In a bare and spotless company-room in headquarters in Regina eight uneasy troopers in fatigue uniform were waiting. Down one side of the room a row of tall windows looked out on the brown parade-ground, and beyond the buildings on the other side they could see a long Transcontinental train slowly gathering way up the westward grade.

“Hey, boys!” cried one. “How’d you like to be aboard her with your shoulder-straps and spurs?”

They cast unfriendly glances at the speaker and snorted.

“Don’t try to be an ass, Carter,” said one. “It doesn’t require the effort.”

They evinced their nervousness in characteristic ways. Several were polishing bits of brass already dazzling; one sat voraciously chewing gum and staring into vacancy; one paced up and down like a caged animal; another tried to pick a quarrel with his mates, and the eighth, Sergeant Stonor—the hero of Swan River they called him when they wished to annoy him—sat in a corner writing a letter.

To the eight entered a hardened sergeant-major, purpled-jowled and soldierly. All eight pairs of eyes sprang to his face in a kind of agony of suspense. He twirled his moustache and a wicked, dancing light appeared in his little blue eyes.

“You’re a nice set of duffers!” he rasped. “Blockheads all eight of you. Why they ever sent you down beats me. I’ve seen some rum lots, but never your equal. Flunked, every man of you!”The eight pairs of eyes were cast down. Nobody said anything. Each was thinking: “So that dream is over. I mustn’t let anything on before the others”: those who were polishing brass gave an extra twirl to the chamois.

Stonor, suddenly suspicious, narrowly searched the sergeant-major’s face. “Fellows, he’s joshing!” he cried. “It isn’t possible that every one of us has flunked! It isn’t reasonable!”

The sergeant-major roared with laughter. “Wonderful penetration, Sherlock! When I saw your faces I couldn’t help it. You were asking for it. All passed! That’s straight. Congrats!” He passed on down the corridor.

There was a silence in the company-room. They looked shyly at each other to see how the news was being taken. Each felt a sudden warmth of heart towards all his mates. All of them displayed an elaborate and perfectly transparent assumption of indifference. Stonor added a postscript to his letter, and sedately folded it.

Then speech came, at first softly. “Damn old Huggins, anyway. Almost gave me heart-failure!… Wot t’hell, Bill! Poor old Hugs, it was his last chance. Sure, we’ll have him where we want him now.… Think of being able to call Hugs down!… Lordy, Lordy, am I awake!”

Suddenly the unnatural tension broke, and a long-limbed trooper jumped to his feet with his arms in the air. “Boys! Are you dumb! We’ve passed! We’ve got the straps! All together now, Mumbo-Jumbo!”

They marched around the room with their hands on each other’s shoulders, singing:

In a little house in Vancouver, embowered in such greenery as only the mild, moist airs of Puget Sound can produce, a young woman sat in her drawing-room regarding a letter she had just read with a highly dissatisfied air. It was a pretty little room, not rich nor fussy, but expressing the charm of an individual woman no less than the clothes she wore.

To the mistress entered the maid, to wit, a matronly Indian woman with an intelligent face. She looked from her mistress’ face to the letter, and back to her mistress again. When the latter made no offer to speak she said, for she was a privileged person:

“You hear from Stonor?”

Clare nodded.

“He not pass his ’xamination, I guess?”

“Certainly he has passed!” said Clare sharply. “If anybody can pass their examinations he can.”

“Why you look so sorry then?”

“Oh—nothing. I didn’t expect him to write it. A five-word postscript at the end of a matter-of-fact letter.”

“Maybe he couldn’t get leave.”

“He said he’d get leave if he passed.”

“Maybe he comin’ anyhow.”

“He never says a word about coming.”

“You ask him to come?”

“Of course not!”

“Don’t you want him come?”

“I don’t know whether I do or not.”

Mary looked perplexed.

Clare burst out, “I can’t ask him. He’d feel obliged to come. A man—man like that anyway, would feel after what we’ve been through together that I had a claim on him. Well, I don’t want him to come out of a sense of duty. Don’t you understand?”

Mary shook her head. “If I want something I ask for it.”“It’s not so simple as all that!”

“Maybe he think he not wanted here.”

“A man’s supposed to take that chance.”

“Awful long way to come on a chance,” said Mary. “Maybe I write to him.”

Clare jumped up. “Don’t you dare!” she cried. “If I thought for a moment—if I thought he had been brought, I should be perfectly hateful to him. I couldn’t help myself—Is that a motor at the gate?”

“Yes, Miss, a taxi-cab.”

“Stopping here?”

“Yes, Miss,”—with absolute calm: “Stonor is gettin’ out.”

“What!—Oh, Mary!—It can’t be!—It is!”

A bell rang.

“Oh, Mary! What shall I do? Don’t go to the door! Let him wait a minute. Let me think what I must do. Let me get upstairs!”

Stonor got up and sat down, and got up again. He walked to the window and back to the door. He listened for sounds in the house, and then went back to his chair again. He heard a sound overhead and sprang to the door once more. He saw her on the stairs, and retreated back into the room. She came down with maddening deliberation, step by step. She did not look through the door, but paused a second to straighten a picture that hung askew on the wall. Stonor’s heart was beating like a trip-hammer.

She came into the room smiling in friendly fashion with a little gush of speech—but her eyes did not quite meet his.

“Well, Martin! Congratulations! I just got your letter this morning. I didn’t expect you to follow so soon. So it’s Inspector Stonor now, eh? Very becoming uniform, sir! Was the examination difficult? You must tell me all about it. I suppose you are just off the train. What kind of a trip did you have? Sit down.”

He was a little flabbergasted by her easy flow of speech. “I don’t want to sit down,” he muttered huskily. He was staring at her from a white face.

She sat; glanced out of the window, glanced here and there about the room, and rattled on: “Haven’t we got a jolly little place here? But I expect we’ll be ordered on directly. Mary and I were talking about you the moment you rang the bell. Mary is so good to me, but her heart is already turning to Fort Enterprise and her children, I’m afraid.”

He found his tongue at last. “Clare, don’t!” he cried brokenly. “I didn’t come eight hundred miles to hear you make parlour conversation. What’s the matter? What have I done? If you’ve changed towards me tell me so plainly, and let me get out. I can’t stand this!”

Panic seized her. “I must see about lunch. Excuse me just a moment,” she said, making for the door.

He caught her as she tried to pass. “Damn lunch! Look me in the eye, woman!”

She relaxed. Her eyes crept imploringly up to his. “Bear!” she whispered. “You might at least have given me a moment’s respite!—Oh, I love you! I love you! I love you!”

THE END