That figure, moreover, was clothed in the uniform of the United States Regular Army, but now the uniform was badly soiled and battered.
"Where are you going, Coy?" sharply demanded Sergeant Hupner.
The youth—he was barely more than twenty-one, halted unsteadily, blinking at Sergeant Hupner as though he were not sure whether he saw one, two or three sergeants.
"Where are you going?" sternly repeated Sergeant Hupner.
"Thash all (hic) right, Sarge," replied Private Coy thickly.
He seemed in danger of losing his balance as he stood there blinking.
"It's all wrong," snapped out Hupner crisply. "Answer me. Where do you think you are going?"
"Back to (hic) camp, Sarge."
"You're a disgrace to the uniform," rapped out the sergeant. "You a soldier! You're not even fit to be an anarchist! You miserable, drunken disgrace to the uniform!"
"Oh, thash all (hic) ri', Sarge. Had bully time. Now'm going back to camp."