The proprietor of a café at Havre, in endeavoring to please his large-increased British clientèle, as a consequence of the war, started his menus in English. The first effort of the local printer was:— “Soup, fish, entrée, joint, sweet, wife and coffee included.” Three francs was the price, and one might say not at all dear at that figure. FIGHT OR I QUIT YOU Mabel—“I think I shall give up my flat next week.” Maud—“Why, is it too small?” Mabel—“No; he won’t enlist.” WOULDN’T BACK OUT One night General —— was out on the line and observed a light on the mountain opposite. Thinking it was a signal-light of the enemy, he remarked to his artillery officer that a hole could easily be put through it. Whereupon the officer, turning to the corporal in charge of the gun, said: “Corporal, do you see that light?” “Yes, sir.” “Put a hole through it,” ordered the captain. The corporal sighted the gun, and, when all was ready, he looked up and said: “Captain, that’s the moon.” “Don’t care for that,” was the captain’s ready response; “put a hole through it, anyhow.” UNDER CANVAS “Yes,” sighed the mother, “I am so often worried about my boy John. You have no idea how much concerned a mother is when her son is on the tented field.” “Ah!” said the sympathetic listener. “And what regiment is your son with?” “Regiment? Oh, he isn’t with the army—he’s employed in a traveling circus.” PUNCTURED “Reckon I look a reg’lar Bluebird,” quoth Tommy to himself, as he caught a khaki reflection of himself in a looking-glass. 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”).