Indoor vs. Outdoor Shaving.
In billet shaving, somebody is always trying to climb into the bunk above over your slightly bent back while you shave—for it is impossible to get your little trench mirror directly in front of your face while you are in an upright position. In outdoor shaving—usually performed in the middle of a village square, near the town fountain—one is invariably bumped from behind by one of the lowing kine or frolicsome colts peculiar to the region; to say nothing of a stray auto truck or ambulance which may have broken loose from its moorings. These gentle digs, of course, produce far less gentle digs in one's countenance. In this way, America's soldiers, long before they reach the front, are inured to the sight of blood.
After you have scraped off a sufficient amount of beard to show a sufficient amount of skin to convince the Top, when he eyes you over, that you have actually shaved, you shake the lather off your razor and brush, dab what is left of the original water over the torn parts of your face, seize the opportunity, while you have the mirror before you, of combing your hair with your fingernails, and button your shirt collar. The performance concluded, you are good for forty-eight hours more, having a perfect alibi if anyone comments on your facial growth. You are not, however, in any condition to attend a revival meeting or to bless the power-that-be who condemned you to having to shave in France.
——
CRUSADERS.
——
Richard Cœur de Lion was a soldier and a king;
He carried lots of hefty tools with which his foes to bing;
He cased himself in armor tough—neck, shoulder, waist, and knee:
But Richard, old Cœur de Lion, didn't have a thing on me.
For while old Cœur de Lion may have worn an iron casque,
He never had to tote around an English gas-proof mask;
He never galled himself with packs that weigh about a ton,
Nor—lucky Richard—did he have to clean a beastly gun.
'Tis true he wore a helmet to protect himself from boulders,
But then, he had good rest for it upon his spacious shoulders;
While my tin hat is balanced on the peak of my bare dome,
And after marching with it—gee! I wish that I were home!
His feet were cased in metal shoes, in length about a yard,
Which, since they were so big, I bet did not go on as hard
As Uncle Sam'yal's dancing pumps that freeze so stiff at night
[That donning them at reveille is sure an awful fright.]
He never had to pull a Ford from out of muddy ruts—
Although his breastplate warded spears from off his royal guts,
His Nibs was never forced to face the fire of "forty-twos"
And tear gas would have given him an awful case of blues.
He always rode a charger, while I travel on shanks' mare;
He messed on wine and venison; I eat far humbler fare.
I'll grant he was some fencer with his doughty snickersnee,
But Richard Cœur de Lion didn't have a thing on me!
——
YES, THEY'RE A FEW.
——
Green Sentry: "Turn out the guard—Officer of the Day!"
(Officer of the Day promptly salutes, indicating, "As you were!")
Green Sentry: "Never mind the Officer of the Day!"
FASHION HINTS
FOR DOUGHBOYS
By BRAN MASH.
Overcoats are being worn much shorter this season, by request.
The campaign hat, while still de rigueur for the less formal functions of army society, such as reveille and mess, is rapidly going out of date. It is said on excellent authority that it will soon be supplanted by a chapeau closely resembling the cocked hat worn by certain goodly gentlemen of Boston and vicinity during skirmish drill at Lexington and Concord, Mass. The portrait shown herewith depicts one of the makeshifts now much in vogue.
Rubber boots are much the rage at this season of the year. While not exactly suited to town wear, and while the more conservative dressers still refuse to be seen in them at afternoon-tea, they are speedily adjusted and thus enjoy great popularity among those who are in the habit of "just making" reveille.
Slickers are, at present writing, in great demand among the members of the younger army set. Those who were farsighted enough to procure the heavy black variety when it was issued last fall are counting themselves more fortunate than their friends who chose the lighter, but colder, blue or drab garment.
The tin brown derby is, after all, the most serviceable headgear for all-around wear in the war zone. It should be worn on all formal occasions, particularly when nearing the Boches' reception line. When in doubt as to the propriety of wearing it, it is always well to remember that it is better to err on the side of safety.
The face muffler—either English or French design—is another sine qua non for all formal occasions, particularly at soirees and dansants near the first line. In fact, some of the more careless dressers who have neglected to provide themselves with it have suffered severely, and been roundly snubbed. While it is at best an ugly piece of facegear and extremely difficult for the uninitiated to adjust correctly, its intricacies should be mastered at the earliest opportunity by those having business "up front."
The knit sock, home made preferred, is indispensable for wear inside the regulation field shoe during all formal and informal promenades. It is a sign of gaucherie, however, to allow the top of either sock to protrude above the puttee or legging. Care should be taken that the socks fit the feet as snugly as possible, else ugly bunches will form at the heels and toes, thus robbing the gentle art of walking of all the pleasure which Henry Ford put into it.
The web belt, worn on most formal occasions, should always be well filled when the wearer contemplates a business trip. Cautious dressers do well to adjust the belt so that the pistol holster hangs within easy reach of the right hand.
Spiral puttees have advanced so far in popular favour that they are now being issued for general wear by such a conservative (but ever reliable) gent's furnishing house as the U.S.Q.M.C.D. They are considered warmer than the old-style canvas leggings, although, as they take longer to put on, they are rather frowned upon by the more hasty dressers. They should be tightly wrapped if the wearer possesses a shapely lower limb; but tight wrapping is apt to result in tired feet at the end of a promenade of any duration.
The regulation field shoe has been designated the correct footwear for business and informal occasions. Care should be taken to secure sizes which will admit of the entrance of the wearer's feet (one in each shoe) when encased in at least two pairs of socks. Although numerous complaints have been lodged against the hobnails which infest the soles of these shoes, it may be said in extenuation that they are indispensable for marching along slippery roads, and also extremely useful when the wearer is engaged in kicking Germans in the face.
The Sam Browne belt is worn exclusively by officers serving with the American Expeditionary Forces—that is, in the American Army. It is a natty leather ornament, and much sought after. It is, in fact, the [last word—dernier cri—in gentlemanly attire.]
SHIRTS KHAKI COLLARS
6, Rue Castiglione,
(Opp. Hotel Continental) A. SULKA & Co. 34 W. 34 Street,
PARIS. Mail orders executed. NEW YORK
SOCIÉTÉ ANONYME
DES
FILATURES, CORDERIES & TISSAGES D'ANGER
BESSONNEAU Administrateur.
BESSONNEAU
is the creator of
Aeroplane Sheds
Hospital Sheds Sanitary Huts
Ambulance Tents
The BESSONNEAU constructions
have stood their tests for many years
in several campaigns on all fronts and
in all climates.
The BESSONNEAU constructions
are now being imitated, but only
BESSONNEAU makes his canvas
properly waterproof and does the
whole of his constructing himself:
Tents, sheds and huts.
[To have every real GUARANTEE one]
must have the trade-mark:
BESSONNEAU
——
MY FIRST NIGHT IN THE ARMY.
——
I'm there with two thin blankets,
As thin as a slice of ham,
A German spy was likely the guy
Who made them for Uncle Sam.
How did I sleep? Don't kid me—
My bed-tick's filled with straw,
And lumps and humps and big fat bumps
That pinched till I was raw.
Me and my two thin blankets
As thin as my last thin dime,
As thin, I guess, as a chorus girl's dress,
Well, I had a dandy time.
I'd pull 'em up from the bottom,
Whenever I started to sneeze,
A couple of yanks to cover my shanks,
And then how my "dogs" did freeze.
You could use 'em for porous plasters,
Or maybe to strain the soup,—
My pillows my shoes when I tried to snooze—
And I've chilblains, a cough and croup.
Me and my two thin blankets,
Bundled up under my chin;
Yes, a German spy was likely the guy,
And—MY—but they were thin.
AMERICAN EYE CLASSES
OPTICIAN
LONDON PARIS
1A, Old Bond St. 3, Rue Scribe.
——
HEARD IN THE CAFE.
——
"So you were down at El Paso the same time we were? Bum town, wasn't it?"
"Let's see,—I knew a lad out in Kansas City and his name was—"
"No, I haven't been up in Alaska since 1908, but there's a guy in our comp'ny who—"
"By the way, where did you say you came from in New Hampshire?"
"Sure enough. We hung around there at Tampa until—"
"Yes, I got a paper from my home town in Nevada that said—"
And, in spite of talk like that, there are some people back home that think their own communities' men are doing all the fighting.
——
CAN YOU BLAME HER?
——
Teacher in French School: "Marie, what is the national anthem of La Patrie?"
Little Marie: "La Marseillaise."
Teacher: "Good! Now, the national air of England?"
Little Marie: "God Save the King."
Teacher: "Very good, mon enfant! Now, the national air of the United States?"
Little Marie: "Certainement! It is 'Hail, Hail, the Gang's All Here!'"
——
GOOD ENOUGH FOR HIM.
——
"Well, Bill, how are you getting along with your French?"
"Fine! I know the words for wood, straw, beefsteak and suds; what more do I want to get by with?"
——
SUCH IS FAME!
——
"Jake, who's this Lord Reading that's the new British Ambassador to the States?"
"Reading? Say, ain't he the guy that run a railroad somewhere in Pennsylvania?"
English and American
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ALLIES THE FAVORITES IN BETTING ODDS ON BIG WORLD'S SERIES
KID JOHNSON LOSES
BELT BY A KNOCKOUT
——
Fighting Fireman from the
Q.M.C. Defeats Champion
in One Round.
——
By BRITT.
——
An extra long khaki-colored canvas belt, regulation, was turned over this week to Judson C. Pewther, Q.M.C., by Kid Johnson, of the —th Infantry, following a two minute ceremony which ended in a knockout. Which is to say, "Charlie, the Fighting Fireman," is being hailed as the new heavyweight champion of G.H.Q., A.E.F.
Kid Johnson had whipped everyone in sight at G.H.Q., and was being touted as the champion of Amex forces. He was billed to fight both Pewther and a French heavyweight aspirant the same evening. He had to disappoint the Frenchman—fini, monsieur, FEENISHED.
Charlie, ostensibly a modest and unassuming fireman in the offices of the Intelligence Section, General Staff, is now recognized as one of the best fighting units in the A.E.F. Report has it that he was one of the best bets on the Border, where he served in the Body Snatchers—with a long string of ring victories to his credit. He had been out of the boxing game for nearly three years, having married in the interim, but no one disputes the fact that he made a great comeback.