One industrious war-gardener is pictured as working busily and reflecting on the virtue of raising his own food-supply.
“If everybody grew his own vegetables and ate less meat,” he soliloquized, “we’d put old Bill on the bum in a hurry. This is tough work, but I’ll stick to it if it kills me. I’m with Hoover on this.”
At this point a fine assortment of earthworms was unearthed. The digger’s reflections immediately shifted to a shady stream and the final scene shows him happily fishing.
“Oh, well,” he reflects to soothe his conscience, “vegetables or fish; it’s all the same to Mr. Hoover.”
THEY DO SOUND ALIKE
“Now,” said the Colonel, looking along the line of recruits, “I want a good smart bugler.”
At that out stepped a dilapidated fellow who had a thick stubble of black beard.
“What!” said the colonel, eying him up and down. “Are you a bugler?”
“Oh, bugler!” said he. “I thought you said burglar.”