“We’re not going to get this clean in time,” said Andy.

Tim stirred from the chair and came over and helped.  The light failed rapidly.  The lamps were in the troop “treasure chest,” and Don though a patrol leader, had not yet received a key to the locker.

“No use wasting any more time here,” he said at last.  “Let’s do the windows.”

“Maybe we have the walls all clean,” said Andy.  Ritter struck a match.  By the feeble flame they looked intently, but could not be sure.

They did the windows.  Tim was silent and apparently not anxious to attract attention to himself.  It was almost dark when the last window had been finished.

“Could we try the walls again?” Bobbie asked.

“Too late,” Don answered.  “They may be all right.  We’ll know tonight, anyway.  Everybody on time tonight, and everybody clean.”

He walked off with Andy.  The assistant patrol leader said after a moment: 

“I think Tim’s sorry now.”

“What good does it do to be sorry now?” Don asked bitterly.

As soon as his supper was over, he hurried back to headquarters.  Nobody was there yet.  Presently the patrol leader of the Foxes, a boy named Kearney, came along, whistling shrilly.  He opened the treasure chest and brought out the lamps, cleaned the chimneys and lighted them.

“Hello!” he said.  “Wasn’t it the turn of your patrol to clean house?”

Don nodded miserably.  One patch of wall, by a window, was a mess.  The windows themselves, cleaned in semi-darkness, were streaked.  And some of the floor, down by the door, had not been mopped at all.

Scouts began to arrive.  Bobbie brought a shoe brush and a can of blacking, and Ritter brought a hair brush and a comb.  Andy brought needles and khaki-colored thread.  These things were laid quietly in the patrol’s locker.  Nobody said anything about the walls.

By and by Tim arrived.  He looked around and his face became red.  Don gave him a quick glance.  He met it and his flush grew deeper, and all at once he seemed to force his shoulders back and his eyes became defiant.

“He’s stung, all right,” thought Don, “but he doesn’t want to show it.”

Mr. Wall called the patrol leaders forward to discuss the plans for a hike.  Don scarcely heard the details.  All he knew was that somebody said, “Wednesday, then,” and the Scoutmaster’s whistle shrilled, and the troop lined up by patrols.

Slowly the inspection was made—­first the scouts, then the room.  Don forced himself to keep his eyes level, but he felt like hanging his head.

“Every scout present,” Mr. Wall announced, “and every scout clean.  Each patrol is awarded sixteen points.”

Fleeting smiles through the ranks of the Foxes and the Eagles.  Sober faces among the Wolves.

“However,” the Scoutmaster went on, “the Wolf patrol had the detail of cleaning the meeting place.  I am sorry to say that the patrol has been derelict.  I am, therefore, compelled to fine the Wolf patrol five points.”