e all watched from the fence.

After he was gone there was a hubbub of excited talk. Gee! Tim was
getting to be a peachy scout, wasn't he! Don took the signal flags and
walked thoughtfully toward the cellar. He had begun to notice a change.

Two days later Tim came back by appointment. His work was listless and
dead. The next time he did not come at all. That evening Don met him on
Main Street.

"I guess I can do all right now working nights with Alex," Tim said
uneasily.

"All right," Don agreed. "Any time you want to come around, though--" He
waited, but Tim said nothing.

Don went home feeling rather blue. "I suppose he'll start scrapping with
everybody all over again," he muttered.

But he was wrong. Tim went his way moody and silent, but with no chip on
his shoulder. He came to the next troop meeting clean and tidy, and on
time. Each patrol won a perfect score. The blackboard read:

PATROL POINTS

Eagle 90-1/2
Fox 95
Wolf 92-1/2

"Still two and one-half points behind," Don sighed. Wasn't it hard to
catch up? If the Wolves could win the next contest on signaling--But he
wasn't going to think of that, now that Tim had become balky.

The other scouts spoke of it, though. Alex said earnestly that Tim was
really practicing this time. Andy grinned and said that the Eagles and
the Foxes had better watch out because they were heading straight for
trouble. Don walked with them and said not a word.

Five days later the patrol awoke to the fact that Tim no longer practiced
in Don's yard. Andy and Bobbie came around and sat on the front stoop
with the patrol leader.

"Mackerel!" said Andy, "but he's a queer fish. Was there any scrap?"

Don shook his head.

"Didn't he say anything?"

Another shake.

"Just quit, eh?"

Don nodded.

Andy whistled softly, took a scout whistle from his pocket and examined
it. "How is that going to hit our signaling chances?" he asked.

"Alex says Tim works all right with him," Don answered.

"That's all right, but--" Even Bobbie knew what he meant, that the
right kind of stick-together was better than all kinds of practice.
"Something must have bit him," Andy went on. "If he liked practicing
here at first--He did like it, didn't he?"

"You bet," said Bobbie. "Even if he did push me and tell me to run
along."

Andy sat up straight. "When was that?"

"The first day he practiced here. I asked him wasn't it fine to have Don
showing him--"

"Oh!" Andy said