“The title to that song is plenty,” observed Frank, when the disturbance had somewhat quieted down; “speaking for myself, I’m not curious to see if the music is as bad as the egg.”
“That’s just it,” said Billy, aggrievedly, “it isn’t as bad, it’s worse. That’s what makes the song so funny.”
“The trouble is,” said Tom, “that you’re about the only one in this man’s army who does like it, so I’d advise you to drop it while you’re still alive and healthy.”
“Oh, all right, then,” said Billy, “if you fellows haven’t got sense enough to recognize a little musical gem when it is offered to you, you can go without. But please remember that you’re the losers, not me.”
“It’s nice of you to feel sorry for us,” said Frank, “but just you save up that song to sing to a bunch of Boches. Of course it will be hard even on the Huns, but they’re used to atrocities by this time.”
“That’s a good idea,” said Billy in an injured tone. “I know a German isn’t much good, but with all their faults they do appreciate good music.”
“Yes, but we weren’t talking about good music,” remarked Bart pointedly.
“I don’t seem to make a hit with this crowd,” said Billy plaintively. “One of you fellows see if you can do better.”
“I heard a good joke the other day,” volunteered Tom, “and I wouldn’t mind telling it if somebody coaxed me a little bit.”
“Consider yourself coaxed,” said Bart. “Go ahead and shoot the works.”