SHORT WAR STORIES.

Manawatu Herald, Volume XXXIX, Issue 1723, 9 June 1917, Page 4

SHORT WAR STORIES.

CAUTIOUS. , Military Inspecting Officer: “Now, sergeant, what precautions do you take against infected water?” Sergeant: “Well, sir, first we boil it.” Officer: “Good!” Sergeant: “Then we filter it.” Officer: “Excellent!” Sergeant: “Then we drink beer!” MIXED UP. The squad of 'recruits was particularly dense, and the sergeant got more and more exasperated. One man appeared quite incapable of telling his right hand from his left. Said the sergeant at last: “Now, yer bloomin’ idiot, held yer hands in front of yer. Twist them one over the other. Stop. Now tell me which is yer left hand and which is yer right!” The recruit looked blankly at his hands for a moment. “Fm bio wed it I know,” he said, “you’ve gone and mixed ’em.” TOMMY AS A PATIENT. It is etiquette in a military hospital to he very much interested in the other chap’s wounds and to affect to hold lightly one’s own. It is very bad form to hint that your lot is more severe than his lot. “Oh, I am all right, old man,” you say in answer to his .first advances. “Ex - copt for a bit of my ILcr ; ml a few yards of lung blown away, i m us lit a- cun lu>. But 4mt look- an awful leg of vonis,” “Not at till: ;mI at all. Il 1-- almost certain now to Aav on. Bat •: must be horribly ini crest mu to have a body wound,’ And so the ghoulish chat goes on. A SINE CUKE. The following story is told in regard to Mr Lloyd George. He received a call from (he War Office from some one in a high position who took up nearly half an hour of his very valuable time in small talk. Mr Lloyd George was wondering what he could possibly do to get rid of his caller, when the latter unknowingly gave him the cue. “I can’t, imagine," said his visitor, "how you ami Sir 'W illiam Robertson manage to divide between yon, equally and without friction, the work of your Department.” “Well,” said the Secretary for War with his inscrutable smile, “the truth of the mutter is that Sir William transacts most of the actual Departmental business, and —you need not tell anybody,” he went on, drawing his chair up closer and speaking in an impressive manner, and in lower tones — “I entertain the bores.” VERY AWKWARD. The son of a well-to-do family had joined up as a private and was spending his Christmas leave at homo. Returning from a walk, his mother espied a figure in the kitchen with the housemaid. “Clarence,” she called to her son, “.Mary’s got someone in the kitchen. She knows perfectly well that I don’t allow followers. I wish you’d go and tell the man to leave the house at once.” Clarence duly departed to the kitchen, Iml returned in about half a minute. “Sorry, mother, hut 1 can’t turn him out.” “Con’t turn him out I Why on earth not,’” “He’s my sergeant!” TWO VIEWS OF HIM. An Eglish girl, who has met many Australian soldiers in London, writes: —“The following is (he Englishman’s idea of an Australian: — Australian horn, Australian bred; Long in the legs and thick in the head. Terribly funny, awfully rude: Beastly familiar, confoundedly shrewd. “1 venture to alter the above verse to an Englishwoman’s way:” Australian horn —yes, and Australian bred; They’re all of them big boys —it’s the life they've led. They’ve plenty of “Common;” they’re witty, not rude; They’re awfully sociable, and —agrecd —jiret 1 y shrewd. KEEP MOVING. A battalion of (he AVcst Yorkshires, some where in France, were on a long march to a place, say, "What O!” Thinking (hey should he nearing their destination, one of the men in (he ranks asked a pas-ser-hy: “How far is it to What 0?” The reply was: “About three miles.” After trudging for some time longer (he same private hailed another passenger, and pul the same question, and got a similar answer. The men were getting weary, and after going some distance further, the same private, for the third time,' was (old: “About three miles.” Thereupon the private commented: “Thank God, we’re keeping up wi’ (’place, anyhow.” And laughter bucked the men up again. working overtime. The head of the munitions factory was very strict. Furthermore,, he was inclined to he a trifle hasty. He had instituted in his shell shop a system of lines —hues for being late, fines for mistakes, fines for spoiled work, and so on. Of course, the war rush had made him keener than ever, and, happening to awake one morning very early, he went to the factory a little after starting time. As he got out of his motor ear, he saw a pale, haggard, hollow-eyed man walk wearily through the gate. “All a-, Tom Taylor!” he shouted, angrily. “Ten minutes late—eh 1 ?

Well, you’re fined two-pence. Not a word, now! That’s the rule!” “Take your time, guv-nor,” answered Taylor. • “I ain’t knocked off from yesterday yet!”