"Was that right, Don?" he asked eagerly.
"Right," said Don. He was on the point of sending the boy off with another message when the gate clicked. Tim Lally advanced as though he had important business on his mind.
"Hello," said Tim, and rubbed his fingers across the door. "Gee! Why didn't you tell me the paint was wet? Give it a rub or two; that will fix it up again. Did you hear about Phil Morris?"
Don nodded.
"I guess I'll take a crack at being patrol leader," said Tim.
Bobbie looked up quickly. Don stood the door aside to dry, went down to his father's basement workshop and came up with another frame.
"I guess I'll take a crack at being patrol leader," Tim repeated. "I have two votes already, Ritter and Wally Woods. My own, of course, is three. All I need is another. Now, how about you fellows?"
"I'm going to vote for Alex Davidson," said Don.
Bobbie scarcely breathed. A spot of red flamed in each of Tim's cheeks.
"What's the matter with me?" he demanded. "Don't you think I'm good enough?" He swung around. "How about you, Bobbie?"