"Gee!" said Tim. "I didn't know it was going to do that. What did you want to leave the pail there for?"

"What did you go cat-acting for?" Don demanded.

He was exasperated. He felt like telling Tim to go out and let them finish the job themselves. But--There was the rub. What would happen then? Suppose Tim got hot-headed and wouldn't go? Or suppose he went, glad to be relieved of his share of the job? Or suppose he walked out sullen and grumbling, and stayed away from the meeting or came late or came untidy--and the Wolves lost points?

Don was bewildered. He wanted to do what was best--for Tim, for himself, for the patrol--but what was best? Was it best to let Tim run on in the hope that he'd be shamed into a better spirit by the other scouts? Phil Morris would have said, very quietly, "Hey, there, Tim!" and that would have been the end of it.

Don sighed. "I wish I was as big as Phil," he muttered.

For a time it seemed as though Tim had been sobered by the accident to the water pail. He worked with Andy trying to clean the walls. It seemed, though, that there were a thousand spatters.

"Gee!" said Tim. "Mr. Wall surely likes to stick a fellow. This is no cinch."

"It's your own fault," Andy grunted, trying to reach a high spot.

"Aw! shut up," cried Tim; "you fellows are always preaching. You fellows never do anything. I'm tired and I'm going to rest."

He brought out a camp stool and sat down. Don bit his lips and went on working. The other scouts cast covert glances at the stool and its occupant.

By and by it began to grow dark. The floor had been swept and mopped, but the walls still had dirty sections and there were the two windows to do.

"We're not going to get this clean in time," said Andy.

Tim stirred from the chair and came over and helped. The light failed rapidly. The lamps were in the troop "treasure chest," and Don though a patrol leader, had not yet received a key to the locker.

"No use wasting any more time here," he said at last. "Let's do the windows."

"Maybe we have the walls all clean," said Andy. Ritter struck a match. By the feeble flame they looked intently, but could not be sure.

They did the windows. Tim was silent and apparently not anxious to attract attention to himself. It was almost dark when the last window had been finished.

"Could we try the walls again?" Bobbie asked.

"Too late," Don answered. "They may be all right. We'll know tonight, anyway. Everybody on time tonight, and everybody clean."

He walked off with Andy. The a.s.sistant patrol leader said after a moment:

"I think Tim's sorry now."

"What good does it do to be sorry now?" Don asked bitterly.

As soon as his supper was over, he hurried back to headquarters. n.o.body was there yet. Presently the patrol leader of the Foxes, a boy named Kearney, came along, whistling shrilly. He opened the treasure chest and brought out the lamps, cleaned the chimneys and lighted them.

"h.e.l.lo!" he said. "Wasn't it the turn of your patrol to clean house?"

Don nodded miserably. One patch of wall, by a window, was a mess. The windows themselves, cleaned in semi-darkness, were streaked. And some of the floor, down by the door, had not been mopped at all.

Scouts began to arrive. Bobbie brought a shoe brush and a can of blacking, and Ritter brought a hair brush and a comb. Andy brought needles and khaki-colored thread. These things were laid quietly in the patrol's locker. n.o.body said anything about the walls.

By and by Tim arrived. He looked around and his face became red. Don gave him a quick glance. He met it and his flush grew deeper, and all at once he seemed to force his shoulders back and his eyes became defiant.

"He's stung, all right," thought Don, "but he doesn't want to show it."

Mr. Wall called the patrol leaders forward to discuss the plans for a hike. Don scarcely heard the details. All he knew was that somebody said, "Wednesday, then," and the Scoutmaster's whistle shrilled, and the troop lined up by patrols.

Slowly the inspection was made--first the scouts, then the room. Don forced himself to keep his eyes level, but he felt like hanging his head.

"Every scout present," Mr. Wall announced, "and every scout clean. Each patrol is awarded sixteen points."

Fleeting smiles through the ranks of the Foxes and the Eagles. Sober faces among the Wolves.

"However," the Scoutmaster went on, "the Wolf patrol had the detail of cleaning the meeting place. I am sorry to say that the patrol has been derelict. I am, therefore, compelled to fine the Wolf patrol five points."

Don's heart was like lead. He knew what the slate would show; and yet, when it was changed, he stared at it miserably:

PATROL POINTS

Eagle 44-1/2 Fox 46 Wolf 41-1/2

The meeting was over at last. He ordered his patrol to wait. The other scouts, looking at the Wolves queerly, went out into the night and scattered. Mr. Wall pa.s.sed out.

"Good night, scouts," he called.

"Good night," they answered, and looked at Don.

"We're going to clean this place," he said. "Get some water."

There was a rush for pails. Tim hesitated. He knew he was the cause of the disaster that had overtaken the patrol, but he had the mistaken idea that it would seem babyish and weak to jump in and show contrition. He had always been looked upon as a little "hard." This, he thought, was soft--and he didn't want anybody to regard him as a softy.

"Aw!" he said, "what's the use? We've lost the points, haven't we?"

"Is that your idea of being a scout?" Don asked.

Tim flushed again. For a few minutes he lounged around; then, looking ill at ease, he slouched out.

"I didn't think he'd do that," Andy said thoughtfully.

Don's lips had gone a little white. He turned toward the spattered wall and stopped all at once. For Tim was coming back through the doorway.

"I'm as good a scout as you," Tim said pa.s.sionately. "If you say I'm not, I'll bang you in the eye."

Don said nothing. While Tim selected a pail and a floor cloth, Don rubbed away at the wall. Slowly a little smile spread across his face. He was quite content the way things had gone. What did five points amount to, if their loss would make Tim a better scout?

CHAPTER IV