"See what a fine fix you got us in!" he demanded angrily.
"I couldn't help it," Bobbie explained. "My mother didn't know she was out of sugar, and the man in the store had to open a new barrel, and he couldn't find his hatchet, and I had to wait."
"You should have gone for the sugar this afternoon," Tim insisted. "The rest of us take the trouble to come here right and then you spoil things."
"I couldn't help it," Bobbie said miserably. "I—"
"It's all right, Bobbie," said Don. "Don't let it happen again." He was disappointed, but what was the use of jumping on a scout who was trying to do right?
"What's the use of me slicking up," Tim scowled, "if other fellows are going to do as they please?"
The scout scribe walked toward the slate. Instantly Bobbie and his lapse were forgotten. Every eye in the room watched while the scribe rubbed out and wrote. Soon he stepped away from the slate. There was the new standing:
PATROL POINTS
Eagle 28-1/2
Fox 30
Wolf 30-1/2
The Wolves were still in the lead, but Don did not feel the least like cheering. For the next hour, while the troop worked at signaling, and map-reading, and advanced knot-tying, he did his part and forgot to be despondent. He even brightened when the logs were brought in and the theory of bridge building was applied. But when the bridge was done—this time it held—he lost interest.
"The Wolf patrol—" he heard Mr. Wall say.