With the Colors | Page 6

eat, and Jimmy--he can cook!
(He makes a
stew that tastes as good as mother used to make.) An' when he starts to
flappin' cakes, why, every hungry rook Is droolin' at the mouth for them,
a-waitin' fer his take.
He's ranked a sergeant, but he don't mix up with no recruits; He rides a
horse when we parade (which ain't so often now); But where he shines
is when we eat; the grub that Jimmy shoots At hungry troopers every
day is certainly "some chow."
He's jest a "dough-boy," of a sort; it's Jimmy's job to cook; Don't hafter
drill, don't hafter tote a lot of arms with him; Jest messes up th' stuff we
eat, and we don't hafter look-- It's _always_ clean! So here's a good
luck and health to Cookie Jim!
The capting says, says he: "You rooks
Have gotta lot to learn, I'll say,

'Cept Jimmy; he's the best o' cooks
Troop Z has had fer many a day

While soldierin',
While soldierin'--
He does his work, while
soldierin'!"
THE SANDWICH GIRL
This is the story as told to me;
It may be a fairy-tale new,
But I know the man, and I know that he
lies
Very infrequently, too!
When the boys in khaki first were called to serve,
Guarding railroad
bridges and the like,
Bob was just a private in the old N. G.,
Fond
of all the work--except the hike.
When they sent his comp'ny down
the road a bit,
"Gee!" he said, "I'd like to commandeer
Some one's
car and drive it--marching gets my goat!"
(Bob was quite a gas-car
engineer.)
Lonesome work, this pacing up and down a bridge.
Now and then a

loaded train goes by;
But at night--just nothing; everything was dead;

Empty world beneath an empty sky.
Then the chauffeur lady got
into the game,
Drove her car each midnight to our tents,
Bringing
us hot coffee, sandwiches, and pie;
All the others thought that was
immense.
But Bob, ungrateful cuss, he would never say,
Like the rest, that she
had saved their lives;
He was too blamed busy, like the one-armed
man
Papering--the one that had the hives!
Bob would eat the
lunches--eat and come again,
Silent, but as hungry as a pup;
Finish
with a piece o' pie, swallow it--and go;
Never had to make him hurry
up!
Then one night we heard him talking to the girl,
Like he was
complaining to her: "Say!
Can't you change the stuffing? I am sick of
ham!
Have a heart! I'd just as lief eat hay!"
Did we all jump on him?
You can bet we did:
"Who gave you the right to kick, you steer,

Over what she brings us? She's a first-rate pal;
Talk some more and
get her on her ear!"
Bob was somewhat flustered; thought we hadn't heard.
Then he said,
"Well, ain't you tired o' ham?"
"What of that?" says Wilcox. "Think
of how she works!
Spends her cash ...!" (All Bob said then was,
"Damn!")
Grabbing up his Springfield, "Listen, you!" he snaps.

"That's my motor and my gasoline.
Sure she's spending money--but it
comes from me;
She's my sister, and her name's Irene!"
Then, as he marched himself into the night,
We looked at each other a
spell.
"We've ditched our good luck--he won't _let_ her come back,"
Says Wilcox. "Now isn't _that_ hell!"
BUGLER BILL
Bugler Bill--mild-mannered, shy--
Is straight.... But I wonder if Bill
_would_ lie?

Bugler Bill is a pensive lad,
Whether he's workin' or not;

Serious-faced an' pitiful sad--
(Think he was goin' t' be shot!)

Whenever he bugles, some of us cry--
Reveille, taps, or mess--

With musical sob-stuff Bill gets by,
Plaintive and full of distress!
Bugler Bill is never real gay,
But built on a sour-face plan;
Bill
wouldn't laugh, whatever you'd say;
Looks like a love-poisoned man.

"Grin, ye hyenas," he'll say as he smokes;
"_I_ ain't a frivolous
guy--"
"Thinkin' of all of the pain you caused folks
While learnin'
to play?" asks I.
Bugler Bill, he sighs as he turns,
Shakin' his head at me.
"A long
while ago th' bugle I learns--
So don't you git funny," says he.
"My
audience laughed till it cried salty tears,
An' everyone called me a joy.

I was a clown in a circus for years--
_That's_ why I'm solemn, my
boy!"
Bugler Bill come "out of the Draft"--
D'you s'pose at _that_ joke he
actually laughed?
HEINIE THE HOSTLER
_He's not very handsome or clever,
He's slow in his wits--and he's fat,

And yet he's a soldier of Uncle Sam's--
Now, whaddy you know
about that?_
We always called him Dummy,
And thought he wouldn't fight;
We
sneered at him and jeered at him--
He was--and is--a sight!
His feet
are big, his head is small,
His German blood is slow,
But at the call
for volunteers,
Why, didn't Heinie go?
He's workin' as a hostler
(He used to be a clerk)
He don't enjoy his
job, that boy,
But Heinie is no shirk.
"This is _my_ country just as
much
As it is yours," says he;
"I'm gonna do what I _can_ do
To
_keep_ it mine!... You'll see!

"My father, he come over here
To get away from things;
He
couldn't abide on th' other side--
Aristocrats and kings.
The Stars
and