On going nearer he gazed at the rough stubble of his chin ruefully, and took a thoughtful look at his watch.
“Just time,” he muttered, as he pushed open the door of an unknown barber’s shop.
That worthy, with patriotic fervor, placed himself at the disposal of Tommy absolutely, and, between various tricky questions on points of war, nicked and gashed the poor soldier’s face with consummate skill.
The job finished, the barber surveyed Tommy with pride and admiration as he flicked him down with a towel. Our hero, however, again went and surveyed his face in the glass.
“Give me a drink of water!” he gasped.
“You ain’t going to faint?” exclaimed the alarmed hairdresser.
“No—oh, no,” calmly replied Tommy, staunching the wounds on his face. “I just want to see if my mouth’ll hold water!”
HE WANTED POTATOES
A section of British infantry entered a French village in the evening and were going to billet for the night, so many thought it a good chance to cook a hot supper. A private had foraged round and found everything to make a good Irish stew except the potatoes. Being unable to speak French, he asked his section commander what was the French for potatoes. The section commander, being a bit of a wit and scenting some fun, replied, “Bon soir” (“Good evening”).
The private in perfect good faith went up to a house door and was answered by a Frenchwoman, who did not understand one word of English, and the following conversation occurred: