PUNCTURED
“Reckon I look a reg’lar Bluebird,” quoth Tommy to himself, as he caught a khaki reflection of himself in a looking-glass.
On going nearer he gazed at the rough stubble of his chin ruefully, and took a thoughtful look at his watch.
“Just time,” he muttered, as he pushed open the door of an unknown barber’s shop.
That worthy, with patriotic fervor, placed himself at the disposal of Tommy absolutely, and, between various tricky questions on points of war, nicked and gashed the poor soldier’s face with consummate skill.
The job finished, the barber surveyed Tommy with pride and admiration as he flicked him down with a towel. Our hero, however, again went and surveyed his face in the glass.
“Give me a drink of water!” he gasped.
“You ain’t going to faint?” exclaimed the alarmed hairdresser.
“No—oh, no,” calmly replied Tommy, staunching the wounds on his face. “I just want to see if my mouth’ll hold water!”