“Which might be almost anything, and nothing, and which, at times is neither or both, but which at present is that of astronomer ordinary. That is my present occupation. I go about the country initiating the farmers and country folk into the mysteries of the heavens. In fact I jump about from place to place, hence the name Tithonus. I jump while others sleep, and show the stars which only come out at slumber-time—hence the name, Somnus. Is it clear?” “Perfectly so,” answered Whistle-Breeches, who thought the astronomer a most delightful character. “And so you are showing the stars and moon?” asked Pete. “On all except cloudy nights,” was the reply. “I find it pays well. Only misfortune seems to follow me. The other night when there was a most delightful moon, I had trained my telescope on it, and was admitting the populace to the view at so much per ‘pop’ as it were. I could not understand the murmurs of indignation that arose from some of the gazers, nor the expressions of wonder from others, until taking a look myself, I saw a strange and weird countenance peering at me from the end of the telescope. I had been describing the mountains of the moon, but lo! they turned out to be the whiskers and eyes of my pet cat Scratch, who, perched upon the roof of my wagon, was calmly gazing down through the object lens.” “A cat!” cried Cap. “No wonder the people couldn’t understand what they saw.” “And so I was in ill-repute,” continued the astronomer gloomily, “and had to travel on. Then it was cloudy to-night so I can do no trade. But enough of this, tell me of yourselves,” which the boys proceeded to do. The talk worked around to Bill’s misfortune, and as soon as this topic was reached Professor Clatter, who had hitherto been talking but little, evidenced a sudden interest. “Now it is my turn to say something,” he said. “I asked you boys to come here for a purpose, and the purpose was connected with my friend Duodecimo—I beg your pardon, Tithonus Somnus. In the first place, Tithy, which I will call you for short, in the first place, Tithy, have you forgotten what you used to know about spectacles?” “Spectacles? No,” was the reply. “But what in the world has that to do with baseball, and the fact that Bill will have to give up pitching?” “I’ll get to that in time,” replied the professor. “You used to go about the country fitting people with glasses, did you not, Tithy?” “I did, until they passed a law requiring one to maintain a fixed residence if he would practice as an oculist, and then I became a weather prophet, a rain-maker, a horse doctor and other professional men in turn.” “Exactly,” said the professor. “And am I right in thinking that you still have your eye-testing apparatus with you, and also some of the spectacle lens?”