“No, I’m not,” Wilfred said earnestly. “I can’t do it and I mean it and you can call me a quitter.” “If you mean it, I’ll call you something more than a quitter,” said Connie testily; “I’ll call you a——” “A what?” said Wilfred, the lid of his left eye half-closing and quivering in that way of his. “Cut it out,” said Charlie, “quitter is bad enough. Calling names isn’t getting us anything.” “It might get you something,” said Wilfred. “Will you cut it out!” said Charlie impatiently. “What’s the idea, anyway?” “The idea is that I can’t swim in the contest,” Wilfred said, “and I came to tell you, that’s all.” “Oh, that’s all, is it?” Connie sneered. “I guess you can’t swim at all, that’s my guess. Nobody ever saw you swimming.” “Go on, he’s fooling!” said Charlie. “No, he isn’t fooling either,” Connie shot back. “If it had been left for the tenth, he wouldn’t have told us yet. But now it’s only a few days off he _has_ to tell us. Thanks very much for telling us in time, we’ll manage to put somebody in.” “I’d like to know who?” Charlie asked. “Oh, never mind who,” said Connie disgustedly; “somebody that isn’t a bluffer. We’re satisfied, go on and get out of the patrol——” “I expected to do that,” said Wilfred mildly. “You can bet you did,” Connie shot back. “You will if I’m patrol leader!” “What’s the reason anyway?” Charlie asked, puzzled. “Reason! How could there be any reason?” Connie repeated angrily. “I’m not giving any,” Wilfred said. “Why not?” Charlie asked. “Oh, just because—because I’m unlucky,” said Wilfred in a pitiful despair that they did not notice. “Unlucky?” sneered Connie. “That’s a good one. _You’re_ unlucky! How about us, for taking you in?” “Sure, for taking pity on you,” said Charlie, aroused to anger. “That’s what we get for doing a favor for Tom Slade——” “You needn’t say anything against him,” said Wilfred. “I’d like to know who’ll stop me,” said Connie. “Not you.” Then he paused, incredulous. “Are you kidding us, Billy Cowell?” he asked. “I told you,” said Wilfred hopelessly. “All right,” said Connie with an air of shooting straight. “As long as you told _me_, I’ll tell _you_. You had every scout in this camp laughing at the Ravens; you stood and let a fellow walk away with their emblem—that they were so crazy about. You never did anything in that patrol—all you did was get Wig Weigand hypnotized. Hanged if I know what he sees in you——” “He does?” Wilfred began. “Then you get edged out and Tom Slade takes pity on you and _we_ have to be the goats. You got away with it here because we’re simps—we’re easy. You know as well as I do, Cowell, that these fellows are easy—and friendly. Do you think I don’t know what kind of a patrol I’ve got? Just because some of them live in South Bridgeboro—you know what I mean. But they’re a fair and square crowd all right, I’ll tell you that——” “I know they are——”