Captain (examining uniforms which are expected to be marked with the owner’s name)—What does this mean, my man? Your name seems to be obliterated.
Private (in the rear rank)—No, sir, it’s O’Brien.
A young officer at the front wrote home to his father—
Dear Father—Kindly send me fifty pounds at once. Lost another leg in a stiff engagement, and am in hospital without means.
The answer was as follows—
My Dear Son—As this is the fourth leg you have lost (according to your letters), you ought to be accustomed to it by this time. Try and hobble along on any others you may have left.
She had been hoping against hope that Bill would get leave of absence so they could spend their wedding anniversary together. But, alas! he was unsuccessful in his application. Knowing how disappointed his wife would be he sent an order to a local store for a treadle sewing machine, knowing that would be her choice of a present.
The crate arrived before Bill’s letter of explanation, and on examining it the good lady gave a loud scream, and seizing a hatchet, proceeded to open it.