.Habits of the Hippopotamus The hippopotamus is strong And huge of head and broad of bustle; The limbs on which he rolls along Are big with hippopotomuscle. He does not greatly care for sweets Like ice cream, apple pie, or custard, But takes to flavor what he eats A little hippopotomustard. The hippopotamus is true To his principles, and just; He always tries his best to do The things one hippopotomust. He never rides in trucks or trams, In taxicabs or omnibuses, And so keeps out of traffic jams And other hippopotomusses.

Kindness to Insects

I saw a Melancholy Wasp
Upon a Purple Clover Knosp,
Who wept, "The Poets do me Wrong,
Excluding me from Noble Song—
Though Pure am I and Wholly Crimeless—
Because, they say, my Name is Rhymeless!
Oh, had I but been born a Bee,
With Heaps of Words to Rhyme with me,
I should not want for Panegyrics
In Sonnets, Epics, Odes and Lyrics!
Will no one free me from the Curse
That bars my Race from Lofty Verse?"
"My Friend, that Little Thing I'll care for
At once," said I— and that is wherefore
So tenderly I set that Wasp
Upon a Purple Clover Knosp.

Habits of the Hippopotamus

The hippopotamus is strong
And huge of head and broad of bustle;
The limbs on which he rolls along
Are big with hippopotomuscle.

He does not greatly care for sweets
Like ice cream, apple pie, or custard,
But takes to flavor what he eats
A little hippopotomustard.

The hippopotamus is true
To his principles, and just;
He always tries his best to do
The things one hippopotomust.

He never rides in trucks or trams,
In taxicabs or omnibuses,
And so keeps out of traffic jams
And other hippopotomusses.

- See more at: http://allpoetry.com/Habits-of-the-Hippopotamus#sthash.SCOa1ZsV.dpuf

COMBIEN DE TEMPS COMBIEN DE GENS COMBIEN DE VIES DÉCHIRÉES ....J'ai posé mes chansons sur des sols étrangers J'ai posé en passant sur ta bouche un baiser Les joueurs de mandoline et les gens sans papier Parfum de gazoline sur les plages bétonnées J'ai posé mes chansons sur des sols étrangers T'as posé en passant sur ma couche un bébé J'ai regardé la terre elle avait dans les yeux Des prisonniers de guerre des enfants malheureux Combien de temps Combien de gens Combien de vies déchirées Combien de toi Combien de moi Combien de nous... Brisés J'ai posé mes chansons sur des sols étrangers J'ai laissé dans le vent des prières s'envolées Je garde dans le cœur un oiseau en liberté Je n'ai jamais cessé mon Amour de t'aimer Combien de temps Combien de gens Combien d'amours déportés Combien de toi Combien de moi Combien de nous... Brisés Combien de temps { combien de temps} Combien de gens {Combien de gens} Combien d'esclaves enchaînés Combien de toi { Combien de toi} Combien de moi {Combien de moi} Combien de nous... Brisés Combien de toi { Combien de toi} Combien de moi {Combien de moi} Combien de vies... Brisées

E há quem sonhe limpar o cu a 100 nillion 
ou nihilion uma nulice dessas

E A FREGUESA QUER DESTE PAPEL HIGIÉNICO PRA NOTAS OU PREFERE ANTES ESTE?

  













 nunca mas nunca limpar o cu com este ...é uma ekatombe

  





ekaton mesmo

MILLIARDEN ATÉ QUASE RIMA COM MERDA

when at long long last the revolution had arrived! Well-maybe not quite THE REVOLUTION, in capitals, but certainly the chance to make a revolution work. There had never before been so many people so absolutely angry with the system, and striking back against it. He was stuck here, though, until the opportunity arose to slip through the cordon around the city and go underground. Because of the massive forces which had been poured into Denver to clear up after the Madness, this was almost certainly the most completely controlled city in the nation. What a place to be stranded! He distrusted Pete because he had been in the police, and he was even afraid of Jeannie because he'd confessed to her the killing of that state border guard. Hell, how could these two be so wilfully blind? They conceded that the Madness had been caused by poison gas, but because it was Train who had given chapter and verse about it, they were ready to argue that "it wasn't the government's fault!" They wanted the clock turned back to where it was before, they wanted the government to regain control even though it had lied to and cheated and even killed its people! If they were capable of that degree of stupidity and docility, they might all too easily sell him out… "You picked the right day to have it delivered, too," Jeannie was saying as she patted the cooker's shining side. "Mom got me a chicken. Don't hang around too long with your beer, will you? Dinner's only going to be a minute with this beauty." Carl curled his lip in disgust as he collected the beer cans and headed for the adjacent room in Pete's wake. Sitting down, he said, "Seen the sun lately, have you?"

THE SMOKE OF THAT GREAT BURNING
Opening the door to the visiting doctor, all set to apologize for the
flour on her hands-she had been baking-Mrs. Byrne sniffed. Smoke!
And if she could smell it with her heavy head cold, it must be a
tremendous fire!
"We ought to call the brigade!" she exclaimed. "Is it a hayrick?"
"The brigade would have a long way to go," the doctor told her
curtly. "It's from America. The wind's blowing that way."
NEXT YEAR
The hungry sheep look up, and are not fed,
But swoln with wind, and the rank mist they draw,
Rot inwardly, and foul contagion spread.
-Milton: "Lycidas"

A ROOST FOR CHICKENS Sharp on nine the Trainites had scattered caltraps in the roadway and created a monumental snarl-up twelve blocks by seven. The fuzz, as usual, was elsewhere-there were always plenty of sympathizers willing to cause a diversion. It was impossible to guess how many allies the movement had; at a rough guess, though, one could say that in New York City, Chicago, Detroit, LA or San Francisco people were apt to cheer, while in the surrounding suburbs or the Midwest people were apt to go fetch guns. In other words, they had least support in the areas which had voted for Prexy Next, the stalled cars had their windows opaqued with a cheap commercial compound used for etching glass, and slogans were painted on their doors. Some were long: THIS VEHICLE IS A DANGER TO LIFE AND LIMB. Many were short: IT STINKS! But the commonest of all was the universally known catchphrase: STOP, YOU'RE KILLING ME! And in every case the inscription was concluded with a rough egg-shape above a saltire-the simplified ideogrammatic version of the invariable Trainite symbol, a skull and crossbones reduced to Then, consulting printed data-sheets, many of which were flapping along the gutter hours later in the wind of passing cars, they turned to the nearby store-windows and obscured the goods on offer with similarly appropriate slogans. Unprejudiced, they found something apt for every single store. It wasn't too hard. Delighted, lads on the afternoon school shift joined in the job of keeping at bay angry drivers, store-clerks and other meddlers. Some of them weren't smart enough to get lost when the fuzz arrived-by helicopter after frantic radio messages-and made their first trip to Juvenile Hall. But what the hell? They were of an age to realize a conviction was a keen thing to have. Might stop you being drafted. Might save your life. Most of the drivers, however, had the sense to stay put, fuming behind their blank windshields as they calculated the cost of repairs and repainting. Practically all of them were armed, but not one was stupid enough to pull a gun. It had been tried during a Trainite demonstration in San Francisco last month. A girl had been shot dead. Others, anonymous in whole-head masks and drab mock-homespun clothing, had dragged the killer from his car and used the same violent acid they applied to glass to write MURDERER on his flesh. In any case, there was little future in rolling down a window to curse the demonstrators. Throats didn't last long in the raw air.

ENTRAINED
"It's easy enough to make people understand that cars and guns are
inherently dangerous. Statistically, almost everyone in the country now
has experience of a relative being shot dead either at home or abroad,
while the association between cars and traffic fatalities opens the public
mind to the concept of other, subtler threats.Lead: causes subnormality in children and other disorders.
Exceeds 12 mg. per m3. in surface water off California. Probable
contributory factor in decline of Roman Empire whose upper class
ate food cooked in lead pans and drank wine fermented in
lead-lined vats. Common sources are paint, antiknock gas where
still in use, and wildfowl from marshes etc. contaminated over
generations by lead shot in the water.
"On the other hand it's far harder to make it clear to people that
such a superficially innocuous firm as a beauty parlor is dangerous. And
I don't mean because some women are allergic to regular cosmetics."Polychlorinated biphenyls: waste products of the plastics,
lubrication and cosmetics industries. Universal distribution at
levels similar to DDT, less toxic but having more marked effect on
steroid hormones. Found in museum specimens collected as early
as 1944. Known to kill birds.
"Similarly it's a short mental step from the notion of killing plants or
insects to the notion of killing animals and people. It didn't take the
Vietnam disaster to spell that out-it was foreshadowed in everybody's
mind.Pelican, brown: failed to breed in California where formerly
common, 1969 onward, owing to estrogenic effect of DDT on shell
secretion. Eggs collapsed when hen birds tried to brood them.
"By contrast, now that we scarcely make use of the substances
which used to constitute the bulk of the pharmacopoeia and which
were clearly recognizable as poisonous because of their names-arsenic,
strychnine, mercury and so on-people seem to assume that any medical
drug is good, period. I wasted more of my life than I care to recall
going around farms trying to discourage pig and chicken breeders from
buying feeds that contained antibiotics, and they simply wouldn't listen.
They held that the more of the stuff you scattered around the better. So
developing new drugs to replace those wasted in cake for cattle, pap
for pigs and pellets for pullets has become like the race between guns
and armor!"ITS A GAS
Leaving behind half his lonely brunch (not that the coffee shop
where he'd eaten regularly now for almost a year wasn't crowded with
lunchers, but sitting next to the fuzz is prickly), Pete Goddard waited
for change to be made for him. Across the street, on the big billboards
enclosing the site of Harrigan's Harness and Feed Store-it had kept the
name although for years before it was demolished it had sold
snowmobiles, motorcycle parts and dude Western gear-which now
was scheduled to become forty-two desirable apartments and the
Towerhill home of American Express and Colorado Chemical Bank,
someone had painted about a dozen black skulls and crossbones.
Well, he was feeling a little that way himself. Last night had been a
party: first wedding anniversary. His mouth tasted foul and his head
ached and moreover Jeannie had had to get up at the ordinary time
because she worked too, at the Bamberley hydroponics plant, and he'd
broken his promise to clear away the mess so she wouldn't be faced
with it this evening. Besides, that patch on her leg, even if it didn't
hurt…But they had good doctors at the plant. Had to have.
New, not disposed to like him, the girl cashier dropped his due
coins in his palm and turned back to conversation with a friend.
The wall-clock agreed with his watch that he had eight minutes to
make the four-minute drive to the station house. Moreover, it was
bitterly cold outside, down to around twenty with a strong wind. Fine
for the tourists on the slopes of Mount Hawes, not good for the police
who measured temperature on a graph of smashed cars, frostbite cases
and petty thefts committed by men thrown out of seasonal work.
And women, come to that.
So maybe before going…By the door, a large red object with a
mirror on the upper part of its front. Installed last  fall. Japanese. On a
plate at the side: Mitsuyama Corp., Osofaj. Shaped like a weighing
machine. Stand here and insert 25¢. Do not smoke while using. Place
mouth and nose to soft black flexible mask. Like an obscene animal's KISS Usually he laughed at it because up here in the mountains the air
was never so bad you needed to tank up on oxygen to make the next
block. On the other hand some people did say it was a hell of a good
cure for a hangover…
More detail penetrated his mind. Noticing detail was something he
prided himself on; when his probationary period was through, he was
going to shoot for detective. Having a good wife could spawn ambition
in any man's mind.
The mirror cut in a curve to fit around the mouthpiece: cracked. Slot
for quarters. Below it a line defining the coin-hopper. Around that line,
scratches. As though someone had tried to pry the box out with a knife.
Pete thought of bus-drivers murdered for the contents of a change
machine.
Turning back to the counter he said, "Miss!"
"What?"
"That oxygen machine of yours-"
"Ah, shit!" the girl said, hitting "No Sale" on the register. "Don't tell
me the stinking thing is on the fritz again! Here's your quarter back. Co
try the drugstore on Tremont-they have three."
THE OPPOSITE OF OVENS
White tile, white enamel, stainless steel…One spoke here in hushed
tones, as though in a church. But that was because of the echoes from
the hard walls, hard floor, hard ceiling, not out of respect for what was
hidden behind the oblong doors, one above another from ankle-level to
the height of a tall man's head, one next to another almost as far as the
eye could see. Like an endless series of ovens, except that they weren't
to cool, but to chill

NA IRREALIDADE ATRAVESSOU A PORTA ...ESTAVA 40 OU 20 ANOS MAIS NOVO ...AS IMAGENS COMEÇAM A DESVANECER-SE NA NOSSA MENTE ...MECANISMOS DE PROTECÇÃO SUPONGO...UMA ESPÉCIE QUE GERE SUICIDAS NÃO ASSEGURA MUITO LÉMINGUE NÉ...NUM SONHO VI O ZÉ NUMA PORTA RITOS DE PASSAGEM PARA A LUX....NUM LONGO CONCURSO DE COMEZAINA DE BOLINHOS E OUTROS HUNS HUNS NÃO CONSEGUIA OUVIR NEM METADE DO QUE OS OUTROS DIZIAM OUVIA-SE UMA ALGARVIADA NÃO PERCEPTÍVEL PARA SABER O QUE ESTAVAM FALANDO PRECISAVA PERGUNTAR O MEU CÉREBRO OU O MUNDO VIRTUAL MULTIDIMENSIONAL ONDE ESTAVA DAVA-ME A RESPOSTA MUITOS PORMENORES COM IMPRESSÕES GUSTATIVAS E OLFACTIVAS E OBVIAMENTE AUDITIVAS SONHOS COM DOR COM CHOQUE COM CHEIRO SÃO RAROS £ 20 SHILLINGS LIBRAE AVOIR DUPOIS 7000 GRAIN 4$500 GUINEA GUINEO 21 SHILLINGS POUND TROY 5760 GRÃOS 12 OUNCES X 16 DINHEIROS X 27 X11/22 GRÃOS DENARIUS 14 GRÃOS LIBRA SOLIDI DENARI L.S,D DREAMS ARE LIKE STREAMS OF PROBABILITIES

PESOS CHINESES  POST OPIUM WARS 

PICO 60KG,479 TAEL 37,799 

CONDORIM 0,378 KG 

PREÇO DO OIRO EM BARRA POR CADA 

OITAVA 24 QUILATES DE OIRO FINO

2$201,35 22 QUILATES 2$018 

20 E MEIO Q 1$880

CATE 6048,790 MÁ 3,78 g CAIXA 0,038 g

Q-Sailing-Ship Rentonl (Gun Crew) - - - The Master of the Collier Farnhorough - - - 192 Q-Ship Famborough - - - - - - 192 Q-Ship Famborough - - - - - - 194 Q-Ship Farnhorough - - - - - - 196 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS xi TO PACK PACK S.S. Lodorer - - - - - - - 196 Q-Ship Pargust - - - - - - 198 Q-Ship Sarah Jones - - - - - - 198 Q-Ship Dunraven ...... 200 Bi-idge of Q-Ship Dunraven ----- 202 After the Battle --...- 204 Dimraven Doomed ------ 206 Q-Ship Dunraven ------ 208 Q-Ship Dimraven - - - - - - 212 Q-Ship Du7iraveti - - - - - - 214 Officers and Crew of the Q-Ship Dimraven - - - 21 6 Q-Ship Barranca (Two Illustrations) - - - 220 Q-Ship Barranca (Two Illustrations) - - - 222 Q-Ship Transformation - _ . . - 234 Q-Ship Barranca at Sea . . - . - 234 Q-ship service was representative of every species of seamen. There were officers and men of the Royal Navy both active and retired, of the Royal Naval Reserve, Royal Naval Volunteer Reserve, and men from the Royal Fleet Reserve. From warship, bar- racks, office, colony, pleasure yacht, fishing vessel, liner, sailing ship, tramp steamer, and elsewhere these seafarers went forth in unarmoured, slow-moving, lightly-armed vessels to perform the desperate ad- venture of acting as live-bait for a merciless enemy. It was an exploit calling for supreme bravery, com- bined with great fighting skill, sound seamanship, and a highly developed imagination. The successes which were attained were brought about by just this com- bination, so that the officers, especially the command- ing officers, and the men had to be hand-picked. The slow-reasoning, hesitating type of being was useless in a Q-ship ; equally out of place would have been the wild, hare-brained, dashing individual whose excess of gallantry would simply mean the loss of ship and lives. In the ideal Q-ship captain was found something of the virtues of the cleverest angler, the most patient stalker, the most enterprising big-game hunter, together with the attributes of a cool, unper- turbed seaman, the imagination of a sensational novelist, and the plain horse-sense of a hard business man. In two words, the necessary endowment was brains and bravery. It was easy enough to find at least one of these in hundreds of officers, but it was difficult to find among the many volunteers a plucky fighter with a brilliant intellect. It is, of course, one of the happy results of sea training that officer or man 4 Q-SHIPS AND THEIR STORY learns to think and act quickly without doing foolish things. The handling of a ship in bad weather, or in crowded channels, or a strong tideway, or in going alongside a quay or other ship — all this practice makes a sailor of the man, makes him do the one and only right thing at the right second. But it needed ' something plus ' in the Q-ship service. For six months, for a year, she might have wandered up and down the Atlantic, all over the submarine zone, with never a sight of the enemy, and then, all of a sudden, a torpedo is seen rushing straight for the ship. The look-out man has reported it, and the officer of the watch has caused the man at the wheel to port his helm just in time to allow the torpedo to pass harm- lessly under the ship's counter. It was the never- ceasing vigilance and the cool appreciation of the situation which had saved the ship. But the incident is only beginning. The next stage is to lure the enemy on, to entice him, using your own ship as the bait. It may be one hour or one day later, perhaps at dusk, or when the moon gets up, or at dawn, but it is very probable that the submarine will invisibly follow you and attack at the most awkward time. The hours of suspense are trying ; watch has succeeded watch, yet nothing happens. The weather changes from good to bad ; it comes on thick, it clears up again, and the clouds cease to obliterate the sun. Then, apparently from nowhere, shells come whizzing by, and begin to hit. At last in the distance you see the low-lying enemy engaging you with both his guns, firing rapidly, and keeping discreetly out of your own guns' range. Already some of your men have been knocked out ; the ship has a couple of bad holes below the water- line, and the sea is pouring through. To add to THE HOUR AND THE NEED 5 the anxiety a fire is reported in the forecastle, and the next shell has made rather a mess of the funnel. What are you going to do ? Are you going to keep on the bluff of pretending you are an innocent mer- chantman, or are you going to run up the White Ensign, let down the bulwarks, and fire your guns the moment the enemy comes within range and bearing ? How much longer is it possible to play with him hi the hope that he will be fooled into doing just what you would like him to do ? If your ship is sinking, will she keep afloat just long enough to enable you to give the knock-out blow as the inquiring enemy comes alongside ? These are the crucial questions which have to be answered by that one man in command of the ship, who all the time finds his bridge being steadily smashed to pieces by the enemy's fire. ' If you can keep your head when all about you Are losing theirs and blaming it on you ; If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you, But make allowance for their doubting too ; If you can wait and not be tired by waiting . . .' then, one may definitely assert, you have in you much that goes to the making of an ideal Q-ship captain and a brave warrior. As such you might make a first-class commanding officer of a destroyer, a light cruiser, or even a battleship ; but something more is required. The enemy is artful ; you must be super-artful. You must be able to look across the tumbling sea into his mind behind the conning tower. What are his intentions ? What will be his next move ? Take in by a quick mental calculation the conditions of wind, wave, and sun. Pretend to run away from him, so that you get these just right. Put your ship head on to sea, so that the enemy 6 Q-SHIPS AND THEIR STORY with his sparse freeboard is being badly washed down and his guns' crews are thinking more of their wet feet and legs than of accurate shooting. Then, when you see him submerging, alter course quickly, reckon his probable position by the time you have steadied your ship on her course, and drop a series of depth- charges over his track. ' If you can fill the unfor- giving minute with sixty seconds' worth of distance, run ' ; if you have acted with true seamanship and sound imagination, you will presently see bits of broken wreckage, the boil of water, quantities of oil, perhaps a couple of corpses ; and yours is the U-boat below, my son, and a D.S.O. ; and a thousand pounds in cash to be divided amongst the crew ; and you're a man, my son !

That, in a few phrases, is the kind of work, and 
shows the circumstances of the Q-ship in her 

busiest 
period. As we set forth her wonderful story, so 
gallant, so sad, so victorious, and yet so nerve-trying, 
we shall see all manner of types engaged in this great 
adventure ; but we cannot appreciate either the 
successes or losses until we have seen the birth and 
growth of the Q-ship idea. As this volume is the 
first effort to present the subject historically, we shall 
begin at the beginning by showing the causes which 
created the Q-ship. We shall see the consecutive 
stages of development and improvement, the evolu- 
tion of new methods, and, indeed we may at once say 
it, of a new type of super-seamen. How did it all 
begin ? 

Turn your attention back to the autumn of 1014. 
It was the sinking of the three Ci^essys on Septem- 
ber *22 by U 9 that taught Gerinany what a 
wonderful weapon of offence she had in the sub- 
marine. Five days later the first German submarine 




An Early Q-ship 
Q-ship "Antwerp" entering Harwich harbour. 




Q-SHiP " Antwerp " 

Commander Herbert is on the port side of the bridge, the ^Mercantile Chief 
Officer and Quartermaster being in the foreground. 

To face p. 6 



THE HOUR AND THE NEED 7 

penetrated the Dover Straits. This was U 18, who 
actually attacked the light cruiser Attentive. But it 
was not until October 20 that the first merchant ship, 
the British S.S. Glitru in the North Sea, was sunk by 
a submarine. Six days later the French S.S. Amhal 
Ganteaame, with Belgian refugees, was attacked by 
a German submarine. A month passed, and on 
November 23 the S.S. Malachite was attacked by 
U 21, and after being on fire sank. Three days 
later the S.S. Primo was sunk also by U 21. It was 
thus perfectly clear that we had before us a most 
difficult submarine campaign to contend with, and 
that merchant ships would not be immune. On the 
last day of October H.M.S. Hermes was torpedoed 
oflf Calais, and on November 11 H.M.S. Niger had a 
similar fate near Deal. 

What was to be done ? The creation of what 
eventually became known as the Auxiliary Patrol, 
with its ever increasing force of armed yachts, 
trawlers, drifters, and motor craft ; the use of de- 
stroyers and our own submarines formed part of the 
scheme. But even at this early stage the Q-ship 
idea came into being, though not actually under 
that name. Officially she was a special-service ship, 
whose goings and comings were so mysterious that 
even among service men such craft were spoken of in 
great secrecy as mystery ships. This first mystery 
ship was the S.S. Vittoria, who was commissioned on 
November 29, 1914. She had all the appearance of 
an ordinary merchant ship, but she was armed, and 
went on patrol in the area where submarines had been 
reported. It was an entirely novel idea, and very few 
people knew anything about her. She never had any 
luck, and was paid off early in January, 1915, without 
ever having so much as sighted a submarine. The 



8 Q-SHIPS AND THEIR STORY 

idea of decoy ships suggested itself to various naval 
officers during December, 1914, and their suggestions 
reached the Admiralty. The basic plan was for the 
Admiralty to take up a number of merchantmen and 
fishing craft, arm them with a few light quick-firing 
guns, and then send them forth to cruise in likely 
submarine areas, flying neutral colours. This was 
perfectly legitimate under International Law, provided 
that before opening fire on the enemy the neutral 
colours were lowered and the White Ensign was 
hoisted. Seeing that the enemy was determined to 
sink merchantmen, the obvious reply was to send 
against them armed merchantmen, properly com- 
missioned and armed, but outwardly resembling any- 
thing but a warship. Thus it came about that on 
January 27, 1915, the second decoy ship was com- 
missioned. This was the Great Eastern Railway S.S. 
Antwerp (originally called Vienna)^ which operated in 
the English Channel. She was placed under the com- 
mand of Lieut. -Commander Godfrey Herbert, R.N., 
one of the most experienced and able officers of our 
submarine service. The choice was a happy one, for 
a submarine officer would naturally in his stalking be 
able to realize at once the limitations and possibilities 
of his opponent. It was a most difficult task, for the 
U-boats at this time were still very shy, and only took 
on certainties. Neither in boats nor in personnel had 
Germany yet any to spare, and there were periods 
when the submarine campaign fluctuated. Tlius, day 
after day, week after week, went by, and Aiitxverp 
never had any cliance. The enemy was now beginning 
to operate lurther afield, and at the end of January, 
1915, ior the first time, a U-boat made its way up the 
Irish Sea as far us off Liverpool, and tlien, on Feb- 
ruary 18, was inaugurated the Ciennau Submarine 

The Fifty-first Dragon Of all the pupils at the knight school Gawaine le Cœur-Hardy was among the least promising. He was tall and sturdy, but his instructors soon discovered that he lacked spirit. He would hide in the woods when the jousting class was called, although his companions and members of the faculty sought to appeal to his better nature by shouting to him to come out and break his neck like a man. Even when they told him that the lances were padded, the horses no more than ponies and the field unusually soft for late autumn, Gawaine refused to grow enthusiastic. The Headmaster and the Assistant Professor of Pleasaunce were discussing the case one spring afternoon and the Assistant Professor could see no remedy but expulsion. "No," said the Headmaster, as he looked out at the purple hills which ringed the school, "I think I'll train him to slay dragons." "He might be killed," objected the Assistant Professor. "So he might," replied the Headmaster brightly, but he added, more soberly, "We must consider the greater good. We are responsible for the formation of this lad's character." "Are the dragons particularly bad this year?" interrupted the Assistant Professor. This was characteristic. He always seemed restive when the head of the school began to talk ethics and the ideals of the institution. "I've never known them worse," replied the Headmaster. "Up in the hills to the south last week they killed a number of peasants, two cows and a prize pig. And if this dry spell holds there's no telling when they may start a forest fire simply by breathing around indiscriminately." "Would any refund on the tuition fee be necessary in case of an accident to young Cœur-Hardy?" "No," the principal answered, judicially, "that's all covered in the contract. But as a matter of fact he won't be killed. Before I send him up in the hills I'm going to give him a magic word." "That's a good idea," said the Professor. "Sometimes they work wonders." From that day on Gawaine specialized in dragons. His course included both theory and practice. In the morning there were long lectures on the history, anatomy, manners and customs of dragons. Gawaine did not distinguish himself in these studies. He had a marvelously versatile gift for forgetting things. In the afternoon he showed to better advantage, for then he would go down to the South Meadow and practise with a battle-ax. In this exercise he was truly impressive, for he had enormous strength as well as speed and grace. He even developed a deceptive display of ferocity. Old alumni say that it was a thrilling sight to see Gawaine charging across the field toward the dummy paper dragon which had been set up for his practice. As he ran he would brandish his ax and shout "A murrain on thee!" or some other vivid bit of campus slang. It never took him more than one stroke to behead the dummy dragon. Gradually his task was made more difficult. Paper gave way to papier-mâché and finally to wood, but even the toughest of these dummy dragons had no terrors for Gawaine. One sweep of the ax always did the business. There were those who said that when the practice was protracted until dusk and the dragons threw long, fantastic shadows across the meadow Gawaine did not charge so impetuously nor shout so loudly. It is possible there was malice in this charge. At any rate, the Headmaster decided by the end of June that it was time for the test. Only the night before a dragon had come close to the school grounds and had eaten some of the lettuce from the garden. The faculty decided that Gawaine was ready. They gave him a diploma and a new battle-ax and the Headmaster summoned him to a private conference. "Sit down," said the Headmaster. "Have a cigarette." Gawaine hesitated. "Oh, I know it's against the rules," said the Headmaster. "But after all, you have received your preliminary degree. You are no longer a boy. You are a man. To-morrow you will go out into the world, the great world of achievement." Gawaine took a cigarette. The Headmaster offered him a match, but he produced one of his own and began to puff away with a dexterity which quite amazed the principal. "Here you have learned the theories of life," continued the Headmaster, resuming the thread of his discourse, "but after all, life is not a matter of theories. Life is a matter of facts. It calls on the young and the old alike to face these facts, even though they are hard and sometimes unpleasant. Your problem, for example, is to slay dragons." "They say that those dragons down in the south wood are five hundred feet long," ventured Gawaine, timorously. "Stuff and nonsense!" said the Headmaster. "The curate saw one last week from the top of Arthur's Hill. The dragon was sunning himself down in the valley. The curate didn't have an opportunity to look at him very long because he felt it was his duty to hurry back to make a report to me. He said the monster, or shall I say, the big lizard?—wasn't an inch over two hundred feet. But the size has nothing at all to do with it. You'll find the big ones even easier than the little ones. They're far slower on their feet and less aggressive, I'm told. Besides, before you go I'm going to equip you in such fashion that you need have no fear of all the dragons in the world." "I'd like an enchanted cap," said Gawaine. "What's that?" answered the Headmaster, testily. "A cap to make me disappear," explained Gawaine. The Headmaster laughed indulgently. "You mustn't believe all those old wives' stories," he said. "There isn't any such thing. A cap to make you disappear, indeed! What would you do with it? You haven't even appeared yet. Why, my boy, you could walk from here to London, and nobody would so much as look at you. You're nobody. You couldn't be more invisible than that." Gawaine seemed dangerously close to a relapse into his old habit of whimpering. The Headmaster reassured him: "Don't worry; I'll give you something much better than an enchanted cap. I'm going to give you a magic word. All you have to do is to repeat this magic charm once and no dragon can possibly harm a hair of your head. You can cut off his head at your leisure." He took a heavy book from the shelf behind his desk and began to run through it. "Sometimes," he said, "the charm is a whole phrase or even a sentence. I might, for instance, give you 'To make the'—No, that might not do. I think a single word would be best for dragons." "A short word," suggested Gawaine. "It can't be too short or it wouldn't be potent. There isn't so much hurry as all that. Here's a splendid magic word: 'Rumplesnitz.' Do you think you can learn that?" Gawaine tried and in an hour or so he seemed to have the word well in hand. Again and again he interrupted the lesson to inquire, "And if I say 'Rumplesnitz' the dragon can't possibly hurt me?" And always the Headmaster replied, "If you only say 'Rumplesnitz,' you are perfectly safe." Toward morning Gawaine seemed resigned to his career. At daybreak the Headmaster saw him to the edge of the forest and pointed him to the direction in which he should proceed. About a mile away to the southwest a cloud of steam hovered over an open meadow in the woods and the Headmaster assured Gawaine that under the steam he would find a dragon. Gawaine went forward slowly. He wondered whether it would be best to approach the dragon on the run as he did in his practice in the South Meadow or to walk slowly toward him, shouting "Rumplesnitz" all the way. The problem was decided for him. No sooner had he come to the fringe of the meadow than the dragon spied him and began to charge. It was a large dragon and yet it seemed decidedly aggressive in spite of the Headmaster's statement to the contrary. As the dragon charged it released huge clouds of hissing steam through its nostrils. It was almost as if a gigantic teapot had gone mad. The dragon came forward so fast and Gawaine was so frightened that he had time to say "Rumplesnitz" only once. As he said it, he swung his battle-ax and off popped the head of the dragon. Gawaine had to admit that it was even easier to kill a real dragon than a wooden one if only you said "Rumplesnitz." Gawaine brought the ears home and a small section of the tail. His school mates and the faculty made much of him, but the Headmaster wisely kept him from being spoiled by insisting that he go on with his work. Every clear day Gawaine rose at dawn and went out to kill dragons. The Headmaster kept him at home when it rained, because he said the woods were damp and unhealthy at such times and that he didn't want the boy to run needless risks. Few good days passed in which Gawaine failed to get a dragon. On one particularly fortunate day he killed three, a husband and wife and a visiting relative. Gradually he developed a technique. Pupils who sometimes watched him from the hill-tops a long way off said that he often allowed the dragon to come within a few feet before he said "Rumplesnitz." He came to say it with a mocking sneer. Occasionally he did stunts. Once when an excursion party from London was watching him he went into action with his right hand tied behind his back. The dragon's head came off just as easily. As Gawaine's record of killings mounted higher the Headmaster found it impossible to keep him completely in hand. He fell into the habit of stealing out at night and engaging in long drinking bouts at the village tavern. It was after such a debauch that he rose a little before dawn one fine August morning and started out after his fiftieth dragon. His head was heavy and his mind sluggish. He was heavy in other respects as well, for he had adopted the somewhat vulgar practice of wearing his medals, ribbons and all, when he went out dragon hunting. The decorations began on his chest and ran all the way down to his abdomen. They must have weighed at least eight pounds. Gawaine found a dragon in the same meadow where he had killed the first one. It was a fair-sized dragon, but evidently an old one. Its face was wrinkled and Gawaine thought he had never seen so hideous a countenance. Much to the lad's disgust, the monster refused to charge and Gawaine was obliged to walk toward him. He whistled as he went. The dragon regarded him hopelessly, but craftily. Of course it had heard of Gawaine. Even when the lad raised his battle-ax the dragon made no move. It knew that there was no salvation in the quickest thrust of the head, for it had been informed that this hunter was protected by an enchantment. It merely waited, hoping something would turn up. Gawaine raised the battle-ax and suddenly lowered it again. He had grown very pale and he trembled violently. The dragon suspected a trick. "What's the matter?" it asked, with false solicitude. "I've forgotten the magic word," stammered Gawaine. "What a pity," said the dragon. "So that was the secret. It doesn't seem quite sporting to me, all this magic stuff, you know. Not cricket, as we used to say when I was a little dragon; but after all, that's a matter of opinion." Gawaine was so helpless with terror that the dragon's confidence rose immeasurably and it could not resist the temptation to show off a bit. "Could I possibly be of any assistance?" it asked. "What's the first letter of the magic word?" "It begins with an 'r,'" said Gawaine weakly. "Let's see," mused the dragon, "that doesn't tell us much, does it? What sort of a word is this? Is it an epithet, do you think?" Gawaine could do no more than nod. "Why, of course," exclaimed the dragon, "reactionary Republican." Gawaine shook his head. "Well, then," said the dragon, "we'd better get down to business. Will you surrender?" With the suggestion of a compromise Gawaine mustered up enough courage to speak. "What will you do if I surrender?" he asked. "Why, I'll eat you," said the dragon. "And if I don't surrender?" "I'll eat you just the same." "Then it doesn't make any difference, does it?" moaned Gawaine. "It does to me," said the dragon with a smile. "I'd rather you didn't surrender. You'd taste much better if you didn't." The dragon waited for a long time for Gawaine to ask "Why?" but the boy was too frightened to speak. At last the dragon had to give the explanation without his cue line. "You see," he said, "if you don't surrender you'll taste better because you'll die game." This was an old and ancient trick of the dragon's. By means of some such quip he was accustomed to paralyze his victims with laughter and then to destroy them. Gawaine was sufficiently paralyzed as it was, but laughter had no part in his helplessness. With the last word of the joke the dragon drew back his head and struck. In that second there flashed into the mind of Gawaine the magic word "Rumplesnitz," but there was no time to say it. There was time only to strike and, without a word, Gawaine met the onrush of the dragon with a full swing. He put all his back and shoulders into it. The impact was terrific and the head of the dragon flew away almost a hundred yards and landed in a thicket. Gawaine did not remain frightened very long after the death of the dragon. His mood was one of wonder. He was enormously puzzled. He cut off the ears of the monster almost in a trance. Again and again he thought to himself, "I didn't say 'Rumplesnitz'!" He was sure of that and yet there was no question that he had killed the dragon. In fact, he had never killed one so utterly. Never before had he driven a head for anything like the same distance. Twenty-five yards was perhaps his best previous record. All the way back to the knight school he kept rumbling about in his mind seeking an explanation for what had occurred. He went to the Headmaster immediately and after closing the door told him what had happened. "I didn't say 'Rumplesnitz,'" he explained with great earnestness. The Headmaster laughed. "I'm glad you've found out," he said. "It makes you ever so much more of a hero. Don't you see that? Now you know that it was you who killed all these dragons and not that foolish little word 'Rumplesnitz.'" Gawaine frowned. "Then it wasn't a magic word after all?" he asked. "Of course not," said the Headmaster, "you ought to be too old for such foolishness. There isn't any such thing as a magic word." "But you told me it was magic," protested Gawaine. "You said it was magic and now you say it isn't." "It wasn't magic in a literal sense," answered the Headmaster, "but it was much more wonderful than that. The word gave you confidence. It took away your fears. If I hadn't told you that you might have been killed the very first time. It was your battle-ax did the trick." Gawaine surprised the Headmaster by his attitude. He was obviously distressed by the explanation. He interrupted a long philosophic and ethical discourse by the Headmaster with, "If I hadn't of hit 'em all mighty hard and fast any one of 'em might have crushed me like a, like a—" He fumbled for a word. "Egg shell," suggested the Headmaster. "Like a egg shell," assented Gawaine, and he said it many times. All through the evening meal people who sat near him heard him muttering, "Like a egg shell, like a egg shell." The next day was clear, but Gawaine did not get up at dawn. Indeed, it was almost noon when the Headmaster found him cowering in bed, with the clothes pulled over his head. The principal called the Assistant Professor of Pleasaunce, and together they dragged the boy toward the forest. "He'll be all right as soon as he gets a couple more dragons under his belt," explained the Headmaster. The Assistant Professor of Pleasaunce agreed. "It would be a shame to stop such a fine run," he said. "Why, counting that one yesterday, he's killed fifty dragons." They pushed the boy into a thicket above which hung a meager cloud of steam. It was obviously quite a small dragon. But Gawaine did not come back that night or the next. In fact, he never came back. Some weeks afterward brave spirits from the school explored the thicket, but they could find nothing to remind them of Gawaine except the metal parts of his medals. Even the ribbons had been devoured. The Headmaster and the Assistant Professor of Pleasaunce agreed that it would be just as well not to tell the school how Gawaine had achieved his record and still less how he came to die. They held that it might have a bad effect on school spirit. Accordingly, Gawaine has lived in the memory of the school as its greatest hero. No visitor succeeds in leaving the building to-day without seeing a great shield which hangs on the wall of the dining hall. Fifty pairs of dragons' ears are mounted upon the shield and underneath in gilt letters is "Gawaine le Cœur-Hardy," followed by the simple inscription, "He killed fifty dragons." The record has never been equaled.

How To Be a Lion Tamer

The Ways of the Circus is a decidedly readable book, rich in anecdotes of the life of circus folk and circus animals. The narrator is an old lion tamer and Harvey W. Root, who has done the actual writing, has managed to keep a decidedly naïve quality in the talk as he sets it down. There is a delightful chapter, for instance, in which Conklin tells how he first became a lion tamer. By gradual process of promotion he had gone as far as an elephant, but his salary was still much lower than that of Charlie Forepaugh, the lion man. There were three lions with the circus, but Charlie never worked with more than one in the cage at the time. Conklin got the notion that an act with all the lions in action at once would be a sensational success. He was not sure that it could be done, as he had had no experience with lions. The only way to find out was to try. Accordingly Conklin sneaked into the menagerie alone, late at night, to ascertain whether or not lions lay along his natural bent.
"The animals seemed somewhat surprised at being disturbed in the middle of the night," he says, "and began to pace rapidly up and down their cages. I paid no attention to this, but opened the door of each cage in succession and drove them out. Then I began as sternly as I could to order them round and give them their cues.
"Except, perhaps, for an unusual amount of snarling, they did as well for me as for Charlie. I put them through their regular work, which took fifteen or twenty minutes, drove them back, and fastened them into their own cages and climbed down on to the floor from the performing cage, much elated with my success. I had proved to myself that I could handle lions."
Conklin then goes on to tell how he gave a secret exhibition for the proprietor of the circus and convinced him of his skill. In fact, the proprietor promised that he should become the lion tamer of the show as soon as Charlie Forepaugh's contract ran out. Conklin goes on to say that he himself was very particular for the sake of safety not to let Charlie know of this arrangement. And in explaining his timidity, he writes, "He was a big fellow with a quick temper."
This almost emboldens us to believe the old story of the lion tamer and his shrewish wife. Coming home late from a party, he feared to enter the house and so he went to the backyard and crept into the cage with the lions. There it was that his wife discovered him the next morning, sleeping with the lions, and she shook her fist and shouted through the bars, "you coward!"
To be sure as Mr. Conklin tells it there seems to be no great trick in being a lion tamer. Take, for instance, the familiar stunt in which a trainer puts his head into a lion's mouth and you will find upon close survey that it is nothing to worry about. "This never failed to make the crowd hold its breath, but it was not as risky as it seemed," says Conklin, "for with my hold on the lion's nose and jowl I could detect the slightest movement of his muscles and govern my actions accordingly." Mr. Conklin does not develop the point, but we suppose that if he detected any intention on the lion's part of closing his mouth he would take his head out in order to make it easier for the animal.
Mr. Conklin also corrects a number of misapprehensions about lions which may be of use to some readers. Contrary to popular belief, you have nothing to worry about if any of your lions insist on walking up and down. "A lion that will walk round when you get in the cage with him is all right, as a general thing," explains Conklin, "but look out for the one that goes and lies down in a corner."
To be sure, there is something just a little disturbing in the afterthought indicated in "as a general thing." Our luck is so bad that we wouldn't feel safe in a cage with a lion even if he ran up and down. In fact, we would be almost willing to wager that ours would be one of the unfortunate exceptions which didn't know the rule and so would do his bit toward providing it.
In another respect the lion tamer is a little more specific about lions and therefore more helpful. "It is true, though," he adds, "that you should never let one get behind you if you can help it, though in many of the acts it is not possible to keep all of them in front of you all the time." We can understand this advice, though it is not altogether clear to us just what we would do if a lion tried to get behind us. Of course, we would tell him not to, but after that we should be somewhat at a loss. We have never believed in being rough with lions. Probably we would let him have his way just to avoid argument. As a matter of fact we would have no great objection to having all our lions behind us if only we could keep far enough in front.
"A lion that growls frightfully and acts very ferocious when you are outside the cage may be one of the easiest to handle and get work out of when once you are actually in the cage; and on the other hand, a lion that is mean and dangerous to do anything with in the cage may be exceptionally docile from the outside and allow you to pet him freely."
This should go a long way toward solving the problems of lion tamers. All you have to do before a performance is to make a test from outside the cage. Try to pat your lion and pull his ears. If he growls and bites your hand you will know at once that you may come in and go about your business with perfect safety. On the other hand, if he meets your caresses by rolling over on his back and purring it is up to you to call off the show or send for your understudy.
The unfortunate fate of such a substitute is described by Conklin with much detail and, we fear, a little relish. The man in question took Conklin's job when he struck for a raise in salary. Things went well enough during the first performance until the very end, and then it was the fault not of the lion but of the substitute, for the trainer was ignorant of one of the cues which had become a part of the act.
"I had taught George to jump for me as I went out the door," writes Conklin. "It had been done by blowing on his nose and then jumping back as you would play with a dog. It always made a great hit with the crowd, who supposed it had seen a lion try to eat a man and that I had had a very narrow escape. I worked it this way: After I had finished the rest of my act I would get George all stirred up and growling. Then I would fire my pistol two or three times and jump out of the cage as quickly as I could. At the same time George would give a big lunge and come up against the door which I had just shut behind me. George had learned the trick so well that I frequently had to turn on him once or twice and work him farther back from the door before I dared attempt getting out."
Unfortunately the substitute had missed all this part of the act. He started out of the cage and George jumped at him and the man was not prepared to dodge. The moral seems to be that nobody should covet another man's job, not even that of lion taming.
Some readers we suppose will find Mr. Conklin's lion stories unwelcome because they may tend to take away their illusions. It is not to be denied that he has to some extent rubbed the gilt off the gingerbread by writing that the record for all the lions he has known consists of one substitute trainer and a cow. His whole attitude toward lions is contemptuous in its calm and so is the attitude of practically everybody else in the book with the exception of the cow and the substitute trainer. Even they suffered a little, at first, from overconfidence.
On the night down in Philadelphia when Wallace, the big lion, escaped from his cage in winter quarters nobody grew excited. O'Brien, the owner of the show, did not even get up, but called through the door "Go git Conklin!" The preparations of the trainer were simple. First he got an iron bar and then he found the lion and hit him on the end of the nose. "After a few minutes," he adds, "I had him safely locked in again."
Lions, for all their air of authority, seem to be easily dominated. They're not so much wicked as weak. Anybody with a little firmness can twist them around a finger, possibly not the little finger, but any of the others. It is a great pity that lions should be like that. To be sure, the information ought not to come as a surprise to anybody who is familiar with the Bible. The condition we have mentioned has existed for a long time. As far as we know, Daniel had not so much as an iron bar when he went into the den. He overawed the lions with nothing more than faith.
Perhaps it is not quite fair to go on as if lions were the only living creatures in all the world who are swayed and cowed by firmness and authority. The same weakness may be found now and then among men. All too many of us if hit on the nose with iron bars, either real ones or symbols, do little more than lions in similar circumstances. We may growl and roar a little, but we do not show resentment in any efficient way. And like the lions, we are singularly stupid in not making working alliances with our fellows against the man with the iron bar. By and by we begin to go through the hoops as if the procedure were inevitable. Having made a protest we feel that our duty is done.
It is a great pity. Lions ought to know better. The man who stares you in the eye and squeezes hard in a handshake may come to the bad end which you wish him, but it is unlikely that he will ever be eaten by lions. Something else must be devised for him. Even outside the circus he is likely to go far. Anybody who can shake a little personality can be ringmaster in this world. And we, all of us who have none, do nothing about it except to obey him. Camels we can swallow easily enough, but we strain at the natty dresser.
Still we did manage to find a few bits of information in The Ways of the Circus which were brand new to us. If, for instance, a rhinoceros escaped from his cage just what would you do to get him back again? That is, if he were the sort of rhinoceros you wanted back. At first glance it seems rather a problem, but any reader of Mr. Conklin's book could arrange it for you without difficulty. Nothing is needed but carrots and a stout heart. The carrots you scatter profusely about the floor of the cage, and when the rhinoceros returns to get them you slam down the door, and there he is.

H. G. Wells of England

H. G. Wells in his Outline of History seldom seems just an Englishman. He fights his battles and makes most of his judgments alone and generally in defiance of the traditions of his countrymen, but he is not bold enough to face Napoleon Bonaparte all by himself. The sight of the terrible little Corsican peeping over the edge of the thirty-eighth chapter sends Wells scurrying from his solitude into the center of a British square. It must be that when Wells was little and bad his nurse told him that if he did not eat his mush or go to bed, or perform some other necessary function in the daily life of a child, Old Bony would get him. And Wells is still scared. He takes it out, of course, by pretending that Napoleon has been vastly overrated and remarks that it was pretty lucky for him that he lost Trafalgar and never got to England, where troops would have made short work of him.
Nelson, Wells holds, was just as great a figure in his own specialty as Napoleon in his, but if so it seems a pity that he did not rise to Wellsian heights of strategy and lose Trafalgar so that Napoleon might land and be defeated by British pluck and skill. Then, indeed, might Waterloo have been won upon the cricket fields of Eton.
Not only does Wells insist on regarding Napoleon through national lenses but through moral ones also. Speaking of his accession as First Consul, Wells writes: "Now surely here was opportunity such as never came to man before. Here was a position in which a man might well bow himself in fear of himself, and search his heart and serve God and man to the utmost."
That, of course, was not Napoleon's intent. His performance must be judged by his purpose, and it seems to us that Wells doesn't half appreciate how brilliant was the stunt which Napoleon achieved. "He tried to do the impossible and did it." Man was no better for him and neither was God, but he remains still the great bogy man of Europe, a bogy great enough to have frightened Mr. Wells and marked him. Here was a man who took life and made it theatrical. It was an achievement in popular æsthetics, if nothing else, but Wells doesn't care about æsthetics. Perhaps even a moral might be extracted from the life of Napoleon. He proved the magic quality of personality and the inspiration of gesture. Some day the same methods may be used to better advantage.
The institution of the Legion of Honor Wells calls "A scheme for decorating Frenchmen with bits of ribbon which was admirably calculated to divert ambitious men from subversive proceedings." But these same bits of ribbon and the red and green ones of the Croix de Guerre and the yellow and green of the Médaille Militaire were later to save France from the onrush of the Germans. Without decorations, without phrases and without the brilliant and effective theatrical oratory of French officers, from marshals to sub-lieutenants, France would have lost the great war. Everybody who saw the French army in action realized that its morale was maintained during the worst days by colored ribbons and florid speeches. Even the stern and taciturn Pershing learned the lesson, and before he had been in France three months he was about making speeches to wounded men in which he told them that he wished that he, too, were lying in hospital with all their glory. Personally, it never seemed to me that Pershing actually convinced any wounded doughboy of his enthusiasm for such a change, but he did not use the gesture with much skill. He lacked the Napoleonic tradition.
Another American officer, a younger one, said, "If I ever have anything to do with West Point I'm going to copy these Frenchmen. They do it naturally, but we've got to learn. I'm going to introduce a course in practical theatricalism. Now, if I were a general, as soon as I heard of some little trench raid in which Private Smith distinguished himself I'd send a staff officer down on the sly to find out what Smith looked like. Then I'd inspect that particular organization and when I got to Smith my aide would nudge me and I'd turn, as if instinctively, and say, 'Isn't that Private Smith who distinguished himself on the evening of January 18 at 8 o'clock? I want to shake your hand, Smith.' Why, man, the French army has been living and breathing on stuff like that for the last two years."
It is an easy matter to satirize the heroic and theatrical gesture. The French themselves did it. Once in the Chamber of Deputies, late in the war, a Radical member, who didn't care much for the war, anyway, and still less for the Cabinet, arose and said: "This morning as I was walking in the streets of Paris a little before dawn I saw three camions headed for the front, and I stopped the first driver and said, 'Ah, I am overjoyed to see that at last the ministry is awake to the needs of our brave poilus and is sending supplies to the front. What is it that you carry—ammunition, clothing, food?' But the driver shook his head and said, 'No; Croix de Guerre.'"