“Going over to help ’em hunt.”
“Come back! Do you want to give the whole thing away, just when I’ve got a last chance to get back on the nine?”
“Give it away, you chump! Why the best way to throw ’em off the track, and make ’em feel sure that we had nothing to do with it is to help Bill look for his glasses. Come on. It’ll be a joke, but they can’t appreciate it.”
Somewhat dubious of the plan, Mersfeld followed North, who strolled up to Bill. The Varsity pitcher’s face wore a worried look.
“Lose something?” asked North innocently.
“Yes, my glasses. They must have dropped out of my pocket when we were skylarking here.”
“That’s too bad!” and North winked at Mersfeld. “We’ll help you look.”
“Sure,” agreed the deposed pitcher, and the two hypocrites went carefully over the ground, laughing to themselves as they thought of the glasses in the muzzle of the cannon.
Darkness came and the search had to be given up. Puzzled as to what could have happened to his glasses, uselessly and mechanically feeling in pocket after pocket, Bill accompanied his brothers back to his room. Mersfeld and North went off together.
“Well, what are you going to do?” asked Pete, as he looked at the pitcher.