“Over here, you for the flying squadron,” some one hailed from the distance.
“Flying squadron! What in thunder is that?” cried Victor, wonderingly.
“The commissary department,” answered Dave. “In all well-regulated shows that is attended to first. Guess this wagon is full of stuff they’ll need in a hurry for the mess tent.”
A straggling procession, mainly of boys, soon began to arrive; the lonely, dismal lot was fast becoming transformed into a scene of great bustle and activity. More torches were flaring, and the echoing thuds of the sledges increased in force and number. A bright glare from a calcium light soon streamed over the field.
A force of workers with pick and shovel were leveling the ground, while still others spread thick layers of straw over tracts where recent rains had formed puddles of considerable size.
Presently a murmuring chorus from the crowds of excited children burst into a loud hubbub of joyous shouts.
“Oh, look!” laughed Victor, attracted by the commotion.
Some distance ahead, amid the wagons, a huge form was looming up, now dim and scarcely seen in the gloom, then brought sharply into relief by the flaring lights.
“Hurray, here’s the elephant, as I live,” shouted Victor. “Gee, Brandon—what was that? Didn’t you hear something?”
The boys were threading a dark, gloomy passage between two great wagons, now horseless, their tarpaulin-covered tops seeming to tower to a great height above them. A strange sound, suggestive of a deep sigh, had cut into Victor’s sentence, and when it came a second time the two looked about them with interest.