“What’s the matter—hurt?” asked the captain quickly, fearing more bad luck. With his best catcher laid off, as well as the star pitcher, the game might as well be given up.
“Hurt! No, I’m not hurt,” answered Cap. “Here, Bill just throw a few more that way,” he called eagerly to his brother.
Bill, wondering what was up, did so, fairly stinging them in with his old-time force. The look of surprise on Cap’s face grew.
“Here!” he called to the captain, and he motioned for Bill to approach. “Do you notice any difference in your eyes?” he asked his brother eagerly.
“My eyes?” repeated Bill, slowly.
“His eyes,” murmured the captain.
“Yes,” went on the catcher. “Every ball you threw came in as straight as a die, and the curve broke just at the right time. Say, maybe I’m loony, or dreaming, but you pitch just as you used to, Bill, before you got hurt! Do your eyes feel any differently?”
“Well, they don’t ache as they used to when I pitched without my glasses, and there seems to be a queer feeling in my head.” He put his hand back to where he had fallen on the stone a little while before.
“Bill, you’ve got your eyesight back!” cried Cap eagerly. “I’m sure of it!”
“Do you really believe it?” asked the pitcher trembling with suppressed hope.