“Yes, I just came in—er—to ask Bill how his arm was, and I noticed the glasses,” went on the visitor lamely.
“Why, what’s the matter with his arm?” asked Pete quickly, and in some alarm.
“Oh, nothing, I—I just wondered if it would hold out.”
“Oh, I guess it will. There, the glass is tight now,” and Pete, who had used his knife to set the screw, tapped the rubber frame to listen for any vibration. There was none.
“Well, I’ll be going,” announced Guilder, with an air of relief. “See you at the game. It’s most time to start,” and he slipped from the room, just before Bill returned.
“I wonder what he wanted?” mused Pete, looking after the retreating figure of the rich lad. “Mighty funny his getting friendly all of a sudden. I wonder what he wanted?”
Pete looked at his brother’s glasses. He glanced toward Bondy’s room, and pondered again. Just then Bill came in.
“Say, son, you ought to keep these locked up,” remarked Pete, handing the glasses to him.
“Why?”
“They might get broken if you leave them around so promiscuous. I just tightened a screw.”