Bill was smiling confidently, as he took his place in the box. The crowd which had not before had a good look at him, caught sight of the goggles, and instantly there was a chorus of cries.
“Foureyes! Foureyes!”
It was what Cap and Pete had feared would happen. Would it bother their brother?
Bill showed no signs of it. He did not appear to resent the name, but smiled back at his tormentors in an easy fashion.
“I wear these so I can strike out more men!” he called.
“I guess he’ll do,” murmured the anxious captain on first base, and the embittered coach took heart.
Cap and Bill exchanged a few preliminaries, and then signalled for the batter to take his place. The man up was a terrific hitter and Bill used all his wiles on him. First he purposely gave him a ball, and then sent in a slow teaser which the man did not strike at, but which the umpire counted.
“Here’s where he fans!” thought Bill, as he tried an up shoot. It made good, and the bat passed under it cleanly. There was a murmur of chagrin from the stick-wielder’s fellows and he resolved to knock the cover off the next ball.
But alas for hopes! Once more he swung wildly—and missed.
“Out!” howled the umpire gleefully, for his sympathy was with Westfield, as much as he dared show it.