"Tim may be as nice as pie," he muttered. "He may not say a word."

Which was exactly what happened. Tim listened in silence to a report of
what the patrol meeting had decided, nodded shortly when told of
Wednesday's practice, and then moved off a few steps and called for the
ball.

Don found himself, all at once, wishing that this refractory scout had
spoken his mind. As things stood now he did not know what to expect. Tim
might come to the practice, or he might stay away.

Twice, that afternoon, he walked toward the other boy, resolved to ask
him point blank what he intended to do. Twice he paused and turned away.
Perhaps it might be bad to let Tim see that he was worried.

Wednesday he was the first scout to reach troop headquarters. Inside, on
the wall, was the slate:

PATROL POINTS

Eagle 13
Fox 14
Wolf 16

Don stared at the sign a long time. What an honor it would be to win! Not
the mere honor of getting a prize--he didn't mean that. But the honor of
being the best scouts in the troop, the honor of achievement, the honor
of something well done.