N E W YQR] DIVISION - O'Ryan's Roughnecks

GAS ATTACK 13
ARMY
APPETITES.
When the Allies' ax eventually finds its
proper place in the neck of Mister Hohenzollern;
when the boys of the Empire Division
return from over yonder and Broadway's
lights perk up again—when this war
is all over, Billy Muldoon is going to feel
the pinch of competition.
Some enterprising birds in this division
will, by way of feathering their nests, acquire
some pyramidal tents, some Sibley
stoves and then set in at training dyspeptic
gentlemen of means for the retrieving of appetites
lost.
Billy Muldoon's methods are effective, 'tis
true; but when this new school of bodybuilders
sets up shop some of our wellknown
pill peddlers are due for a season of
mourning. And where the heart is willing
and the purse prepared, acidity of the stomach
and anemia will vanish.
Our friends, Muldoon's prospective rivals,
merely will have to imitate their old drill
masters. They'll take their podgy, puffing
patients and give 'em daily doses of a* panacea
consisting of six parts close-order drill,
one part trench-digging, one part wood- chopping,
one part kitchen police and one part
setting-up exercises. At the expiration of
thirty days of this treatment (satisfaction
guaranteed or money refunded) the erstwhile
sour-bellies will be storming the cookshack
for seconds of burnt snappers. They'll
be able to eat anything from slum to roasthorse
with harness—aye, more than able—•
eager is the word.
Proof of the Pudding.
Plenteous proof of all this is to be had
on every side here in Wads worth. Indeed,
you need go no farther than your own
trench mirror for conviction. Honestly, now,
aren't you a bit better at storing grub than
you used to be when you looked under the
dresser every morning for your collar button?
I'll lay odds on it!
I know platoons of fellows here—and I
guess I'm no different—who were wont to
nibble in a half-bored, indifferent way some
of the daintest titbits Jules or Andre or
Henri could produce. Everything they ate
had to have a couple of layers of seasoning.
Even then the chances are they'd something
iced to agitate the palate. They would have
•sniffed contemptuously at prosaic ham-andeggs
or the like.
Then they joined the army.
Ho!
For Ham and Eggs!
Down here you see these same men
fussing
with the cooks for another spoonful of
cornmeal, or something equally plebian.
Ham-and-eggs is (or are) the epitome of
toothsome morsels; and even the lowly griddle-cake
becomes a bite of which to dream.
To see the sundry thousands of doughboys
and leathernecks that streak into Spartanburg
on the off-days as fast as legs or
wheels could carry 'em, one might think
that sundry thousands of "best girls" had
arrived in town. But only a favored few go
to meet friends of the charming sex; the
rest are simply participants in the usual
ham-and-egg rush.
Like the toper who counts his nickels as
so many mugs of lager, so we Wadsworthians
figure our monthly pay as so many
decks of fags and so many stacks of wheats
and orders of ham-and—•. Consequently,
when we send a snapshot to mother or to
Theodosia, our "intended," we are mistaken
for Roscoe Arbuckle.
Eating as many eggs as we do it seems
only natural that we should be expert in
judging the average egg's age. I thought
we were, too, until I learned better up at
the rifle range. Eggs are like mules—you
can't tell much about 'em unless they are
very bad, and then you keep away from 'em.
The Hunt in the Mountains.
When we got to the range, the boys in
our company combed every mountain and
hillock of the country adjacent camp, looking
for—ham-and-eggs. They found a place
in short order, and thenceforth walked the
two miles to it to feast.
"Wait till I looks in the coop and sees if
them thar chickens has laid enough aigs to
go around," said the white-whiskered mountaineer
cook to every group that came his
way.
Then the boys would eat their fill, smacking
their lips and telling each other what
a joy it was to get real fresh-laid eggs.
Mmmm! There was all ' the difference
imaginable between the coop and the storage
varieties!
Came a day, however, when someone, in
snooping around to determine the cleanliness
of the old man's kitchen, spotted three
or four cases of eggs labeled, "Swift & Co."
The egg-hunters looked somewhat sheepish
when they heard the truth, but nary a
one as I could see permitted the disclosure
to ruin his appetite for ham-and—%
Cheer up and chirrup, boys—Easter is
near!
CPL. HARRY T. MITCHELL,
Co. L, 107th Inf.
PI KAPPA
ALPHA.
'Will all the Brothers of Pi Kappa Alpha
Fraternity communicate with, the undersigned
for our mutual benefit and better acquaintance
?
Are you a Pi Kap? If so, I want to know
you.
GEO. B. LILLY (Alpha Psi),
Corporal, Company C, 107th Inf.
OUTCLASSED.
"Well, old Crimson Gulch seems very quiet
and orderly," said the traveling salesman.
"Yes," replied Bronco Bob. "When so many
of the boys is away handling machine guns
it doesn't seem worth while foolfrr with 9 a
little toy like a six-shooter."—Washington
Star.