“How are your eyes, Bill?” he asked kindly, walking toward his brother. “Maybe the jar they got when you were hit, sort of put them on the blink for a few days. Don’t you think so?” “I don’t see how it could be. Just try a few more.” They did, but Cap only shook his head. Other players were noticing something wrong, and as soon as Cap saw this he called the practice off. “We’ve had enough for to-day,” he declared, as though it was of no consequence, but Bill knew that his brother’s light tone covered a deeper meaning. There was a vague alarm in the heart of the lad who aspired to be the Varsity pitcher. Was his eyesight going back on him? Was he losing his control? What ailed him? He hardly dared answer, yet he resolved to put it to the test soon. “My head does feel a little queer,” he admitted to himself, and much against his will. “And my eyes—my eyes—I wonder if there can be anything wrong?” and he walked moodily off the diamond, while Cap and Pete gazed apprehensively after him. CHAPTER X THE DOCTOR’S VERDICT “Maybe if you take a few days’ rest you’ll be all right, Bill,” suggested Pete a little later, when the brothers were in their connecting rooms. “That’s it,” agreed Cap eagerly. “A rest will do you good, Bill, and then you’ll be in shape for the try-out just before the first league game. Take a good rest.” “I’m not tired,” protested Bill who sat in a corner nervously fingering his pitching glove. “Why should I need a rest?” He asked the question fiercely as though there was some disgrace attached to it. “But your eyes,” said Cap. “You know you’re off in your pitching.” “That’s right—I did rotten to-day, and if I’d been in a game they’d have knocked me out of the box. But I’ll be all right in a few days more. That lump is still as sore as the mischief,” and he tenderly felt of the place where the batted ball had hit him. “And if you don’t get all right?” asked Cap softly. “Then I’ll see a doctor!” exclaimed Bill with energy. “I’m not going to lose a chance to pitch on the Varsity this season, and I believe I will have a chance. I’ve been watching Mersfeld, and he’s not such a wonder.” “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.