Meanwhile Professor Clatter, standing in the back room of his wagon, which was his house, his store, his sleeping apartment and his theatre of entertainment, watched the three boys.
“Fine fellows,” he murmured. “It’s too bad about Bill. I wonder if I couldn’t help him? He’ll have to wear glasses—wear glasses and play ball—I wonder if it could be done? I don’t see why not, especially in the pitcher’s box. Now I wonder if Duodecimo will be on hand?
“If he comes I have a plan to propose to him! Jove, I don’t see why it wouldn’t work. If he hasn’t forgotten all he used to know about eyes it ought to! I’ll chance it, anyhow. Yes, that’s what I’ll do. Maybe I can fix up a scheme so that Bill can pitch on the Varsity team after all. I’d like to. Yes, I’ll propose it to Duodecimo, and see what he says,” and, filled with pleasant anticipations about his plan, Professor Clatter proceeded to get his simple meal on the little oil stove he carried in his wagon.
“What ho! Mercurio!” he cried, clapping his hands. “Come, base varlet, set out the magic table, for I am an hungered and would’st dine!”
And then, having given his orders to his menial, Mr. Clatter, highly pleased, proceeded to carry them out himself.
CHAPTER XIII
BILL IS HIMSELF AGAIN
“Well, are you coming?” asked Pete of Bill as he tossed into a corner of his study one of a pile of books over which he had been doing more or less “boning” in the last hour.