und at the members of his own patrol. Bobbie
shifted his eyes. Wally tried to smile that it wasn't a bad showing at
all. Tim turned away slowly, went over to his equipment, and began to
roll his blanket for the homeward march. All the sunshine, and the
frolic, and the outdoor freshness was gone from the day.

He was sure that he had sent the message right. He couldn't send an e for
a v, because e was the simplest letter in the Morse alphabet--just a
single dot. And as for sending two b's where he should have sent two
p's--

"I didn't," he muttered wrathfully. "They think I did because--"

His face clouded with swift suspicion, and the blanket dropped from his
hands. He had been telling himself for two days that there had been no
hidden reason for Don taking him as a partner, but now that was all swept
aside. Don had wanted him as the goat. If any mistakes were made he would
be the one to be blamed--just as he was being blamed. Wasn't he Tim
Lally, the fellow who always spoiled things? Oh, what a woodenhead he had
been not to see it all before!

CHAPTER VIII

DON'S CHOICE

The jubilant Foxes found enough flour to make a paste, and enough paper
to stick on a blanket and make a sign. The sign read:

Eagles 122-1/2
Foxes 132
Wolves 127-1/2

They carried it, spread out like a banner, all the way home.

The hike back to Chester was a bit one-sided. The Foxes enjoyed
themselves hugely, but every other scout was sober with his own thoughts.
The Eagles were convinced that they were out of the race. Don and Andy
Ford were trying to take some comfort from the fact that they had four
weeks yet in which to overtake the Foxes. Nobody noticed that Tim, a
bubbling source of energy yesterday, was now sour and glum.

It was not until next day that Don noticed any change. In the regular
weekly game on the village field Tim backed him up faultlessly; but
on the bench the catcher edged away and sat at the end with the
score-keeper.

"Good night!" Don murmured. "What is it this time?" He was becoming used
to Tim's blowing hot one minute and cold the next. He didn't worry so
much over Tim's moods. By tomorrow, he reflected, this rather uncertain
scout would probably be running around again like a loose cyclone.

Besides, Don had something to worry about just then, something so acute
that it could not be shared with another worry. His pitching was
undergoing violent assault. He was sure he had plenty of stuff on