“And I’ll fight, too, if they want me,” the boy added. “Of course you will, for if you didn’t you wouldn’t be my son,” the old man replied. And that was the end of the Allen incident. “That old fellow is one of the kind that makes the country great. He is a real American,” said Judge Mayer afterward. Just before he left the Federal Building, John Allen asked one of the deputy marshals what case was being tried before Judge Mayer. (It was the case of Emma Goldman and Alexander Berkman.) “I noticed a man and a woman and I wondered who they were. What did they do?” he asked. “They are anarchists and they are on trial for urging men not to register for the war,” the Marshal replied. “Those are the kind’er folks who are responsible for boys like this one of mine gettin’ in trouble,” John Allen observed. “We don’t have folks like that down our way.” CONSOLING INFORMATION Mrs. S. Kensington—“We have such good news from the front! Dear Charles is safely wounded, at last!” HE WAS ALL RIGHT Doctor—“Why were you rejected?” Applicant (smiling)—“For imbecility.” “What do you do for a living?” “Nothing; I have an income of six thousand dollars.” “Are you married?” “Yes.” “What does you wife do?” “Nothing; she is richer than I.” “You are no imbecile. Passed for general service.” THE 100-POUND TERROR OF THE AIR WHEN he registered at a New York hotel the clerk looked him over with a supercilious eye. He was a trifle undersized, to be sure, and youngish—twenty-two and weighing only one hundred pounds. And the name, W. A. Bishop, hastily scrawled on the register, meant nothing to the clerk—probably some college stripling in town to give Broadway the once-over. But a little later the same clerk looked at that name on the hotel roster with a sensation as nearly approaching awe as a New York hotel clerk is capable of feeling; for he had learned that the diminutive guest was the world-famous Maj. William Avery Bishop, of the British Royal Flying Corps, who in three months won every decoration Great Britain has created to pin upon the breasts of her gallant fighters. Mars is a grim god and an exacting master, but he sometimes “smoothes his wrinkled front” at the blandishments of the little god of Love. And it was so in the case of Major Bishop when the gallant knight of the air checked the war-god in the hotel coat room and slipped away with Dan Cupid to Toronto, where his sweetheart was waiting to welcome him. They are to be married before he returns to the front. The St. Louis _Post-Dispatch_ reckons Bishop as the greatest air fighter since Guynemer. It says of his exploits: