The colonel of a volunteer regiment camping in Virginia came across a private on the outskirts of the camp, painfully munching on something. His face was wry and his lips seemed to move only with the greatest effort.
“What are you eating?” demanded the colonel.
“Persimmons, sir.”
“Good Heavens! Haven’t you got any more sense than to eat persimmons at this time of the year? They’ll pucker the very stomach out of you.”
“I know, sir. That’s why I’m eatin’ ‘em. I’m tryin’ to shrink me stomach to fit me rations.”
