“And I believe they have,” admitted the coach, when the fourth inning opened with the score eight to one in favor of Tuckerton. They had garnered two in the second frame, three in the third, and a brace in their half of the fourth. The one lone tally was all Westfield had when they came to bat in the ending of the fourth, and though they worked fiercely not a man got over the rubber. “Smith and Smith is the new battery for the Westfield team!” announced the umpire as Graydon’s men went out to the field at the opening of the fifth. Mersfeld had not said a word when ordered from the box. He knew he had been doing poor work, but with a bitter feeling in his heart he watched to see how Bill would make out with, as he supposed, the changed glasses. “Now watch the celebrated Smith brothers work!” cried a Tuckerton wag, as Cap and Bill took their places. “Yes, and they _will_ work, too!” murmured Pete. “At least if we can’t get any more runs, I hope we can keep the score down,” thought the coach, to whom the game, thus far was a bitter disappointment. All his work so far that season seemed to have gone for naught. Bill was smiling confidently, as he took his place in the box. The crowd which had not before had a good look at him, caught sight of the goggles, and instantly there was a chorus of cries. “Foureyes! Foureyes!” It was what Cap and Pete had feared would happen. Would it bother their brother? Bill showed no signs of it. He did not appear to resent the name, but smiled back at his tormentors in an easy fashion. “I wear these so I can strike out more men!” he called. “I guess he’ll do,” murmured the anxious captain on first base, and the embittered coach took heart. Cap and Bill exchanged a few preliminaries, and then signalled for the batter to take his place. The man up was a terrific hitter and Bill used all his wiles on him. First he purposely gave him a ball, and then sent in a slow teaser which the man did not strike at, but which the umpire counted. “Here’s where he fans!” thought Bill, as he tried an up shoot. It made good, and the bat passed under it cleanly. There was a murmur of chagrin from the stick-wielder’s fellows and he resolved to knock the cover off the next ball. But alas for hopes! Once more he swung wildly—and missed. “Out!” howled the umpire gleefully, for his sympathy was with Westfield, as much as he dared show it. And when the next two men never even touched the ball there was joy unbounded in the ranks of the home team, for now they saw a chance for victory. “I don’t see that you did anything,” whispered Mersfeld to Bondy as the change was made for the ending of the fifth. “Didn’t get the chance,” whispered back the plotter. “I was nearly caught. But this isn’t the only game. There’ll be other opportunities.”