In the seventh inning, however, the Outcasts fell on the pitcher and hammered out five handsome singles, which gave them two runs and tied the score. In the first of the eighth the Giants made a desperate bid for a run, succeeding in pushing a man round to third, but he died there, O’Neill showing what he could do in a pinch and striking out two of the heaviest and surest batters who faced him. The last of the eighth delighted the admirers of the Outcasts, for they got after the colored pitcher in earnest and “sent him on an aërial voyage.” The result was three more runs. “I told you, Grafter!” wheezed Gowan. “I knew what would happen! Why, our boys have been fooling with the nigs! They can’t be beaten by anything outside the big leagues, and we know they can more than hold their own with the big fellows. There isn’t an independent team in the country that can take a game off this bunch.” A young, healthy-looking, smooth-faced fellow had approached just in time to hear this remark. “What do you think about that, boy?” asked Grafter. “Gentlemen, this is my son, Wallace.” “I think the gentleman is mistaken,” said Wallace Grafter quietly. “I am confident that I know an independent baseball team that can wallop the Outcasts to a whisper.” “You have another think due you!” exclaimed McGann warmly. “Two more,” said Gowan. “Are you in earnest, son?” inquired old Grafter. “You bet,” nodded Wallace. “I’ve been betting,” admitted his father, with a grin. “Bet Gowan a hundred his team would lose. It’s plain I’m a hundred short.” “You can make it up and some more with it, if Mr. Gowan has the nerve to back his team against an independent team I’ll name,” said the politician’s son. “I’ll back the Outcasts against any independent team in the country for a hundred—or a thousand,” rasped Gowan. Grafter and his son exchanged glances; the young man nodded. “I kinder think I’ll have to take you on that,” said Mike Grafter deliberately. The roaring of the spectators drowned his voice. O’Neill had just struck out the third Giant in the ninth, ending the game, the Outcasts winning by the score of six to three. “What’d you say?” asked Gowan, as the shouting subsided and the great crowd, having risen, was beginning to move to leave the grounds. “I said I’d take you—for a thousand,” answered Grafter. “Got it with you?” “Always have that much loose change.” “Same stakeholder do?” “Sure.” “Put up.” “All right. Cover.” Right there, before leaving the bleachers, the bet was made, Gowan backing the Outcasts against any independent team Wallace Grafter should name. Not until the wager had been made did Bob Gowan ask: “What team is this you’re betting on, Grafter?” “I don’t know,” answered the politician. “What team is it, son?” “It’s Frank Merriwell’s team,” said Wallace. “I think there will be no trouble about arranging the game on any kind of reasonable terms.” CHAPTER XIV.