Wolf 41-1/2

The meeting was over at last. He ordered his patrol to wait. The other
scouts, looking at the Wolves queerly, went out into the night and
scattered. Mr. Wall passed out.

"Good night, scouts," he called.

"Good night," they answered, and looked at Don.

"We're going to clean this place," he said. "Get some water."

There was a rush for pails. Tim hesitated. He knew he was the cause of
the disaster that had overtaken the patrol, but he had the mistaken idea
that it would seem babyish and weak to jump in and show contrition. He
had always been looked upon as a little "hard." This, he thought, was
soft--and he didn't want anybody to regard him as a softy.

"Aw!" he said, "what's the use? We've lost the points, haven't we?"

"Is that your idea of being a scout?" Don asked.

Tim flushed again. For a few minutes he lounged around; then, looking ill
at ease, he slouched out.

"I didn't think he'd do that," Andy said thoughtfully.

Don's lips had gone a little white. He turned toward the spattered wall
and stopped all at once. For Tim was coming back through the doorway.