“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.

“Think we can stick in the lead?” Andy asked.

“Cinch!” said Tim.  “What other patrol has anything on us?”

“It means work,” said Don.  “If we practice once or twice every week—­”

“Once or twice?” Tim cried.  “Gee!  Have a heart.  Isn’t that rubbing it in?”

“We’ve got to be perfect,” Andy said quickly, “and we’re depending on you for the big stuff.”

“What big stuff?” Tim asked.

“Stretcher work, fireman’s lift, artificial respiration.  The hard stuff, Tim.”

“Oh well—­” The praise seemed to have soothed Tim’s feelings.  “Maybe I could find time.”

Andy winked.  Don walked to the door.  Was that the way to handle this hot-tempered scout—­humor him a bit, praise him a little, give him the important assignments?

“Here come Bobbie and Ritter,” said Andy.

The two scouts arrived, somewhat breathless from running, and the work started.  Don took splints and bandages from the troop’s medicine chest.  Tim and Andy fashioned a stretcher from staves and coats.

“Try it again,” said Tim.  “Too slow.”

“Let Bobbie button as soon as the first coat goes on,” said Andy.

“Let Bobbie keep out of the way,” said Tim.

Don looked up quickly.  However, the work seemed to be going on satisfactorily.  He brought his attention back to the splint he was adjusting.

After that, from time to time, he walked over to see how Tim and Andy and Bobbie were making out.  Twice he thought that Andy frowned at him and gave a cautious movement with his head.

“Ouch!” Bobbie cried toward the finish.  “You’re hurting, Tim.”

“You can’t help hurting a fellow a little on artificial respiration,” Tim answered gruffly.

Don frowned.  Had Andy been signaling to him?  Had something been going on over there?

When the work ended the staves and the splints and the bandages were put away.  Tim mopped his face and breathed heavily.  Bobbie Brown edged over toward the farthest window.

“How about another session Friday?” Don asked.

“Can’t,” said Tim.  “Saturday we play our first game.  Ted Carter wants everybody out for practice Friday afternoon.  He told me to tell you.”