wounded.  On his return to the United States he was interviewed by one whose duty it was to interest himself in the men.

“Smith, what do you intend to do when you are released from the service?”

“Get me some dependents,” was the instantaneous reply.

The called-up one volubly explained that there was no need in his case for a medical examination.

“I’m fit and I want to fight.  I want to go over on the first boat.  I want to go right into the front trenches, but I want to have a hospital close, so that if I get hit no time will be wasted in taking me where I can get mended right away, so that I can get back to fighting without losing a minute.  Pass me in, doctor.  Don’t waste any time on me.  I want to fight, and keep fighting!”