21 “THE O-PIP”
There was a grand fight on our front the other night and the beauty of it was that it was not a private fight. Everyone was allowed in on it. It was a fight to a finish, and we counted Fritz out in the 23rd round after he had been staggering around in the mud for the previous three rounds unable to see for our blinding blows.
Fritz tried to come over into our front yard and started shooting a bunch of minenwerfers into our trenches and turned loose some long swings from his field and heavy artillery. Fritz expected to get a solar plexus in before we could put up our fists, but he tripped over the end of his shoe-lace and by the time he got on his feet Jack Canuck was there with his trench mortars and sup- porting artillery. There was a grand old battle for about 15 rounds and then Jack sent home a couple of hundred stinging 6-inchers and old Fritz became groggy. From then on he stalled about, but his seconds would not throw in the sponge. Finally in the 23rd round Fritz was caught on the point of the jaw with some very heavy stuff. His feet flew into the air and his head hit heavy.
He started the fight but we finished it. And he did not get into our front yard!
RECORD FOR THE 100 YARDS.
A certain major was enjoying a bath and, believe me, majors do enjoy them. This major had just soaped himself and was whistling the old song, “A Life on the Ocean Wave.” Suddenly a bombardment started and he had nothing with him but his kimona and he had 100 yards to go to his dug-out. The shrapnel was whizzing about and there was a bit of gas. Well, you should have seen the major travel. There wasn't a stop watch in the country that could have timed him, but some one said they had counted up to six when he disappeared in the dug-out.
THE GREATEST DERBY.
You may have seen the ponies tearing around in the Derby and Grand National races, and you may have seen Danny Maher piloting home some winners, but as regards speed and skill neither have anything on our horseflesh and drivers when there is a straight road ahead of them and 15,000 shells coming behind them. Our horses may have long hair and ugly faces, but they have four legs and they can sure paddle. None of our drivers could weigh in at 100 pounds, even if they had a shave, and their legs vary in length from the bottom of the saddle flap to the horse’s knee, but still they can wrap their arms around their old nag’s necks. When Fritz pops them over you need not say “hell for leather,” they're “to hell out of it,”