“I had trouble with those kids myself this afternoon,” remarked Jack Curtiss with a scowl, as they wended their way toward a shed in the rear of Bill Bender’s home, which had been fitted tip as a sort of clubroom.

“What did they do to you?” incautiously inquired Sam Redding, a youth as big as the other two, but not so powerful.  In fact he was used more or less as a tool by them.

“Do to me,” roared the bully, “what did I do to them, you mean.”

“Well what did you do to them then?” asked Bill Bender, as they entered the clubroom before referred to and he produced some cigarettes, which all three had been strictly forbidden to smoke.

“Chased them off my land,” rejoined the other, lighting a paper roll and blowing out a cloud of smoke, “you should have seen them run.  If they want to play their fool games they’ve got to do it on the property of folks who’ll let them.  They can’t come on my land.”

“You mean your father’s, don’t you?” put in the unlucky Sam Redding.

“Sam, you’ve got a head like a billiard ball,” retorted the bully, turning on the other, “it’ll be mine some day, won’t it?  Therefore it’s as good as mine now.”

Although he didn’t quite see the logic of the foregoing, Sam Redding gave a sage nod and agreed that his leader was right.

“Yes, those kids need a good lesson from somebody,” chimed in Bill Bender.

“I think we had better be the ‘somebodies’ to give it to them,” rejoined Jack Curtiss.  “They are getting insufferable.  They actually twitted me this afternoon with being sore at them because I didn’t get my patrol—­as if I really wanted one.  That Blake kid is the worst of the bunch.  Just because his father has a little money he gives himself all kinds of airs.  My father is as rich as his, even if he isn’t a banker.”

“I’ve been thinking of a good trick we can put up on them, but it will take some nerve to carry it out,” announced Bill Bender, after some more discussion of the lads of the Eagle Patrol.

“Out with it, then,” urged the bully, “what is it?”

In a lowered tone Bill Bender sketched out his scheme in detail, while Jack and Sam nodded their approval.  At length he ceased talking and the other two broke out into a delighted laugh, in which malice as much as merriment prevailed.

“It’s the very thing,” exclaimed Jack.  “Bill, you’re a genius.  We’ll do it as soon as possible.  If that doesn’t take some starch out of those tin soldiers nothing will.”

Half an hour later the three cronies parted for the night.  Sam went to his home near the waterfront, for his father was a boat builder, and Jack started to walk the three miles to his father’s farm in the moonlight.  His way took him by the bank.  As he passed it he gazed up at the windows of the armory on which was lettered in gilt:  “Eagle Patrol of the Boy Scouts of America.”

“That’s a slick idea of Bill’s,” said the bully to himself, “I can hardly wait till we get a chance to carry it out.”