He roused himself and listened.
"The Wolf patrol has the assignment of having headquarters clean for the next meeting," the Scoutmaster announced.
The session was over. Don told his patrol not to forget Monday's practice and walked out alone. He had gone but a short distance when running footsteps sounded in his rear.
"Don!" It was Bobbie. "I'm sorry—"
The patrol leader forced a smile. "You only lost us a point and a half,
Bobbie. Maybe you'll get that back in the first aid contest."
Bobbie's mouth tightened. "It won't be because I'm not trying," he said; and Don went home telling himself that he knew one scout the Wolf patrol could count on through thick and thin.
Next morning he tried to build bird-houses, but for once he could find no pleasure in the work. His thoughts were turned on the afternoon. The Glenrock team had a reputation as hitters, and he wondered, in spite of what Ted had said, whether he would be able to hold his own.
When Ted had asked him to pitch for the Chester town team, he had protested that he was only a high school player. Ted, however, had told him earnestly that many town team pitchers were no better. Besides, wouldn't it be fine experience to pitch against stronger batters? Weeks ago that argument had won, but now Don made a wry face.
"Fine lot of experience it will be if they knock me out of the box," he said.
The game had been well advertised. The Chester Chronicle had carried a story, and notices had been chalked on the bulletin board at the railroad station. Don was sure that there would be quite a crowd.