In the days when Lord Kitchener, the invincible bachelor, was remaking the British Indian forces, a youthful officer asked for a furlough to go home and be married. Kitchener listened patiently, and then spoke kindly. “Kenilworth, you’re not yet twenty-five. You’re in the midst of a piece of work I value and which you’re doing excellently. Wait a year. By that time you’ll have cleaned the slate and tried out your own mind. If then you still desire to do this thing, speak to me again, and you shall have leave; and I’ll take you back on the staff afterwards.” The year passed, and the officer once more proffered his request. “And you really tell me,” asked Kitchener, “that after thinking it over for twelve months you still wish to marry?” “Yes, sir, very much indeed.” “Adjutant,” commanded Kitchener, “Kenilworth is to have furlough to go to his own wedding. And frankly, my boy, I scarcely thought there was so much constancy in the masculine world.” Kenilworth about faced and marched to the door, but there turned and said, “Thank you, sir. Only it’s not the same woman.” * * * * * It Can’t Be Done “Dress up,” roared the Topper, “y’ grinnin’ baboon;” “Dress up,” bawled the Topper, “y’ half-witted loon.” “How can I?” asked Riley, adjusting his spur. “How can I dress up on thirty beans per?” * * * * * On the Rocks _Lament of the Gold Striper_ “God bless you, dearie, I’ll always be waiting,” Before I got back she’d done other mating. With a goop that stayed home without any rating, ’Twas while I was gone that he did all his bating. _Sad Refrain_: Nothing to think about, nothing to do, Nothing to talk about, none to talk to, Nothing to look at, nothing is new, Nobody to love, no one loves you. Nothing to drink except in the sea, No one to say, “Have one on me,” Bootleg it? Yes, if you have the fee, The label is there, but it’s only weak tea. The sun never shines, nothing but rain, Feel sore all over, nothing but pain, No steps forward, not any gain. Left on the rocks, and lost in the game. * * * * * “You’ve got to admit one thing,” said the man who believes prohibition has gone into effect, “and that is since the country went dry you don’t see so many smashed up automobiles on the country roads.” “Yes,” answered his friend, as he adjusted his glasses, “a fellow who takes more than one shot of the hootch sold nowadays never gets as far as the city limits.” * * * * * Their jests, their quips, insipid jokes, I’ve heard till I am full; Why can’t the men fling bullion, Instead of flinging bull. * * * * *