Don Strong, Patrol Leader Part 4

Silence.

All at once an uneasy feeling crept around the table. Alex forgot his business adventures of the day and glanced quickly from face to face.

"Tim may come later," he said.

Don looked at Bobbie. "Did you tell him?"

Bobbie nodded.

"What did he say?"

"N--nothing."

Every scout knew at once that Tim had said something. Don shut his lips tightly.

"I guess Tim forgot," Andy suggested.

Don grasped at this straw. Not that he believed it, for he didn't; but it gave him a chance to ease the tension. He forced a smile and said that Tim might come bolting in at the last minute. The moment the roll call was completed, he turned the talk to the Scoutmaster's Cup. He didn't want to give the scouts a chance to sit there and think.

"We're in the lead now," he said, "and it's up to us to stay there. It will be easy if every fellow will do his part. Attend every meeting and come ready for inspection. When Mr. Wall gives us a job to do as a patrol, let us dig in and do it right. And let us work hard so that we'll stand a good chance of winning the monthly contests."

"The first contest is easy," said Ritter. "We all know our first aid."

"We know it," said Don. "But can we do it? That's what counts."

"It's like riding a bicycle," Ritter argued. "You never forget."

Don had not expected anything like this. He didn't want the patrol to be c.o.c.ksure--he wanted it to work. But there would be small chance of work if each scout was going to think that practice was unnecessary.

"Wait until I get some bandages," he said. He ran up to his room and came down with a little white roll. Ritter smiled confidently.

"Let's see you make a spiral reverse bandage," Don invited.

Ritter took the bandage and went to work on Alex's arm. Presently, after having gone half way to the elbow, he flushed and pulled the bandage off.

"It's sloppy," he said. "I see your point. I need practice."

"We all need practice," said Don. There were no further objections to hard work. The talk became eager as details were planned. The patrol would practice Wednesday afternoon at troop headquarters. Don would work with Ritter on splints, and Tim and Andy and Bobbie would form a team for artificial respiration, fireman's lift and stretcher work. Wally and Alex would practice straight bandaging at night after Alex had finished his labors at the Union grocery store.

Bobbie accepted the arrangement in silence. As the meeting broke up and the scouts crowded into the hall, he pulled at Don's sleeve.

"Must I work with Tim?" he asked.

"Tim's strong and you're light," Don explained. "You can be handled easily on the fireman's lift and stretcher work."

Bobbie wet his lips and seemed to want to say something more. Abruptly, though, he turned away and followed the others out to the porch.

"How about Tim?" Ritter asked. "Shall I tell him about Wednesday?"

Conversation stopped. The feeling of tension came back.

"I'll see him at the field tomorrow," said Don. "I'll tell him myself."

Alex looked at him sharply, and the look said as plainly as words, "Going to make him toe the mark?"

Don lingered on the porch until the last footstep had died away in the distance. Then he went up to his room and stared out of the window.

Thunder! Why couldn't Tim stick to his patrol and play fair, and not spoil all the fun?

He had an uneasy feeling about the morrow's interview. Once he had heard Mr. Wall say that there is something wrong when a patrol leader and his scouts live at loggerheads. He did not want to start wrong, he did not want to quarrel. But what could he do if a scout made up his mind to stay away from meetings and be nasty?

A dozen times he tried to picture what he would say to Tim and what Tim would say to him. At last, with an impatient shrug of his shoulders, he began to undress for bed.

"Tim may be as nice as pie," he muttered. "He may not say a word."

Which was exactly what happened. Tim listened in silence to a report of what the patrol meeting had decided, nodded shortly when told of Wednesday's practice, and then moved off a few steps and called for the ball.

Don found himself, all at once, wishing that this refractory scout had spoken his mind. As things stood now he did not know what to expect. Tim might come to the practice, or he might stay away.

Twice, that afternoon, he walked toward the other boy, resolved to ask him point blank what he intended to do. Twice he paused and turned away.

Perhaps it might be bad to let Tim see that he was worried.

Wednesday he was the first scout to reach troop headquarters. Inside, on the wall, was the slate:

PATROL POINTS

Eagle 13 Fox 14 Wolf 16

Don stared at the sign a long time. What an honor it would be to win! Not the mere honor of getting a prize--he didn't mean that. But the honor of being the best scouts in the troop, the honor of achievement, the honor of something well done.

He heard a noise at the door. It was Andy Ford.

"Any trouble with Tim?" Andy asked at once.

Don shook his head.

"Did you tell him? What did he say?"

"Nothing."

Andy puckered his eyes. "What's the matter with Tim, anyway? Is he going to grouch just because he wasn't elected patrol leader? He has the makings of a good scout."

There was the sound of a step outside.

"Sssh!" Don said softly.

Tim put his head in through the doorway. "Are we the only fellows here?"

he demanded. "I want to get to the field and do some ball playing."

Don said that Ritter and Bobbie would be along any minute. Tim came in and sauntered around the room. He banged his mitt against the scout staves in the racks and seemed to find pleasure in the noise. Finally he brought up in front of the slate.