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Updated: June 3, 2025
The second man for the Souths struck out. "Teall at bat!" called the score-keeper. Hi Martin and a lot of the North Grammar boys had come to the field late. Hi didn't like to see the score two to nothing in favor of the Centrals. He would have preferred to have the Souths win. "Let's get Prescott rattled?" whispered Martin. "I don't believe you can do it," replied Bill Rodgers.
Jesse Purvy had once more beaten back death, and his mind had probably been devising, during those bed-ridden days and nights, plans of reprisal. According to current report, Purvy had announced that his would-be assassin dwelt on Misery, and was "marked down." So, there were obvious exigencies which the Souths must prepare to meet.
"But what's the use of talking? Prescott would never think of giving us another chance. He's too thankful to have lugged the score away from us before." In the eighth inning Teall brought in one more run for the Souths, who now led. "We've got to work mighty hard and carefully," grunted Tom Reade. "Yes," assented Dick briefly. "We're beaten, anyway, I guess," sighed Hazelton.
So sanguinary had been this fight, and so dangerously had it focused upon the warring clans the attention of the outside world, that after its indecisive termination, they made the compact of the present truce. By its terms, the Hollmans held their civil authority, and the Souths were to be undisturbed dictators beyond Misery.
To put the Janes, the Souths, the Sherlocks into such a situation that they must either starve, or recant, publicly, and with the Gospel at their lips, all the ostentatious professions of many years, was a revenge too delicious to be relinquished. The Tory, on the other hand, sincerely respected and pitied those clergymen who felt scruples about the oaths.
"What do you say to that, Darrin?" demanded another Central boy. "Just what Dick said." "What's your word, Tom!" "You heard what our captain said," Reade laughed. "I always follow orders. If Dick Prescott tells me to pile up seven runs against the Souths I'm going to do it." "I hope you do," murmured another boy. "Yet it seems against us -after the way we saw the Souths play to-day."
For some years now, the peace had been unbroken save by sporadic assassinations, none of which could be specifically enough charged to the feud account to warrant either side in regarding the contract as broken. Samson, being a child, had been forced to accept the terms of this peace bondage. The day would come when the Souths could agree to no truce without his consent.
He had been expecting something, but had hoped that the events of the preceding Saturday afternoon would be left out. Hi made a swing for the ball, and missed. "Who's seen my duds?" went up a mighty shout. "Confound the hoodlums!" hissed Martin between his teeth. As mascot, the Souths had brought along a small colored boy, who attended to a pail of lemonade for the refreshment of Ted's players.
The party halted for a moment's rest, and, as the bottle was passed, the man from Lexington, who had brought the dogs and stayed to conduct the chase, put a question: "What do you call this creek?" "Hit's Misery." "Does anybody live on Misery that er that you might suspect?" The Hollmans laughed. "This creek is settled with Souths thicker'n hops." The Lexington man looked up.
"That was more like," grunted Ted, as he met his catcher at the bench. "In that first inning these Centrals had me almost scared." In the second half of this second inning the Souths scored one run.
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