"I am not going back," repeated Sacobie. "I shall get my commission, that is sure; but I shall not be an officer in the battalion." "Why the mischief not?" exclaimed Dick. "What's the matter with the battalion, I'd like to know?" "Nothing," replied the other. He moved away a few paces, then turned back again. "A good battalion. I was a good sergeant there. But I met Capt. Dodds, on leave, one day, and we had lunch together at Scott's; and he feel pretty good--he felt pretty good--and he talked a lot. He told me how some officers and other ranks say the colonel didn't do right when he put in my name for cadet course and a commission. You know why, Dick. So I don't go back to the infantry with my two stars." "Do you mean because you are an Indian? That is rot!" "No, it is good sense. You think about it hard as I have thought about it day and night. They don't say I don't know my job. The captain told me the colonel was right and everybody knew it when he said I should make the best scout officer in the brigade; and the men like me, you know that; but the men don't want an Injun for an officer. They are white men. I am a Malecite--red. That is right. I don't go back with my officer stars." "Do you mean that you won't take your commission?" asked Dick. "No. I take it, sure. But not in the 26th." Dick did not argue. He had never considered his friend's case in that light before, but now he knew that Sacobie was right. The noncommissioned officers and men would not question Frank's military qualifications, his ability or his personal merits. His race was the only thing about him to which they objected--and that appeared objectionable in him only when they considered him as an officer. As a "non-com" he was one of themselves, but as an officer they must consider him impersonally as a superior. There was where the New Brunswick soldiers would cease to consider their friend and comrade Frank Sacobie and see only a member of an inferior race. Their point of view would immediately revert to that of the old days before the war, when they would have laughed at a Malecite's undertaking to perform any task except paddling a canoe. "Will you transfer to another battalion?" asked Dick, as a result of his reflections. Frank shook his head but made no reply. "Then to an English battalion?" Dick persisted. "There are dozens that would be glad to have you, Frank. A Canadian with your record would not have to look far for a job in this war. Jack Davenport's old regiment would snap you up quick as a wink, commission and all, I bet a dollar."