FRANK EGERTON.

EPILOGUE

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, anywa