"I know those Springfield batters," said Tim. "I'll signal him what to
throw."

Don turned away. Was Tim going to act like that all summer?

Monday the Wolf patrol had its second first-aid practice. This time there
was no trouble. Tim appeared, and did his work, and then went shouting
and hallooing down the street. Andy Ford laughed and shook his head.

"He's a wild Indian, Don. You can't do much with him."

"I--I can't do anything with him," said Don.

The days that followed were busy ones. There was a rush of orders for
window screens, and he dropped his bird-houses and helped his father.
Twice he went to the field. Once he met Tim there, and Tim caught his
delivery and called instructions in a breezy, high-handed way. Andy Ford
was right, Don thought. A wild, untamed, careless, unthinking Indian!

Friday, in response to Don's orders, the patrol came to headquarters to
clean up for that night's meeting. Tim brought with him an impish,
reckless desire for fun. While the others tried to sweep, he lined up a
string of camp stools and played leap-frog down the length of the
meeting-place, and got in everybody's way.

"Come on, Tim," Don called. "Cut it out!"

"Cut what out?" Tim asked innocently.

"That jumping. You're scattering the dust. Put the stools away and get a