"Fuzzy" and some of his pals slipped the goat into a sack and laid him down among the cold storage meat when the time came to help load the ship, taking care that the sack of live goat did not get into the refrigerator. When the ship was well out to sea, the sack was opened and "Jazz" crawled out blinking. Even then "Fuzzy" was cautious. For the first days, he did not permit the animal to promenade indiscriminately, but subjected him to repeated scrubbings, following by perfume, toilet water and talcum powder. So when "Jazz" was really discovered, he smelt, but more like a barber shop than a goat. The ship's officers appreciated the joke and so did everyone else and soon "Jazz" became a favorite on deck. Repeatedly shampooed and perfumed, wearing a life-preserver, he moved about like a good sailor. But there was less joyful days ahead of him. He did not exactly set foot on English soil as did his friends. He went ashore at an unmentionable port in a kit bag. In this he lay with the other bags, surrounded by a screen of men. "Jazz" was uncomfortable and said so in his goat way, but before he had uttered a full syllable his friends set up a cheer which drowned his voice. This happened again and again. The first time, British transport officers at the port politely disregarded the Americans' demonstrations, but after the third time one of them exclaimed: "Extraordinary, these Americans. Wonderful spirit." And a little later when the men burst into an excessively loud hurrah to annihilate the voice of "Jazz" an elderly British colonel came over to them and inquired of a young American officer nearby: "Splendid lungs your chaps have! But, really, what are they cheering for now?" "Oh," returned the American, who very well knew why, "they're like that. Always cheering about something. Shall I stop it?" "No, indeed! I think it's splendid." So that adventure passed over nicely and "Jazz" went on in a "goods van" with the kit bags to another British sea port. After that there wasn't any further trouble. ---- WHERE LANGUAGE FAILS. ---- Remember along about examination time how you used to think Hades would be a good place for the professor? Two Williams College graduates have had the pleasure of meeting their old French teacher in the nearest earthly approach to the Inferno--the trenches. Officers now, the ex-students finally readied the battalion commander's post in a certain sector after a two-mile trudge from the rear through mud and ice water up to their hips. A French interpreter met them at the door of the post. "Yes, the major is in," he said, "but he won't see you till you shake hands with _me_." Both officers thought they were face to face with a nut. Then, as they recognized their old teacher, two hands shot and grasped both of his. "Well, I'll be darned--you haven't changed a bit!" was all the French they could remember.