Tim went off to the maple tree and sat down. And by and by he found himself wondering, not what kind of baseball he would play on the morrow, but whether he would be good or bad in first aid that night.
He came to troop headquarters after supper with a queer, nervous feeling in the pit of his stomach. Outside, the Eagles were making one last hurried practice of the business of making a coat stretcher. Tim wished he could do a little practicing, too; but when he went inside and joined his patrol, he shrank from asking Andy and Bobbie to work with him.
The hands of the clock crept around to the hour of eight. The Eagles came inside. Mr. Wall called the patrol leaders.
"We don't want any lagging or fooling," he announced. "Have your scouts move lively."
"Yes, sir." The leaders went back to their patrols and repeated what the
Scoutmaster had said.
Mr. Wall's whistle shrilled. The bugle sounded "To the Colors." Fifteen minutes later the inspection was over. Each patrol had a perfect score. The result was marked on the board:
PATROL POINTS
Eagle 74-1/2
Fox 74
Wolf 73-1/2
It was now time for the contest. An air of tension ran through the troop. Each patrol kept to itself. There was a deal of husky excited whispering. Of all the Wolf patrol, Tim alone was silent. The muscles of his mouth twitched. How he wished he could have back those afternoons he had wasted!
"Scouts!" called Mr. Wall.