tinum and cement to match. Everything is
there but the lady assistant, and even she may be added in time.

If you wanted to be funny about the thing, you might call this motorized
dentist's parlor the crowning achievement of the Red Cross; for, strange
to say, it is the Red Cross, commonly supposed to be on the job of
alleviating human misery, that has put the movable torture chamber on
the road, to play one-tooth stands all along the countryside. But no one
wants to be funny about a dentist's office that, instead of lying in
wait for you, comes out on the road and chases you. It's too darn
serious a matter; you might almost say that it flies in the teeth of all
the conventions, Hague and otherwise.

It looks part like an ambulance, but it isn't. An ambulance carries you
somewhere so that you can get some rest; a traveling tooth-yankery
doesn't give you a chance to rest. It's white, is the outside of the
car, just like a baby's hearse, and just about as cheerful to
contemplate. On its side it says, "Dental Traveling Ambulance No.
1"--the No. 1 part gleefully promising, no doubt, that this isn't the
end of them by any means, but that there may be more to follow.

Useful As a Tank?

Somebody had a nerve to invent it, all right, as if we didn't have
troubles enough as it is, dodging the regimental dentist, and ducking
shells, and clapping on gas masks, and all the rest. It is designed,
according to one who professes to know about it, to kill the nerves of
anything that gets in front of it; so we one and all move that it,
instead of the tanks, be sent "over the top" and tried on the Boches.
The minute they see a fully-lighted, white-painted car, with the
dentist, arrayed with all his instruments of maltreatment, standing
ready for action by his electric chair, those Boches will just turn
around and run, and run, and run, and won't stop running till they get
smack up against their own old barbed wire on the Eastern front. The
crowned heads of Europe tremble before the advance of the crowned teeth
of America, as you might say if you were inclined to joke about it;
which we aren't.

For French Patients First

One of the Red Cross people, who was standing by ready for the command
"Clear guns for action!" told THE STARS AND STRIPES that the peripatetic
pain producer wasn't to be used so much for the American troops'
discomfort as to fix up the cavities and what-not of the civi