“It’s Saturday’s pitching that counts,” said Ted.  “You fellows have had enough warm-up.  Go out in the field, Don, and catch fungoes.”

Don was glad to get away.  When the work was over Ted ran to the outfield and took him by the arm and led him toward the road.

“Have you and Tim been scrapping?” the captain asked.

Don shook his head.

“You fellows are in the same scout troop.  Do you pull?”

“N—­no.”

“What’s the matter; did Tim want to be patrol leader?”

Don nodded.

Ted slapped his glove against his thigh and whistled thoughtfully.  At the corner he paused.  Don halted, too.

“Look here,” Ted said suddenly.  “You know that Tim is a harum-scarum, don’t you?”

“Everybody knows that,” said Don.

Ted broke into a relieved laugh.  “Well, if you know it, what’s the use of paying any attention to him?  Just let him beef along until he gets tired.  He can’t hurt you.”

Don tried to wrest some comfort from the captain’s words—­and failed.  True, Tim couldn’t hurt him, but he could make things mighty unpleasant, and that was almost as bad.

At home he found a post-card from Mr. Wall: 

The troop will assemble tomorrow morning at 9 o’clock.  Light marching order.

Don forgot all about Tim.  Light marching order meant that this would not be an overnight hike, and a blanket was unnecessary.  Haversack, cooking kit and rations for one meal would constitute the load.

Ordinarily, hikes were arranged in advance and discussed at troop meetings.  But sometimes Mr. Wall did the unexpected.  He had said once that it added spice to scouting, and the scouts had agreed.  It gave them practice, too, in assembling at a few hours’ notice.  But the scouts did not think of that.

Don hustled upstairs and overhauled his haversack.  His eating things were in their places.  Frying-pan and two sauce-pans intact, can-opener, matches, salt—­

“Got to get some salt,” he said, and ran downstairs to the kitchen.  Barbara called that supper was ready.  He scooted upstairs, washed, and came down to the dining-room.

“Hiking tomorrow?” Mr. Strong asked.

“Don will be too excited to eat,” Barbara said with a laugh as Don nodded in reply to the question.

But she was mistaken.  Don ate a supper of healthy size.  Afterward he went out to the porch and squinted up at the sky.  Stars dotted the black heavens like so many small windows.  Now, if it didn’t rain—­

It didn’t; not during the night, anyway.  Don awoke with the morning sun in his face.  In a moment he was out of bed and into the bathroom.  Twenty minutes later he was downstairs.

His breakfast was merely a bite and a promise.  There were too many things to do and too much to think about!  What should he take along to cook at noon?

“There’s some lamb chops in the ice-box,” said Barbara.