Part 7 (1/2)
”Will he think that?” Barbara asked.
”Well, won't he?”
The girl did not answer. After a moment she asked:
”How about good turns, Don? Does Tim do any?”
”Of course he does. Isn't he a scout?”
”What kind of good turns?”
”Well--” Don thought. ”Remember last winter when Mr. Blair was sick?”
”Yes.”
”Tim looked after their furnace three times a day.”
”Don,” Barbara said, ”don't you think he's all right at heart if he does acts like that?”
Don stared. This was putting things in a new light. Then he thought of Tim riding rough-shod, and tormenting Bobbie, and wanting his own way in everything.
”Maybe Tim's all right at heart,” he said dubiously, ”but he's always making trouble just the same. I'm not going to let him stew up my patrol.
I'll go to Mr. Wall--”
”Don!”
The sharp note of disappointment in Barbara's voice sent the blood into his cheeks.
”Stand on your own feet,” she said. ”What would Mr. Wall think of you?
Did the old-time scouts like Daniel Boone go running for help every time they found themselves in trouble?”
The boy did not answer. There was a long silence. Barbara touched his arm.
”Angry, Don?”
”No. I--I guess I'll fight my own way,” he said.
Somehow, that determination seemed to lighten his worries. He went upstairs and wrote his letters. Afterward he picked up his Handbook and idly turned the pages. Presently his eyes fell on the tenth law:
”He has the courage to face danger in spite of fear ... and defeat does not down him.” Next he read the fourth law, ”He is a friend to all and a brother to every other scout.” And then he closed the book and for a long time stared straight ahead.
Friday brought a busy day--bird-houses all morning, baseball practice in the afternoon, and a troop meeting at night.
During the morning, as Don planed, and sawed, and hammered, he whistled a gay air. But after dinner, as the time for baseball practice approached, the whistle became subdued and at last stopped.
Up to now he had pitched against high-school boys, lads of his own age.
Tomorrow, though, he was to face a town team with its older, more experienced players. He wondered if he would be able to make good. And he wondered, just a little, how he and Tim would work together.
He might have saved himself the worry of wondering about Tim, for that afternoon's practice gave no time for anything save work. Ted Carter drove the players with a high-strung, nervous vim. He seemed to find time for everything--first a signal drill, then fielding, then sliding into bases.