CHAPTER XVII
BILL’S PITCHING
For a moment Bondy did not answer. On his face there was a sickly grin, and he seemed to turn a sort of greenish white.
“What are you doing with those glasses?” repeated Pete as he took a step forward.
“I—er—I just came in to see Bill,” stammered the rich lad. “He was out, and I—I—er I was looking at them. Queer lenses; aren’t they? One seems to be loose. I was going to tell Bill he ought to tighten it.”
No wonder it was loose, for the sneak had partly taken out the screw. The expression on Pete’s face changed. He had had a quick suspicion that all was not right, but he began to feel now that perhaps he was mistaken.
“See, here is the loose glass!” went on Bondy eagerly, for he was quick to notice the altered expression on the other’s countenance. “It ought to be tightened, or it might drop out during the game, and become broken. You can tighten it with a knife.”
He dared not offer his own screw driver.
“That’s right; it does need fixing,” admitted Pete. “Much obliged for noticing it, old man. Bill might not have seen it.”