A recruiting sergeant, holding forth on the absolute necessity of every man enlisting, encountered an Irish wit.
“Halloa, John! Why can’t you join the Colors? I don’t know how any man can stand aside in such terrible circumstances. Why, what would you do if the enemy came over here, eh?”
“Oh,” said John, “that’s the simplest thing on earth. Why, shure, I’d enlist for foreign service then.”
CLEVER MACKAY
Private John Mackay was pondering over the common problem of “raising the wind.” He was absolutely stony, hadn’t even the money to buy himself a packet of “fags.” But as he pondered an idea of striking originality took shape, which so delighted him with its simplicity that he immediately put it into practice.
Entering a hut, which, along with hundreds of others, Kitchener has caused to be built to protect the soldiers from the changes of weather, he called to attention the party of new recruits.
“Gentlemen,” he began, as he produced a highly-polished silver watch, “I have here a watch to sell. I already have a wristlet watch”—here he used the conventional lie—“so there is no use keeping this one. Now, what do you offer for it?” The question was addressed to no one in particular.
Save for cries of “a halfpenny” and “threepence,” no one appeared to be interested. But Mac wasn’t downhearted. Advancing farther into the hut, he held up his hand.
“We’ll raffle it, then,” he suggested, still feigning that he believed he would get a purchaser. “Here is a pack of cards.”