“All right,” Don agreed.  “Any time you want to come around, though—­” He waited, but Tim said nothing.

Don went home feeling rather blue.  “I suppose he’ll start scrapping with everybody all over again,” he muttered.

But he was wrong.  Tim went his way moody and silent, but with no chip on his shoulder.  He came to the next troop meeting clean and tidy, and on time.  Each patrol won a perfect score.  The blackboard read: 

PATROL POINTS

Eagle 90-1/2
Fox 95
Wolf 92-1/2

“Still two and one-half points behind,” Don sighed.  Wasn’t it hard to catch up?  If the Wolves could win the next contest on signaling—­But he wasn’t going to think of that, now that Tim had become balky.

The other scouts spoke of it, though.  Alex said earnestly that Tim was really practicing this time.  Andy grinned and said that the Eagles and the Foxes had better watch out because they were heading straight for trouble.  Don walked with them and said not a word.

Five days later the patrol awoke to the fact that Tim no longer practiced in Don’s yard.  Andy and Bobbie came around and sat on the front stoop with the patrol leader.

“Mackerel!” said Andy, “but he’s a queer fish.  Was there any scrap?”

Don shook his head.

“Didn’t he say anything?”

Another shake.

“Just quit, eh?”

Don nodded.

Andy whistled softly, took a scout whistle from his pocket and examined it.  “How is that going to hit our signaling chances?” he asked.

“Alex says Tim works all right with him,” Don answered.

“That’s all right, but—­” Even Bobbie knew what he meant, that the right kind of stick-together was better than all kinds of practice.  “Something must have bit him,” Andy went on.  “If he liked practicing here at first—­He did like it, didn’t he?”

“You bet,” said Bobbie.  “Even if he did push me and tell me to run along.”

Andy sat up straight.  “When was that?”

“The first day he practiced here.  I asked him wasn’t it fine to have Don showing him—­”

“Oh!” Andy said softly.

“He liked it all right,” said Bobbie.

Neither of the other boys made any comment.  By and by Bobbie went off.  Don looked at his assistant patrol leader.

“Think that could be it?” he asked.

“Maybe.”  Andy puckered his eyes.  “How is he on the ball field; all right?”

“Fine.  His hitting won last Saturday’s game.”

“Maybe it isn’t that,” Andy said doubtfully.  He was so used to Tim being grouchy when anything displeased him that he could not grasp the thought that perhaps there had been some little change.

By this time the troop contest had every scout on his toes.  Friday night’s meeting saw each patrol win another perfect score.  Don decided gloomily that there wasn’t much chance to get ahead by being clean and on time for roll call—­every scout in the troop was clean and on time.  It was the monthly contests that would decide the winner of the Scoutmaster’s Cup.