CONSCRIPTION
He was a homesick colored soldier in a labor battalion, and he saw no chance of a discharge.
"De nex' wah dey has," he announced to a friend, "dey's two men dat ain't goin'—me an' de man dey sends to git me."
A negro registrant from a farming district was called to service. Arriving in town, he found the local board had moved to another street. At the new address another negro languished in the doorway.
"Is dis whar de redemtion bo'd is at?" queried the newcomer.
"Sho' is," answered the second. "But de blessed redeemer done gone out fo' lunch."
Zeb Smith was a drafted man. He saw heavy fighting in France and was wounded. On his return to the United States he was interviewed by one whose duty it was to interest himself in the men.
"Smith, what do you intend to do when you are released from the service?"
"Get me some dependents," was the instantaneous reply.
The called-up one volubly explained that there was no need in his case for a medical examination.
"I'm fit and I want to fight. I want to go over on the first boat. I want to go right into the front trenches, but I want to have a hospital close, so that if I get hit no time will be wasted in taking me where I can get mended right away, so that I can get back to fighting without losing a minute. Pass me in, doctor. Don't waste any time on me. I want to fight, and keep fighting!"
The doctor, however, insisted, and, when he got through, reported a perfect physical specimen.
"You don't find nothing wrong with me, doctor?"
"Nothing."
"But, doctor, don't you think I'm a bit crazy?"
See also Judgment.