"A wounded soldier jumped or fell from a passing S.E.R. Red Cross train between Swanley Junction and Bromley to-day. The train was running at about twenty miles an hour. When picked up the man was found to be uninjured."—Evening Paper.
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ALGY.
Algy, it must be admitted, is no Adonis, but at least there is something in his great round pudding-face and his cheery idiotic smile which gives one the impression of a warm and optimistic nature.
Algy is humble and not ambitious; but for all that he is doing his bit, just as you and I are doing. He never goes on strike, and if he had any money, which he never does have, I know he would invest it in War Loan. Above all he is not a food-hog; not for him the forbidden potato or the millionaire's beer—no! Against all luxuries Algy has resolutely steeled his voluminous tummy. He has turned into the strictest of teetotalers, and, though a glass of Scotch may bring a wistful look into his eyes, yet he remains captain of his soul, unbroken as St. Anthony.