§ 331 He Couldn’t Stick to Any One Thing
Carried away by a spirit of patriotism, a New York song-writer, of indolent habits, signed up for a citizens’ training-camp. On his arrival he was assigned to an awkward squad under charge of a sergeant of the regular army.
Bearing a dummy musket, our hero lined up with the rest of the green hands. Facing them, the drill-master proceeded to rattle off the manual.
“Attention!” he shouted. “Carry arms—present arms—shoulder arms—parade arms!”
The song-writer flung his wooden rifle down.
“I quit!” he declared. “I’m through, right now.”
“What’s the matter?” demanded the astonished sergeant.
“The trouble with you is you change your mind too darned often!”