His face clouded with swift suspicion, and the blanket dropped from his hands. He had been telling himself for two days that there had been no hidden reason for Don taking him as a partner, but now that was all swept aside. Don had wanted him as the goat. If any mistakes were made he would be the one to be blamed--just as he was being blamed. Wasn't he Tim Lally, the fellow who always spoiled things? Oh, what a woodenhead he had been not to see it all before!

CHAPTER VIII

DON'S CHOICE

The jubilant Foxes found enough flour to make a paste, and enough paper to stick on a blanket and make a sign. The sign read:

Eagles 122-1/2 Foxes 132 Wolves 127-1/2

They carried it, spread out like a banner, all the way home.

The hike back to Chester was a bit one-sided. The Foxes enjoyed themselves hugely, but every other scout was sober with his own thoughts.

The Eagles were convinced that they were out of the race. Don and Andy Ford were trying to take some comfort from the fact that they had four weeks yet in which to overtake the Foxes. n.o.body noticed that Tim, a bubbling source of energy yesterday, was now sour and glum.

It was not until next day that Don noticed any change. In the regular weekly game on the village field Tim backed him up faultlessly; but on the bench the catcher edged away and sat at the end with the score-keeper.

"Good night!" Don murmured. "What is it this time?" He was becoming used to Tim's blowing hot one minute and cold the next. He didn't worry so much over Tim's moods. By tomorrow, he reflected, this rather uncertain scout would probably be running around again like a loose cyclone.

Besides, Don had something to worry about just then, something so acute that it could not be shared with another worry. His pitching was undergoing violent a.s.sault. He was sure he had plenty of stuff on the ball. Nevertheless, the rival team was lacing his best efforts to all parts of the field.

The end of the game returned him a loser.

"Can't win them all," Ted Carter said philosophically. "They seemed to hit everything today, Tim, didn't they?"

"Everything," said Tim. He took his sweater from the bench and started for home.

Don had a notion to follow. Instead, after a moment, he walked off with several of the players. So long as Tim was losing his sc.r.a.ppiness, what was the use of fussing over him? Probably by tomorrow, or Monday, whatever was biting him would have stopped, and he would come around to discuss the ifs of the contest, and the what-might-have-happened. It occurred to Don, vaguely, that he had not yet heard Tim say a word about what had happened at Lonesome Woods.

Tim did not come around--neither on Monday nor Tuesday. Wednesday Don met him at the field for the regular mid-week practice.

"Where have you been keeping yourself, Tim?"

"No place."

"You haven't been around since--"

"No," Tim broke in bitterly, "and I'm not coming around. n.o.body can make a b.o.o.by out of me twice."

Don's face sobered. This wasn't the Tim of pa.s.sing moods. This was more like the bl.u.s.tering Tim who had once overawed the Wolf patrol.

"Who made a b.o.o.b of you?"

"You did. Oh, don't look so innocent; you can't work it the second time.

Take me for a partner. Then, if anything went wrong in the contest, everybody would say that Don Strong couldn't have made a mistake--oh, no. It must have been Tim Lally because he's always queering things. And they did say it!"

"Who did?"

"Ritter. 'Too bad you made those mistakes, Tim.' I ought to have whanged him one in the eye. How did he know whether I made any mistakes?"

Gone was Don's thought that Tim would be all right in a day or so. If this firebrand scout convinced himself that he had been tricked, and if he kept thinking so--

"You've got this wrong," Don cried. "I--"

"Sure I've got it wrong," Tim mocked. His voice changed wrathfully. "But I didn't have the message wrong, and don't you forget it. I know my code.

I sent the message right. Do you think I'd send an e for a v?"

"Do you think I wouldn't know an e?" Don asked.

Tim was staggered. He hadn't thought of that--that an e would be as simple to Don, receiving, as it would be to him, sending.

"Aw!" he said recklessly, "it's a trick. You can't fool me again. If you're going to pitch, get busy, else I'll go home."

Don pitched. He decided that there was no use in arguing with Tim now.

Besides, he wanted time to think.

He had saved the message that Bobbie had written. That night he took it from his bureau drawer.

"Every batriot," he read aloud, "blaces his all at the sereice of his country." Funny there should be two b's instead of two p's. He repeated the letters slowly, thoughtfully.

"B, p; b, p--Gosh! I'll bet I know what happened."

He jumped up and paced the room excitedly. It was clear now. Tim had sent p, and he had called p, but p and b sound almost the same and Bobbie, tense and excited, had caught the wrong sound.

"E and v are almost the same, too," Don cried. "I'll tell Tim tomorrow."

Next day he sought Tim eagerly. Tim gave him a sarcastic sidelong glance.

"B and p do sound alike," Don said sharply.

"I'm going to ask Mr. Wall to take me out of the Wolf patrol," was Tim's response.

He meant it. He thought Don's explanation sounded fishy. Why should it take six days to discover that b and p sounded almost the same? He quite forgot that he had not thought of b and p sounding the same at all.

Don did not bother him again. Friday night he came to the troop meeting.

His resolution to ask for a transfer from the Wolves had weakened. In the past he had never paid much attention to Mr. Wall, accepting him as a matter of course--every troop had to have a Scoutmaster. Now, somehow, the thought of Mr. Wall strangled his desire to complain.

The Scoutmaster had said only two weeks before, "I think we're going to be proud of you some day." A queer little lump came up into Tim's throat and made him swallow hard. He did not think Mr. Wall would like it if he asked to be changed, and--and he wouldn't ask.

The entire patrol saw that he avoided Don, for he made no effort to hide his feelings. He left the meeting as soon as it was over. Andy Ford and Alex Davidson glanced questioningly at the patrol leader.

"He thinks I took him as a partner so that he'd be blamed if the Morse signaling went wrong," Don explained.

"Oh, the mule!" Andy cried. "Why doesn't he wait until somebody blames him?"