“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.”