Life — July 12, 1917 — page 11: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

‘LIFE: 51 Not His Fault SHE went swiftly up to the tall, handsomer trenches. You were wounded. You came back stranger, who was not over thirty, and said: with the Legion of Honor, the Victoria Cross “Have you done your bit?” and the D. S. O.- And now you are on a fur- lough, and are going back next week. He shook his head vaguely. war?” “Not guilty, Yo." “Then, sir, ?" if you are the correct age, if you are not “Tam not.” married, and if you are an American, why “Maybe you are a married man, and there — is it you are not in the war?” “Because, madam,” he replied, gravely None.” and sincerely, “up to a few weeks ago 1 “Oh, now I understand. You are just fool- was employed as a clerk in the office of the ing me. You were the first to enlist two years Secretary of the Navy, and didn’t know ago. You've been over there fighting in the there was a war.” “I don't understand,” he replied. “Have you contributed any money to the “Perhaps you are an agricultural worke is some reason why you can't go?” ’ Kaiser: WHY DON'T YOU GERMAN-AMERI- S$ DO SOMETHING FOR YOUR FATHERLAND? THEY WON'T LET US,” Defined “DAPA, what is the real difference between an optimist and a pessimist?” “Quite simple, my son. The optimist believes that Amer- ica will win the war in spite of the administration.” “ And the pessimist?” The pessimist believes that, if America wins the war, it will be in spite of the administration.” Breakers Ahead! S Christianity made any permanent impression upon the Japanese?” “Has it? Why, they're liable to double-cross the Allies at any moment! he said. you are physically sound, After Rain ONDERFUL silver mist that flows and shines Across the meadow-lands, that from the deep And sudden valleys with their great dark trees Rises like light made tangible, like spray Slower and softer than the eager fling That leaps from water, foam, perchance, who knows? From hidden fairy seas, whose calmer surge Uplifts this fantasy of loveliness. Leolyn Louise E The Lost Dog H = stands on the corner of the city street, trembli anxious, his nose outstretched, his tail drooping—the shaggy brown dog who has lost his master in the crowd. He sniffs the air, now this way, now that, for the familiar scent. He runs to one after another of the passers-by, returning hurriedly to his post in evident fear of missing the well-known form. A friendly voice rouses his transient interest. He follows after the stranger a few steps, with wagging tail and brown eyes raised in appeal, only to dodge back in clumsy haste. In his excitement he gets in the way of pedestrians, only to slink back from their muttered im- precations. At intervals he scratches on the door which his master entered hours before. His distress evokes pity or mockery from onlookers, according to type. A passing dog makes a tentative dash in his direction, but his indifference is an effective barrier, and the enemy strolls leisurely away. Traffic grows less and less. Pedestrians appear only intervals. Doors are locked. The brown dog leaps from the doorstep just in time to miss a well-aimed kick, to re- turn as the sound of int. Whining under his breath, he stands, patient but grief-stricken. After awhile he curls into a ball and lies shivering on the spot where the beloved feet have passed. He cries out plain- tively as he sleeps, still seeking his master! and at ‘ootsteps grows comicbooks.com