"I guess I'll take a crack at being patrol leader," Tim repeated. "I have
two votes already, Ritter and Wally Woods. My own, of course, is three.
All I need is another. Now, how about you fellows?"

"I'm going to vote for Alex Davidson," said Don.

Bobbie scarcely breathed. A spot of red flamed in each of Tim's cheeks.

"What's the matter with me?" he demanded. "Don't you think I'm good
enough?" He swung around. "How about you, Bobbie?"

Bobbie swallowed hard. "Why, Tim, I--I--I--"

"Well, how about it?"

Bobbie looked appealingly at Don. Don laid down the tack hammer.

"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