The inspection came to an end, Mr. Wall faced the waiting lines.  Don held his breath. Would the Wolf patrol—­

“Fox patrol,” Mr. Wall announced, “a perfect score.  Eagle patrol, all present, all clean, but one scout talking in ranks, one-half point off.  Wolf patrol, one scout untidy, one scout late, one and one-half points off.”

A moment later the lines were broken.  Tim turned to the unhappy Bobbie.

“See what a fine fix you got us in!” he demanded angrily.

“I couldn’t help it,” Bobbie explained.  “My mother didn’t know she was out of sugar, and the man in the store had to open a new barrel, and he couldn’t find his hatchet, and I had to wait.”

“You should have gone for the sugar this afternoon,” Tim insisted.  “The rest of us take the trouble to come here right and then you spoil things.”

“I couldn’t help it,” Bobbie said miserably.  “I—­”

“It’s all right, Bobbie,” said Don.  “Don’t let it happen again.”  He was disappointed, but what was the use of jumping on a scout who was trying to do right?

“What’s the use of me slicking up,” Tim scowled, “if other fellows are going to do as they please?”

The scout scribe walked toward the slate.  Instantly Bobbie and his lapse were forgotten.  Every eye in the room watched while the scribe rubbed out and wrote.  Soon he stepped away from the slate.  There was the new standing: 

Patrol points
Eagle 28-1/2
Fox 30
Wolf 30-1/2

The Wolves were still in the lead, but Don did not feel the least like cheering.  For the next hour, while the troop worked at signaling, and map-reading, and advanced knot-tying, he did his part and forgot to be despondent.  He even brightened when the logs were brought in and the theory of bridge building was applied.  But when the bridge was done—­this time it held—­he lost interest.

“The Wolf patrol—­” he heard Mr. Wall say.

He roused himself and listened.

“The Wolf patrol has the assignment of having headquarters clean for the next meeting,” the Scoutmaster announced.

The session was over.  Don told his patrol not to forget Monday’s practice and walked out alone.  He had gone but a short distance when running footsteps sounded in his rear.

“Don!” It was Bobbie.  “I’m sorry—­”

The patrol leader forced a smile.  “You only lost us a point and a half, Bobbie.  Maybe you’ll get that back in the first aid contest.”

Bobbie’s mouth tightened.  “It won’t be because I’m not trying,” he said; and Don went home telling himself that he knew one scout the Wolf patrol could count on through thick and thin.

Next morning he tried to build bird-houses, but for once he could find no pleasure in the work.  His thoughts were turned on the afternoon.  The Glenrock team had a reputation as hitters, and he wondered, in spite of what Ted had said, whether he would be able to hold his own.