“I expect we will. But we couldn’t pass over Mersfeld’s poor work to-day. By putting Smith ahead of him it may spur him up a bit.” “I hope it doesn’t spur him up to any mischief,” murmured the captain dubiously. “Mischief; how?” “Well, he has a very ugly temper, and once he gets aroused—well, the worst he can do is to withdraw from the team, I suppose.” “I’d be sorry for that,” went on the coach. “But we really have a find in Smith. He’s better than before his injury, or else those glasses help him.” “I guess it’s the glasses. No one’s vision is perfect the doctors say, and perhaps we’d all be better for spectacles. I was just thinking what would happen if they became broken in a critical game. Bill couldn’t pitch.” “That’s so. He ought to have a pair in reserve. I’ll speak to him about it.” Then the coach and captain fell to talking about other baseball matters, including the coming game on Saturday, and the chances for winning. Bill and his brothers rejoiced among themselves, and with their friends, and a letter telling about the honor that had come to the Smith boys was sent to their father, all three joining in making it a sort of composite epistle. “Two days more and we’ll see what we can do on the diamond in a league game,” said Cap, as he got ready to do some neglected studying. “Now don’t mention ball again for an hour. I nearly slumped in Latin to-day, and if any of us fall behind we’ll be hauled up and put out even if we knock a home run. So buckle down, fellows.” It was hard work to apply oneself to lessons after the events of the day, but they did it—somehow. Meanwhile, strolling along a dark and infrequented road that led back of the school buildings, were two figures deep in conversation. “It’s too risky a game to play,” objected Mersfeld, as he strode moodily along. “But you don’t want him to knock you out of your place, do you?” demanded his companion, Bondy Guilder. “No, of course not. But suppose I’m found out?” “You won’t be. I can get the glasses easily enough, for his room is right next to mine. I was going to change, for I don’t fancy the crowd he and his brothers trail in with—they’re regular clod-hoppers. I’m glad now I didn’t, for it will give us just the chance we want.” “What have _you_ got against him?” asked the pitcher. “Oh, he’s a regular muff, and he thinks he’s as good as I am,” was the illogical answer. “I’d be glad to see him off the nine. It ought to be composed of more representative school fellows, anyhow than a lot of ‘Smiths.’” “I haven’t anything against the name, but I have against Bill,” said Mersfeld. “He shoved himself in, and pushed me out—and I’d like to get even.” “You can, I tell you. If I get hold of his glasses he can’t pitch in the game Saturday.” “Can’t he get another pair?” “Not the way I’ll work it.” “Why not? Suppose you do manage to sneak in his room and get his goggles. He’ll miss them sure as fate, and send for another pair.” “No he won’t.” “Why not?”