"However," the Scoutmaster went on, "the Wolf patrol had the detail of cleaning the meeting place. I am sorry to say that the patrol has been derelict. I am, therefore, compelled to fine the Wolf patrol five points."
Don's heart was like lead. He knew what the slate would show; and yet, when it was changed, he stared at it miserably:
PATROL POINTS
Eagle 44-1/2
Fox 46
Wolf 41-1/2
The meeting was over at last. He ordered his patrol to wait. The other scouts, looking at the Wolves queerly, went out into the night and scattered. Mr. Wall passed out.
"Good night, scouts," he called.
"Good night," they answered, and looked at Don.
"We're going to clean this place," he said. "Get some water."
There was a rush for pails. Tim hesitated. He knew he was the cause of the disaster that had overtaken the patrol, but he had the mistaken idea that it would seem babyish and weak to jump in and show contrition. He had always been looked upon as a little "hard." This, he thought, was soft—and he didn't want anybody to regard him as a softy.
"Aw!" he said, "what's the use? We've lost the points, haven't we?"