“I don’t think anything of him,” admitted Cap. “I’ve caught for him in a couple of practice games, and he hasn’t half your speed, though he has some nice curves, and a good control. I don’t believe he’d last through a hard game.”
“Oh, we’ll fix Bill up, and have him on the Varsity yet,” declared Pete easily. He could afford to speak thus for he was sure of his own position at short, and Cap had at least a tentative promise of being behind the bat in a number of the big games that would soon be played.
The brothers talked over the situation, and then fell to studying, with more or less energy, until interrupted by the entrance of Whistle-Breeches and Dick, or “Roundy,” Lawson, the genial senior having gotten into the habit lately of calling on his neighbors.
“What’s wrong?” demanded Whistle-Breeches as he noticed Bill’s rather dejected attitude.
“Oh, I’m on the blink. Can’t see to throw straight,” and then the story, which was already known to several in the school, was told.
“I’ll tell you what it is,” began Lawson, and his words were carefully listened to, as befitted a Senior. “You want to see a doctor, Bill.”
“You mean Doc. Blasdell?”
“No, he’s all right for a pain on your insides, but I mean an eye doctor—an oculist. I know a good one. I had trouble with my eyes once, and I went to him. He can fix you up. Maybe there’s a little strain which some medicine will cure. Why don’t you go to see him?”
“I believe I will. It’s tough to be knocked out before the season starts. I’ll go to-morrow.”
Then they fell to talking of the baseball prospects, how this player was making out at first, another in the field, what the chances were for good batters, the prospects of Westfield holding the pennant, and kindred matters.