"Is that fair, Tim?" he asked quietly.
"Why isn't it?" Tim bristled.
And yet, after a moment, his eyes fell. He knew what Don meant. Bobbie
was the "baby" of the troop, the smallest and the youngest scout. He
walked out of the yard and slammed the gate defiantly.
"I'll get it without you," he called over the fence.
Don didn't do any more whistling that day. And after supper, as he heard
the details of the contest for the Scoutmaster's Cup, the concerned look
on his face deepened.
The patrol leader, he thought, should be a fellow who was heart and soul
in scouting--a fellow who could encourage, and urge, and lend a willing
hand; not a fellow who wanted to drive and show authority. If Tim, with
his temper and his eagerness to come to blows, should take command--Don
shook his head. Why did Phil Morris have to move away?
All next morning he built bird-houses. He had developed quite a business
with Audubon societies and it took a lot of work to keep up with his
orders. After dinner he trudged off to the village field. Tim greeted him
as though nothing had happened.
Don was delighted at this turn of affairs. When the work ended and he saw
Tim following his steps he waited.
"You can vote for me now," Tim said confidently.
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