At the edge of the field he found Andy Ford waiting.
"Mackerel!" cried the assistant patrol leader; "wasn't that a corking game? When Tim made that throw—Hello! What's the matter?"
"Tim's sore because of what Bobbie said."
"How do you know?"
Don related what had happened at the bench.
"Well, the big boob!" Andy gave a snort of anger. "Doesn't he know any better than to pay attention to a kid like Bobbie?"
"Tim's always been that way," said Don. "He's sensitive."
"Sure; but he isn't sensitive about his patrol, is he?"
Don sighed. No; Tim wasn't very sensitive about that.
After supper he came out of the house and walked down to the fence. He had an idea that Andy would be around; and when presently the assistant patrol leader came down the dark street, he held open the gate. They sat on the grass and talked in low tones.