In billet shaving, somebody is always trying to climb into the bunk
above over your slightly bent back while you shave--for it is impossible
to get your little trench mirror directly in front of your face while
you are in an upright position. In outdoor shaving--usually performed in
the middle of a village square, near the town fountain--one is
invariably bumped from behind by one of the lowing kine or frolicsome
colts peculiar to the region; to say nothing of a stray auto truck or
ambulance which may have broken loose from its moorings. These gentle
digs, of course, produce far less gentle digs in one's countenance. In
this way, America's soldiers, long before they reach the front, are
inured to the sight of blood.

After you have scraped off a sufficient amount of beard to show a
sufficient amount of skin to convince the Top, when he eyes you over,
that you have actually shaved, you shake the lather off your razor and
brush, dab what is left of the original water over the torn parts of
your face, seize the opportunity, while you have the mirror before you,
of combing your hair with your fingernails, and button your shirt
collar. The performance concluded, you are good for forty-eight hours
more, having a perfect _alibi_ if anyone comments on your facial growth.
You are not, however, in any condition to attend a revival meeting or to
bless the power-that-be who condemned you to having to shave in France.

----
CRUSADERS.
----

Richard Coeur de Lion was a soldier and a king;
He carried lots of hefty tools with which his foes to bing;
He cased himself in armor tough--neck, shoulder, waist, and knee:
But Richard, old Coeur de Lion, didn't have a thing on me.

For while old Coeur de Lion may have worn an iron casque,
He never had to tote around an English gas-proof mask;
He never galled himself with packs that weigh about a ton,
Nor--lucky Richard--did he have to clean a beastly gun.

'Tis true he wore a helmet to protect himself from boulders,
But then, he had good rest for it upon his spacious shoulders;
While my tin hat is balanced on the peak of my bare dome,
And after marching with it--gee! I wish that I were home!

His feet were cased in metal shoes, in length about a yard,
Which, since they were so big, I bet did not go on as hard
As Uncle Sam'yal's dancin