"Fine. His hitting won last Saturday's game."
"Maybe it isn't that," Andy said doubtfully. He was so used to Tim being grouchy when anything displeased him that he could not grasp the thought that perhaps there had been some little change.
By this time the troop contest had every scout on his toes. Friday night's meeting saw each patrol win another perfect score. Don decided gloomily that there wasn't much chance to get ahead by being clean and on time for roll call—every scout in the troop was clean and on time. It was the monthly contests that would decide the winner of the Scoutmaster's Cup.
Before going home he studied the changed figures on the blackboard:
PATROL POINTS
Eagle 106-1/2
Fox 111
Wolf 108-1/2
"Tim's doing fine on signaling," said Alex in his ear.
Don drew a deep breath. Well, maybe everything would be all right, after all.
Next day the Chester nine played St. Lawrence. It was touch and go from the start. Now Chester led; now the visitors led. The eighth inning found Chester in front by a 6 to 5 score.
All during the game Don had felt the strength of Tim's support. Not once had the catcher's playing faltered. Don, waiting on the bench, allowed his thoughts to wander. If Tim would plunge into scouting like that—