Bobbie joined him on the sidewalk. Tim strode off briskly, and Bobbie, shorter of leg, almost had to run.
"Getting ready for the signal contest, Tim?"
Tim nodded.
"I bet you won't make any mistakes next time."
Poor Bobbie meant no harm, but it was about the worst thing he could have said. From Andy, or Alex, or any of the bigger scouts, Tim would not have minded so much. But to have little Bobbie hold up his shortcomings was like drawing a match across sandpaper.
"Gee!" Bobbie rattled on; "aren't you glad Don is going to show you how to do things?"
"Say," Tim said ominously, "you shut up and run along or I'll twist your ears around your head. Go on, now." He gave the astonished boy a push. Then, scowling blackly, he passed him and went down the street with steps that had lost their lightness and their spring.
CHAPTER VII
CROSS CURRENTS
In the days that followed, Tim became as restless as a caged animal. He had had a taste of the fun of being a real scout. He knew the dissatisfied emptiness of not pulling with his patrol. He wanted to play fair, but his high-strung nature could not shake off the dread of having anybody think that Tim Lally could be led around by the nose.