“Scowling?”
“Yes, your forehead’s all screwed up. Your eyes, too. Can’t you catch a ball without doing that?”
“I don’t know. I guess so.”
“Try it.” This time Buster caught, but, as before, he frowned and squinted terrifically over the operation.
“That’ll do,” said Joe. “You go and see an oculist, Buster.”
“Oculist!”
“Surest thing you know. Something’s wrong with your eyes. You can’t see, Buster!”
“Great Scott!” murmured the other. “I—I believe you’re dead right, Joe!”
“I know I am. I had headaches like yours a couple of years ago and my mother sent me to a doctor. He snipped a couple of muscles and I was all right.”