The professor was panting from his run and his rapid talk. He held the glasses to Bill. “Where did you find them?” gasped the pitcher. “Just now, as I was coming across the campus. I left my wagon over in the road. As I was passing one of the cannon some of the janitors were cleaning it. There was a lot of leaves and rubbish in it. Then out fell the glasses just as I passed. I grabbed them up, and I knew the whole story.” “You knew the whole story?” cried Cap. “Who put them there?” “No, no! I can’t tell that!” declared Mr. Clatter, while North and Mersfeld looked at each other in relief. “I mean I understand it all—about your messages to me,” went on the medicine man. “At first I couldn’t imagine why you had telegraphed me. I knew you must be in some kind of trouble though.” “Yes, we generally are,” murmured Pete. “And, as soon as I saw the glasses fall from the cannon I realized what it was. Bill lost them, perhaps a bird took them for its nest. At any rate here they are, and it’s very lucky, too, for I can’t get any trace of Tithy. Here, Bill, put them on and play ball.” “I don’t need them now,” answered the pitcher. “Don’t need them! You don’t mean to say that the game is over—you haven’t lost the championship; have you?” and the professor looked pained, for he was a lover of base ball, and in his journeyings he faithfully read the accounts of the games at Westfield, where his friends the Smith boys attended. “Have you lost the pennant?” asked the professor sadly. “Not yet, but we’re in a fair way to if this keeps on,” murmured Cap, for the score was seven to nine in favor of Tuckerton. “But why doesn’t Bill need his glasses then?” asked Mr. Clatter. “Because I can see to pitch without them,” answered our hero. “A funny thing just happened, Professor,” and Bill told about his fall and the odd effect it had had on his vision. The traveling medicine man looked interested. “Yes, that’s exactly how it may have taken place,” he declared, as Cap stated his theory. “Here, let me have a look at you, Bill.” “Say,” angrily cried Burke, captain of the Tuckerton nine, “if this is a ball game let’s go on with it, and if it’s a hospital for injured players we’ll get off the field.” “That’s right,” added Hedden, the pitcher. “We’re here to win the pennant, not to listen to fairy stories.” “Play ball!” yelled Brower, the catcher. “Easy now,” counseled Professor Clatter. “It won’t take me but a moment to look at Bill’s head, and then the game can go on. You don’t seem to realize that something extraordinary has taken place here.” “It will be extraordinary if we ever play ball again,” remarked Burke, sarcastically. But the professor did not heed him. He was looking at the cut on Bill’s head. “That accounts for your eyes getting right again,” he said. “It’s a bad cut, but you’re in shape to play, in spite of it. Go in, and win!” “That’s what we’re going to do!” declared Cap. “Surest thing you know!” cried Pete.