“And you must wake and call me early,
Call me early, Peetie dear,
For to-morrow is the opening
Of the dear old baseball year.”
Thus Cap misquoted the verse, and joined his brothers and chums in the laugh that followed.
But if there were many hearts that rejoiced at the near prospect of the big opening contest, there were two lads whose souls were filled with bitterness. One was Mersfeld, the partially deposed pitcher, and the other Bondy Guilder, who, for no particular reason, had come to almost hate Bill and his brothers.
“Do you think you can get the glasses?” asked Mersfeld of his crony, on the night before the big game.
“Sure. I’ve been watching Bill—his room’s next to mine you know—and I know just how he goes and comes. I have some ordinary lenses all ready to slip in the place of the special ones I’m going to take out.”
“How’d you get the right size?”
“Oh, I made a pretence of wanting to see his glasses and while I had them I pressed a sheet of paper on them, got an impression of the size, and got the lenses in town. They are not an unusual size, only they’re ground differently to bring one eye in focus with the other. Bill won’t pitch more than one inning in the game to-morrow, and then you can go in.”