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Updated: June 18, 2025
I'm one of those guys with a sense of humor, you know. I'm the regular George Cohan kind, and between my practical jokes and some interfering old maids I I beg your pardon." "I'm not partial to 'em myself," smiled Persis reassuringly. There was an instant of understanding silence. "Well, anyway," groaned the young man, "with a little outside help, I've queered myself for good.
Once outside the hotel he raised his haggard face to heaven and dumbly queried of the Almighty what He meant by saving him from quick death on the field of honor only to condemn him to be talked to death by B. Cohens in civil life. It was now six o'clock. Suddenly Peck had an inspiration. Was the name spelled Cohen, Cohan, Cohn, Kohn or Coen?
He stopped outside a cafe that had "Ham and Eggs" written in white paint on the window and looked in wistfully. Someone from behind him put two big hands over his eyes. He wriggled his head free. "Hello, Dan," he said. "How did you get out of the jug?" "I'm a trusty, kid," said Dan Cohan. "Got any dough?" "Not a damn cent!" "Me neither.... Come on in anyway," said Cohan.
A few days later, with some children, I went to the Hippodrome. And it remained for the Hippodrome, of all places, to give me the thrill I had not achieved abroad, the thrill I had not experienced since the first months of the war. Mr. George Cohan accomplished it.
"Nantes's way off to hell and gone anyway," said wild Dan Cohan, taking a gulp of champagne that he held in his mouth a moment, making his mouth move like a cow ruminating.
Fuselli was thinking that it wasn't good to be seen round too much with a fellow like Cohan, who talked about the Germans notifying hospitals before they bombarded them and who was waiting for a court-martial. Might get him in wrong. He slipped out of the cafe into the dark.
"Will you shake hands with me, Cal?" said I, "on precisely those same terms about having been an awful fool? It's you who are the best chap in the world. And I'll admit it I was jealous of you!" He roared at this. "Well," said he, "as George Cohan says, 'All's well that ends well', and I guess we couldn't beat this for a championship year, now could we? Now say, about Dingleheimer "
But then, neither has Georgie Cohan, and I can't see that it's wrecked his life any. Look at Elsie Janis! But she sings. And they like it! Now listen. I've got a song. It's my own. That bit you played for me up at Gottschalk's is part of the chorus. But it's the words that'll go big. They're great. It's an aviation song, see? Airship stuff.
Ah' now I don't know what they're goin' to do to me." "Gee whiz!" "It's a great war, I tell you, Sarge. It's a great war. I wouldn't have missed it." Across the room someone was singing. "Let's drown 'em out," said the top sergeant boisterously. "O Mademerselle from Armenteers, Parley voo?" "Well, I've got to get the hell out of here," said wild Dan Cohan, after a minute.
"Well, this gold village was forty miles up in the mountains, and it took us nine days to find it. But one afternoon McClintock led the other mules and myself over a rawhide bridge stretched across a precipice five thousand feet deep, it seemed to me. The hoofs of the beasts drummed on it just like before George M. Cohan makes his first entrance on the stage.
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