Score, six to nothing at the end of the first.
Princeman hit the first man up in the next inning and sent him down to the initial bag, which was a flat stone, happily limping.

He issued free transportation to the next man and let the cripple hobble on to second, chortling with glee.

The third man went to the first station on a measly little bunt with which Sam and Princeman and third base did some neat and shifty foot work, and the next man up soaked out a Wright Brothers beauty among the trees over beyond left field, and cleared the bases amid the perfectly frantic rejoicing of the fickle Miss Josephine Stevens and all the negligible balance of Hollis Creek.

Oh, it was disgraceful! Sam Turner ground his teeth in impotent rage.

He walked up to Princeman.
"Say, old man," he pleaded.