Late in the afternoon he went to the field. He did not see Tim, and at once a weight seemed taken from his heart. He pitched to Ted. His control was better now, and presently he found himself enjoying the work. His curves broke well, and Ted kept calling, "That' a boy, Don; that' a boy!"

and he felt a thrilling desire to give Ted the best he had. Tim never made him feel like that.

Next night came the troop meeting. He wondered if Tim would carry his bad temper so far as to come carelessly dressed. Evidently others shared his anxiety, for as soon as he reached headquarters Andy asked him anxiously if Tim would be "all right."

Tim came to the meeting as clean as any scout in the troop. The patrol leader of the Foxes had left the key of his locker at home, and Fox patrol scouts who had expected to brush their shoes before the meeting was called found themselves face to face with a difficulty.

The "fall in" signal came all too soon for the fl.u.s.tered Foxes. Quietly Mr. Wall walked down the line of stiff-backed, silent boys.

"A perfect score for the Wolves," he said. "Four points off the Foxes for untidiness. Two points from the Eagles for a scout absent."

Up went the new standing:

PATROL POINTS

Eagle 58-1/2 Fox 58 Wolf 57-1/2

"Gosh!" breathed Andy. "We're close now, aren't we?"

"It's all in sticking together," said Don. In spite of himself his voice trembled. He looked at Tim. The trouble-making scout was staring at the board with puckered eyes. Don would have given much to know of what he was thinking.

There was a lot of work that night--knot-tying, drowning grips and how to break them, identifying leaves from trees and bushes, and map reading.

Finally that part of the meeting was over. A voice cried, "How about Lonesome Woods?" There were cheers and shouts.

There wasn't much debate about the trip. There was, however, a hot wrangle about the day. Finally it went to a vote, and Thursday was selected.

"Gee!" said Tim. "I bet that will be a great hike."

The meeting adjourned. A scout of the Eagle patrol caught Don's arm.

"What team do you pitch against tomorrow?" he asked.

"Little Falls," said Don.

Tim's face lost its animation and grew dark. He walked toward the door.

And Don, watching him, wondered why it was that fellows were always asked questions at the wrong time.

By this time Don knew that Tim, whenever anything peeved him, could be counted on to display a reckless streak. For a moment this worried him; then he brushed the thought aside. He was always fretting about Tim, and nothing serious was ever happening.

He had planned to mow the lawn and spade the flower beds next morning. It was well that he went early to his task, for at ten o'clock Ted Carter came for him.

"You had better come to the field," the captain said. "No pitching--just a little throwing to bases. I've dug up a fellow named Marty Smith to cover first. I want you to get used to each other."

Don evened off the flower beds, carried the raked-up gra.s.s around to the chickens, and put the gardening tools away.

"Dinner at twelve sharp," Barbara called after him.

At first he felt odd, throwing to the bag and not finding Ted there. He made some crazy tosses. But Marty's long reach always saved him, and Marty's cheery voice kept calling, "That's the stuff; that's what will get them."

Another first-baseman, Don thought, would be scolding about the throws.

His heart warmed to the newcomer. He began to feel at home. His throws steadied and became sure.

"That's enough," Ted called. "n.o.body'll get much of a lead on you fellows. Now for some fielding."

Don walked over to the shade of the maple tree. Intent on watching the field, he did not notice the small figure that took a place at his side.

"h.e.l.lo, Don," said a voice.

"Oh! h.e.l.lo, Bobbie! What's the matter, you look worried?"

"I'm all right," Bobbie said hastily.

Don turned his eyes to the field. Even though his interest was completely absorbed, he thought, subconsciously, that the boy at his elbow was very restless.

By and by the dwindling tree shadows warned him that it was time he started for home. He walked out to the road. Bobbie walked with him.

"Going my way?" he asked.

"Y-yes," said Bobbie. They pa.s.sed one corner, then another.

"I--I want to ask you something," Bobbie said haltingly. "If a scout knows that some other scout is going to do something--something dangerous, maybe--is it blabbing if he tells?"

Don stopped short. "Who's doing something dangerous?"

"Is it carrying tales?" Bobbie insisted.

Don thought a moment. "I don't think so, Bobbie."

"But when a fellow tells about other things--"

"Could you stop this scout from doing something dangerous if you told?"

Don asked.

"I--I think so."

"Does he know it's dangerous?"

Bobbie nodded slowly.

"Then you ought to tell," said Don.

Bobbie looked at the ground. "Tim Lally is getting up a party to go to Danger Mountain today," he said.

A shiver ran through Don's nerves. "Where's Tim now?" he asked.

"Home, getting ready."

Don turned back toward the ball field. Past the maple tree he strode. A factory whistle sounded the noon hour. He broke into a run.