3.  To report any private or non-com who asks for thirds.

4.  To receive, transmit and obey all orders from and allow myself to be relieved by the Mess Sergeant, first and second cooks only.

5.  To quit the coffee only when properly relieved.

6.  To repeat all calls for “seconds” from the dining room.

7.  To hold conversation with no one who asks for onions.

8.  To allow no one to pass the cooks tobacco or booze.

9.  To salute all slum not incased in an overcoat.

10.  In any case not covered by instructions call the first cook.

11.  In case of fire take out the ashes and get a bucket of coal.

12.  Between reveille and retreat turn out the cook and the cook’s police for all objects found in the slum, such as bedbugs, lizards, cockroaches, snakes and other insects not on the bill of fare.

    By order of General R. U. Hungry: 
      Peelem Spud,
      Commanding Kitchen Police Brigade.

    Official: 
      O. U. Meatball,
        Major, 3rd Cook Corps,
          Brigade Adjutant.

IS HE A SOREHEAD?

  You’ve heard of the famous six hundred,
      who at Balaklava fell;
  Who charged like death’s avengers straight
      into the mouth of hell. 
  But there’s deeds unsung, unheard of;
      brave deeds gone by unseen,
  Just listen to the tale of a soldier, told in
      ought thirteen.

  Part of the Colonial Army for duty in the
      Philippine group. 
  If I had the gink that sent me I sure would
      make him loop the loop. 
  Our valor is tested daily.  We fight the
      mosquitos and heat. 
  The country is fine for a Gu-Gu, but I long
      for old Market Street.

  The hiking is fine for a soldier, you fill up
      on dust on the road,
  And to eat on a dusty stomach makes you
      feel like any toad. 
  You may talk of a seven-year enlistment,
      God help me get this one in,
  When you do one on the Archipelago,
      you will never be free from sin.

  They work you from morning till evening. 
      They’ve got you, there’s no pulling out. 
  Can you blame us for drinking, old timer,
      no chance, here’s to you, old scout. 
  Our troubles may be all imaginary and
      caused by too much sun,
  But how much imagining is called for in
      the war games they play for fun.

  I try to do all they require me, but, God,
      who can do all that? 
  The man is not made who can obey all
      orders of a man with a gold cord on his hat. 
  Some are better than others, they don’t
      feel the polish and such,
  But I’ve learned my lesson—­they’ll get
      you in dutch.