and, when you've enough, come to me. Meanwhile--you
say you didn't get the drill very well?"

"No, sir. I was rank."

"That's because you're new to it, and to the crowd, and everything.
It really isn't hard. If you can come around to my house after supper
to-morrow night, I'll coach you up in half an hour so you can't make a
mistake next Friday if you try. That'll put you on even terms with the
rest of the troop, and make you forget this little matter of clothes.
How about it?"

Dale's eyes brightened. "That would be corking, sir! Of course I can
come, only won't it be a trouble to you?"

"Not a bit. Come any time after seven. You know where I live, don't you?"

"Yes, sir. I'll be there, all right; and thank you ever so much for
helping me."

"You needn't," smiled the scoutmaster. "It will be a pleasure." He
dropped his hand and was turning away when his glance rested on the boy's
solid-looking shoulders and then traveled on down over the lithe frame.
"Play football?" he asked, with a touch of fresh interest.

Dale nodded eagerly. "Yes, sir; as much as I've had time for, that is.
Do--do you think I'd have any show for the team?"

"I shouldn't wonder. See Sherman Ward; he's captain. The season's half
over, but we need weight behind the line, and it wouldn't surprise me if
you'd do. Try it, anyhow. Good night; see you to-morrow."

Dale found his cap and slipped out of the building, a pleasant glow
stealing over him. "He's corking!" he muttered, as he followed the
flagged walk that led past the shadowy bulk of the stone church to the
street. "He makes a fellow feel--well, sort of as if he belonged!"

He had been a chump to let himself be troubled by Ranny Phelps's
brusqueness. "Of course he was peeved when I made such a mess of
things," he thought. "Just wait till next Friday, though, and he'll--"

Dale's progress along the walk and his train of thought stopped abruptly
at one and the same time. He had reached the side of the squat stone
tower that faced the street, but was still in the shadow, when the voice
of Ranny Phelps, somewhat shrill with temper and unmistakably scornful
of accent, smote suddenly on his ears.

"The idea of a mucker like that being in Troop Five--and in my own
patrol, too! It's simply sickening! You saw him to-night; so stupid he
couldn't even learn the drill, and did anybody ever see such clothes?
They look as if they'd come out of the rag-bag."

An indistinguishable murmur in anothe