"Yes, siree," replied Hupner, with emphasis. "And you know what these western towns are when a truly big circus works this far west. The circus will be selling standing-room at double prices, and this show of ours will be performed to two or three hundred small kids whose hearts are broken because they didn't have the price of a circus ticket."
"We ought to have had some other date in the week, then," spoke up another man at table.
"Oh," grimaced Hupner, "the War Department thinks a whole lot of its regulars, of course, so I don't suppose any one over at Washington could picture the troops being called upon to show their best work to empty benches that would hold twenty thousand spectators."
That same news, and that same impression had reached the artillery, the cavalry, the ordnance detachment, the engineers and the men of the Signal Corps. The officers, likewise, shook their heads. All were greatly disappointed to think that the Army had to compete with the sawdust, the tinsel, the gay music and the dash and whoop-la of the circus.
Yet one man in this Regular Army encampment felt wholly satisfied with himself.
That man was Private Hinkey.
He knew the programme of the tournament, and the secret of this sullen wretch's great industry was known at least to himself.
"I've got it all fixed to rid the regiment of that kid sergeant," the brute in uniform exulted to himself. "Exit Kid Overton from the Thirty-fourth!"