Tim came through the gate and advanced as far as the porch steps.
"How about you and Andy and Bobbie practicing a couple of times before
Friday?" Don asked.
There was a long interval of silence.
"All right," said Tim at last. He swung around and walked out the gate.
"Mackerel!" said Andy. "I thought he'd go up in the air."
Wednesday morning Tim practiced at troop headquarters. Thursday afternoon, as soon as the baseball drill was over, he practiced again. Friday morning he was even ready for more; but that morning Bobbie had to weed the vegetable garden in back of his house and could not come around. Tim went home vaguely disappointed.
That afternoon, at the baseball field, he played a butter-fingered game.
He could not hold the ball, and his throws to bases were atrocious.
"Hi, there!" called Ted. "Go take a walk around the block."
Tim was frightened. "Don't you want me to play tomorrow?"
"Sure I do. Tomorrow you'll be all right. This is your bad day. Go off by yourself and get the air."