More Toasts
Chapter 74 : GILLIS--"Sure did. It taught me to save peach-stones, tin-foil, newspapers and all

GILLIS--"Sure did. It taught me to save peach-stones, tin-foil, newspapers and all kinds of junk. In fact, I can now save anything except money."

Just before the St. Mihiel show the Germans blew up an ammunition dump near a company of Yanks. It was reported that there was a large quant.i.ty of gas sh.e.l.ls in the dump, and as soon as the explosions began the Americans immediately made themselves scarce with great rapidity.

When the danger had pa.s.sed all started drifting back with the exception of one man who did not appear till the next day.

"Well, where you been?" demanded the top kick, eyeing him coldly.

"Sergeant," replied the other earnestly, "I don't know where I been, but I give you my word I been all day gettin' back."

"Who won the war?" asked the bright young goof behind the soda-counter.

"Huh," e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the ex-sergeant gruffly as he dug up the war-tax, "I think we bought it."

A librarian confides to us that she was visited by a young lady who wished to see a large map of France. She was writing a paper on the battle-fields of France for a culture club, and she just couldn't find Flanders Fields and No Man's Land on any of the maps in her books.

The trouble with the peace table is that the Allies want it _a la carte_, and Wilson wants it American plan--_table d'hote_.

_See also_ Exaggeration; Heroes; Soldiers; War.

EUROPEAN WAR--POEMS

_Gifts of the Dead_

Ye who in Sorrow's tents abide, Mourning your dead with hidden tears, Bethink ye what a wealth of pride They've won you for the coming years.

Grievous the pain; but, in the day When all the cost is counted o'er, Would it be best that ye should say: "We lost no loved ones in the war?"

Who knows? But proud then shall ye stand That best, most honored boast to make: "My lover died for his dear land,"

Or, "My son fell for England's sake."

Christlike they died that we might live; And our redeemed lives would we bring, With aught that grat.i.tude may give To serve you in your sorrowing.

And never a pathway shall ye tread, No foot of seash.o.r.e, hill, or lea, But ye may think: "The dead, my dead, Gave this, a sacred gift, to me."

--_Habberton Lulhaut_.

The war is like the Judgment Day-- All sham, all pretext torn away; And swift the searching hours reveal Hearts good as gold, souls true as steel.

Blest saints and martyrs in disguise, Concealed ere-while from holden eyes.

And now we feel that all around Have angels walked the well-known ground; Not winged and strange beyond our ken, But in the form of common men.

G.o.d's messengers from Heaven's own sphere-- Unrecognized because so near.

--_Ella Fuller Maitland_.

_For Thee They Died_

For thee their pilgrim swords were tried, Thy flaming word was in their scrips, They battled, they endured, they died To make a new Apocalypse.

Master and Maker, G.o.d of Right, The soldier dead are at thy gate, Who kept the spears of honor bright And freedom's house inviolate.

--_John Drinkwater_.

_After-Days_.

When the last gun has long withheld Its thunder, and its mouth is sealed, Strong men shall drive the furrow straight On some remembered battle-field.

Untroubled they shall hear the loud.

And gusty driving of the rains, And birds with immemorial voice Sing as of old in leafy lanes.

The stricken, tainted soil shall be Again a flowery paradise-- Pure with the memory of the dead And purer for their sacrifice.

--_Eric Chilman_.

EVIDENCE

An attorney was defending a man charged by his wife with desertion.

For a time it looked as tho it were a cinch for the prosecution, but at the psychological moment the attorney called the defendant to the stand. "Take off that bandage," he cried, and the man did it, exposing a black eye. "Your honor," said the attorney, "our defense is that this man is not a deserter. He's a refugee."

The London police-sergeant raised his eyes from the blotter as two policemen propelled the resisting victim before him.

"A German spy, sir!" gasped the first bobby.

"I'm an American, and can prove it," denied the victim.

"That's what he says, but here's the evidence," interrupted the second bobby, triumphantly producing a bulky hotel-register from beneath his arm, and pointing to an entry.

"V. Gates," written in a flowing hand, was the record that met the astonished sergeant's gaze.

It happened in the court-room during the trial of a husky young man who was charged with a.s.sault and battery. Throughout an especially severe cross-examination the defendant stoutly maintained that he had merely pushed the plaintiff "a little bit."

"Well, about how hard?" queried the prosecutor.