“Let’s see,” mused the pitcher as he looked over a schedule of dates. “We play Northampton day after to-morrow, Sandrim the next day, and then Saturday winds up the season with Tuckerton. And say, fellows, do you know we’ve got to win every game to keep the pennant!” “How’s that?” demanded Cap. “I thought we had a good lead?” “So we did have, but Tuckerton and Sandrim have pulled up on us, and it’s almost a tie now. Yes, we’ve got to make a clean sweep from now on or we’ll not be in it.” “Well, we can do it,” declared Pete vigorously. “Sure,” asserted Whistle-Breeches, as if it was the most simple thing in the world. “Oh, certainly, my lords and gentlemen,” added Bob Chapin half-mockingly. “Just sit here and figure it out by averages and percentages.” “Dry up!” advised Cap. “How’s your arm holding out, Bill?” “Oh, I guess I’ll manage, though we’re going to have a grandstand finish this week.” “How about your eyes,” asked Whistle-Breeches. “Can’t you get along without the glasses yet, Bill? I’m always afraid a ball will crack into them, and then you _would_ be out of it.” “That part never worries me,” said Bill. “I’m so used to ’em now that I’d feel lost in the box without ’em. They certainly were a great thing, and I—” He paused suddenly, and hurriedly crossed the room to where his uniform was picturesquely draped over a chair. Rapidly the pitcher felt through the pockets, and a look of alarm came over his face. He began tossing aside a multitudinous collection of articles on his bureau. “What’s up, something bite you?” asked Pete. Bill did not answer. He was feeling now in the pockets of the suit he wore. As he went from one to the other his face assumed a more and more worried look. “For cats’ sake what is it?” demanded Cap. “Lost a love letter? We won’t read it if we find it.” “My glasses!” gasped Bill. “Your glasses?” repeated Whistle-Breeches. “Yes—they’re gone,” and with a wild look on his face the pitcher dashed from the room and ran toward the gymnasium, followed by his brothers. CHAPTER XXIX MERSFELD IN THE BOX There was a wild search in and about the gymnasium on the part of Bill, his brothers and his chums, but of course the missing glasses were not found. “Are you sure you dropped them here?” asked Cap, as he went over again the room which his brother had used as a dressing department before and after the shower bath. “Well, I’m not sure, of course,” answered Bill, “but they’re gone, and I must have dropped them somewhere.” They went over the place inch by inch, looked in odd nooks and corners and inquired of the janitors and helpers, but the spectacles were not found. “Say,” cried Whistle-Breeches with sudden illumination, “I’ll bet you dropped them that time we were all fooling on the campus!”