Every now and then Akela made strange little squiggles in the margin—secret signs only the printer-man could understand.
"Coo! what silly mistakes he makes!" said one of the Cubs in derision. "I wouldn't have done that in dictation even when I was in Standard I.!"
"I think he makes very few mistakes," said Akela; "other printer-men make lots more. You see, this one is printing the Wolf Cub, so he has to do his best."
The cricket people had been "doing their best" at cricket to such good purpose that they had succeeded in splitting one of the bats.
So after tea Akela and some of them went down to the man who sells bats and golf-balls, down by the tennis-courts. The road where his shop is runs between the seashore and a big stretch of grassy land, called the Dover.
"That," said Akela, "is the very place where Billy got carried up by the giant kite."
It was a favourite story of the Cubs, so they were pleased to see the place.
"Is that the fierce bull?" said one.
"No," said Akela, "that's a sleepy old cow."
The man said he would mend the bat in time for to-morrow's match.