“I expect to do a little business early in the evening so if I am clattering when you arrive, just wait in the crowd for me. I still do some singing and banjo playing to draw a throng. I don’t s’pose you boys would like a try at your old job?” and he laughed heartily. “I’m afraid it would hardly be in keeping with our characters as students at Westfield,” said Pete. “But say, if you’ll stay around here long enough maybe we can get the glee club to do a stunt for you.” “That would be asking too much,” declared the genial professor, with a wave of his fat hand on which still sparkled the diamond ring. “Well, farewell until the shades of night do fall.” “The same old professor,” remarked Cap, as he and his brothers strolled toward the school buildings. “Yes, I’m glad we could help him—they would have put him on the blink for keeps,” said Pete earnestly if a bit slangily. Bill said nothing, but there were bitter thoughts in his heart as he walked on, and nothing his brothers could say or do served to cheer him. Meanwhile Professor Clatter, standing in the back room of his wagon, which was his house, his store, his sleeping apartment and his theatre of entertainment, watched the three boys. “Fine fellows,” he murmured. “It’s too bad about Bill. I wonder if I couldn’t help him? He’ll have to wear glasses—wear glasses and play ball—I wonder if it could be done? I don’t see why not, especially in the pitcher’s box. Now I wonder if Duodecimo will be on hand? “If he comes I have a plan to propose to him! Jove, I don’t see why it wouldn’t work. If he hasn’t forgotten all he used to know about eyes it ought to! I’ll chance it, anyhow. Yes, that’s what I’ll do. Maybe I can fix up a scheme so that Bill can pitch on the Varsity team after all. I’d like to. Yes, I’ll propose it to Duodecimo, and see what he says,” and, filled with pleasant anticipations about his plan, Professor Clatter proceeded to get his simple meal on the little oil stove he carried in his wagon. “What ho! Mercurio!” he cried, clapping his hands. “Come, base varlet, set out the magic table, for I am an hungered and would’st dine!” And then, having given his orders to his menial, Mr. Clatter, highly pleased, proceeded to carry them out himself. CHAPTER XIII BILL IS HIMSELF AGAIN “Well, are you coming?” asked Pete of Bill as he tossed into a corner of his study one of a pile of books over which he had been doing more or less “boning” in the last hour. “Coming where?” “Over to see Professor Clatter. Cap’s ready.” “Oh—I don’t know.” Bill spoke listlessly. He had been trying to study but a curious watery mist came into his eyes, and, try as he did to brush it away, the film seemed to return. The eye near the injured spot smarted and burned. “Come ahead,” urged Cap, entering his brother’s room at that moment. “Whistle-Breeches wants to go and see the performance.” “All right, you fellows go, and I’ll stay here. I don’t care much about it.”