he would
be too hard to cook. So Jim took him to camp for a mascot, and by the
time he got through there he learned to understand American--believe you
me!

II

PRO BONEHEAD PUBLICO

I

AIN'T it remarkable the way the war has changed the way we look at a
whole lot of things? Take wrist-watches for one. Before the military
idea was going so strong on its present booking but a little while,
wrist-watches had grabbed off a masculine standing for themselves, and
six months before no real man would of been willingly found dead in one!

Then take newspapers! Oncet we used to look at them for news, and now we
just look at them. It's kind of a nervous habit, I guess. And take
simple little things like coal and sugar. Why once we paid no attention
to them and now we look at them real respectful--when we see them.
Which leads me on to say that the war has brought us to look at a great
many things we never even seen before, not if they was right under our
noses. That's how I come to see that letter from the W.S.S.
Committee--and would to Heaven I had not, as the poet says. For
although--believe you me--most of the mail order goods a person buys is
pretty apt to be as rep. because why would a customer write again which
had been stung once, and thrift stamps is no exception, it certainly
will be a long time before I fall so easy for anything the postman slips
me. Next time I'll recognize that his whistle is a note of warning to
more than them which has unpaid bills, which I have not and so never
listened for him.

Well, anyways, the time this little trouble maker reached my side, I had
slipped into a simple little lounging suit of pink georgette pajamas,
and was lying on the day-bed in a regular wallow of misery on account of
wondering if Jim was dead on the gory fields of France, or was it only
the censor--do you get me? I was laying there rubbing a little cold
cream onto my nose and thinking how would it feel to be always able to
do so without losing my husband's love, which, of course, would mean he
had died at the front, when in comes Ma with a couple of letters. I give
one shriek and sprung to my feet, like a regular small-time drama, and
grabbed them off her, cold cream and all. And then slunk back upon the
day-bed and despair when I seen they weren't from Jim. Ma stood there
with her hands on her hips until she seen I wasn't going to break any
bad news to her, when she left me in peace to read them. That is sh