“Come on, fellows. Let’s be getting on home,” exclaimed Rob, who had no wish to prolong the affair.
“All right, I’m ready,” chimed in Merritt. “I don’t like the company around here very well.”
Hunt still sat on the bank, nursing his jaw, and Rob began to be afraid that he had hit harder than he had intended. He approached the other with his hand outstretched.
“I’m sorry, Hunt,” he said, “but you brought it on yourself, old scout. See here, let’s you and I get together and try to cement friendship between the Hawks and the Eagles. It isn’t the scout game to sulk and have ructions. Shake hands, won’t you, and we’ll call it off and run the two patrols in harmony.”
Hunt heard him to the end with sullen apathy. No change of expression crossed his face. As Rob concluded, however, he looked up and said:
“Are you through?”
“Yes, I guess that’s about all. Except that——”
“Except nothing!” almost screamed Hunt, springing to his feet, “I hate you, Rob Blake. Ever since you got back from that fool western trip of yours, you’ve tried to run the village. You won’t do it, see? Don’t talk friendship to me. I’ll fight you to the last ditch, you see if I won’t.”
“Well, if that’s the way you feel about it,” said Rob, with a slight sigh, “there’s nothing I can do. But it isn’t right that two patrols of Boy Scouts should be at loggerheads, just because of your envious temper—for that’s all it amounts to.”
Hunt, white-faced and trembling, was about to make another spring at Rob, when Dale caught him and held him back.