"Hurting him?" Don asked quickly.
"Not really hurting him, but pulling his hair, and twisting his ears, and things like that. Bobbie's frightened. It's going to spoil all our first aid."
Don's mouth twitched. He had congratulated himself that the work had gone so well. And all the while trouble had been lurking at his elbow. He walked back into troop headquarters with his head bent. If one scout was going to nag another there would be no harmony, no pulling together, no striving toward a common goal. It would be good-by to the Wolf patrol so far as the Scoutmaster's Cup was concerned.
He paused in front of the slate. What should he do? If he went to Tim and told him plump and plain to cut it out, there might be a ruction. If he allowed the nagging to go on, there would be tension and unrest within the patrol. No matter which way he turned, disorder and adversity loomed.
He walked to the window where Bobbie stood. Suddenly he stiffened.
"Isn't that Tim down the road—that fellow leaning against the fence?"
Bobbie nodded nervously.
Don drew a deep breath. He knew what was happening. Tim was waiting to continue his plaguing.
"I—I guess I'll go," said Bobbie again.
"Wait," said Don. "I'm going down that way."