"Attaboy!" exulted Specs, clapping Roundy on the back. "I knew you could do it."
"No, you didn't, either," Roundy answered, too pleased with his performance to be angry at anybody. "But I won the five points all right, even if I'm not one of you light and airy speedsters. What's next?"
The shot put was won by Bi, and, as Specs put it, "lost by Mister Rodman Cree," who finished a bad last.
"I'm leaving now," Bi told Bunny, after that event. "Date with the dentist at eleven, as I explained. Before I go, though, I'd just like to say that I don't think this new fellow is any good. He can't run. Well, that's all right. But he can't do anything else, either."
"This isn't a secret society, Bi, and it isn't an athletic club. It's a patrol of Boy Scouts. And if Rodman isn't good at some of these things that don't really count, I know he's worth while in other ways."
Bi shook his head. "Let some new patrol take him in. He may be all right, but I'd rather have somebody in the Black Eagles who isn't such a dub."
With only three more events on the program, the Scouts' lead seemed to promise a sure victory. But when the All-School team romped away with both first and second places in the broad jump, matters began to look more grave. Once more, Rodman Cree made a mess of his efforts as a jumper. He switched between taking off clumsily and falling back after landing.
"He just won't do," said Roundy soberly, as the city hall clock struck eleven.
"But he's really trying," protested Bunny. "His laughing and all that is just on the surface. He likes us, and he wants to make us like him."
"Too many other good fellows in school to bother with him," Roundy retorted. He paused for a moment. "Bunny, I wish I could stay for the relay race, but I promised my father to mow the lawn this forenoon, and I can't get it done unless I start now. You don't need me as a sub, do you?"