am crowded around the bench. Tim, with his mitt under his arm,
walked away.

Slowly Don buttoned his sweater. Tim's change of heart was a mystery no
longer.

At the edge of the field he found Andy Ford waiting.

"Mackerel!" cried the assistant patrol leader; "wasn't that a corking
game? When Tim made that throw--Hello! What's the matter?"

"Tim's sore because of what Bobbie said."

"How do you know?"

Don related what had happened at the bench.

"Well, the big boob!" Andy gave a snort of anger. "Doesn't he know any
better than to pay attention to a kid like Bobbie?"

"Tim's always been that way," said Don. "He's sensitive."

"Sure; but he isn't sensitive about his patrol, is he?"

Don sighed. No; Tim wasn't very sensitive about that.

After supper he came out of the house and walked down to the fence. He
had an idea that Andy would be around; and when presently the assistant
patrol leader came down the dark street, he held open the gate. They sat
on the grass and talked in low tones.

"I've doped it out," said Andy. "Why don't you shift--you and Tim do the
Morse instead of Tim and Alex?"

Don shook his head--slowly.

"Why not?" Andy demanded. "If you worked with him and let him do things
his own way wouldn't he get over his grouch?"

"I don't know. Would he?"

"Sure he would. Suppose some day when we were all hanging around you
asked him to show you how to do something."

"Gee!" cried Don. "That would get him, wouldn't it?"

Andy grinned. "I guess we'll tame that roughneck, what?"

Don always rested his arm after a game. He had not planned to go to the
baseball field until Tuesday. But his business with Tim was too important
to wait. Monday afternoon he put away his tools and his bird-houses, and
went off to the village green.

"Hello!" called Ted Carter. "What are you doing around here on a Monday?"

"I want to see Tim," Don answered. He took the catcher off to one side.
"We're making some changes," he said. "Alex will work with Ritter on
semaphore signaling."

Tim's eyes grew suspicious. "Who'll work with me on Morse?"

"I will," said Don.

Tim's eyes snapped. "So that's the game, is it?" he asked darkly. "What's
the first order I get; practice tomorrow?"

"That's up to you," said Don. "When do you want to practice?"

Tim was taken aback. He had expected to be told, not asked; ordered, not
consulted. He mumbled that tomorrow would do, and went back to practice.
He could not get his tho