"Andy pitched into me," he complained.
"He was interfering with my fire," Andy answered.
"I wasn't. I was only showing him."
"Andy is a first-class scout," said Mr. Wall quietly. "If he doesn't know how to build a fire and cook a meal I have blundered as Scoutmaster in awarding him his first-class badge."
Tim looked away. This was putting the whole thing in a new light. He dug the toe of one shoe into the ground, and kept twisting and turning it nervously.
Mr. Wall's voice softened. "You go off the handle too quickly, Tim. You've ruined Andy's fire. What do you think you should do—the square thing?"
"I'll finish my cooking over Don's fire," Andy said quickly.
Mr. Wall never made the mistake of continuing a lecture to the point where it lost its force. He knew when to stop. This flurry was over.
"All right, scouts," he said, and went back to his own cooking. Tim shuffled off and squatted down beside his own blaze.
Andy rounded up his potatoes. They were cold and discouraged looking.