The colored boys knew they were up against the “real thing,” and they played like fiends from the start, hoping to be the first to break the winning streak of the new stars. The Giants had a great team, every man of them being a rattling good ballplayer, and they started off like winners, getting two runs in the first inning, one in the third, and shutting out their opponents for five straight innings from the start. Bill Brackett had opened the game as twirler for the Outcasts, but in the midst of the third inning, after the colored players had made their third run, with the bases filled and only one man out, Bill was sent to the stable and Mat O’Neill took his place on the slab. O’Neill promptly stopped the run-getting of the Giants by striking out the first batter to face him and causing the next one to put up an easy infield fly. “Should have put him in before, McGann,” wheezed Bob Gowan, who was sitting on the bleachers back of first base, in company with Melvin McGann and several acquaintances. “Oh, it’s all right,” assured the manager of the Outcasts. “Hurley knows his business. I let him run the team on the field. We’ll fall on that coon pitcher pretty soon and hammer him all over the lot.” “I don’t know about that. He’s a corker. These colored gents may change your luck.” “That’s right,” put in “Reliable Mike” Grafter, who was present. “Your streak is busted, Gowan. The dinks done it.” Bob Gowan’s confidence in his team was colossal. There was now no wavering uncertainty about him. “Bet you a hundred we win this game, Grafter,” he promptly wheezed, producing his money. “Go you,” said the Tammany man, diving into his pocket. A stakeholder was agreed upon, and the money placed in his hands. “Just because you happened to beat the New York Nationals you seem to think you can’t be downed,” grunted Grafter. “I know something about baseball, Mike,” retorted Gowan, with unusual animation. “I know we have the team to beat anything in the country.”