Tim fronted his flag three times. He saw Bobbie hand the message to Don, and Don race over to Mr. Wall.
"We're first in," cried Ritter. "Come on, Tim."
But Tim was suddenly afraid. He dropped the flag and pretended that his shoe-laces were loose. Ritter ran ahead. Tim fussed with the laces a long time—was still fussing, in fact, when cries of "O you Foxes! What's the matter with the Foxes?" brought him to his feet.
This time he walked in hurriedly. Ritter met him.
"You had three mistakes, Tim," he said sadly.
"I had three mistakes?" Tim cried angrily.
"Well, we had three mistakes. The Foxes were perfect again. They're sharks on signaling. The Eagles were last."
Tim went over to Don. "Let's see that message." He read it under his breath. "Every batriot blaces his all at the sereice of his country."
The Foxes were still skylarking when he handed back what Bobbie had written. He looked around at the members of his own patrol. Bobbie shifted his eyes. Wally tried to smile that it wasn't a bad showing at all. Tim turned away slowly, went over to his equipment, and began to roll his blanket for the homeward march. All the sunshine, and the frolic, and the outdoor freshness was gone from the day.
He was sure that he had sent the message right. He couldn't send an e for a v, because e was the simplest letter in the Morse alphabet—just a single dot. And as for sending two b's where he should have sent two p's—