Chapter 6

The Wildcat returned to his shoe-shining. "When does us boys sleep, Backslid?" "When de chance comes," the Backslid Baptist returned. "You sleeps between stations an' 'twixt jobs of work. Gin'ally when de bell rings at night you pay no 'tenshun to it. Folks is finicky. Dey gits along just de same does you answer de bell or don't you. Hurry up wid de shoes. When you gits 'em done come on up th'ee cahs ahead. Dey's some res'less ivory on dat cah, an' mebbe us collects some money whut's lonesome to change managers."

The Backslid Baptist departed for the third car ahead, where in the smoking room the galloping ivory was clicking strong on the linoleum.

The Wildcat finished his work on the shoes of the passengers on the Mazeppa. He carried the shoes forward with him until he came upon the crap game.

"Heah's de shoes, Backslid," he said. "Men, howdy."

"Whut fo' you bring dem shoes all de way up heah?"

"Ah kain't read yo' numbehs whah at to distribute 'em."

"Lay 'em down. Ah'll take 'em back afteh while. Gimme dem bones. Shoots five dollahs." The Backslid Baptist launched himself into an energetic arm-swinging struggle, wherein presently he lost after his third pass.

"Take a ra'r, Wilecat. See is you still 'fested wid luck like you wuz in de A.E.F."

The Wildcat was a stranger to everybody present except the Backslid Baptist.

"Who dat boy?" one of the group of porters asked.

"Learnin' boy f'm Memphis. Ah knows him." With this endorsement the Wildcat was plunged into the game.

"Gimme dem bones. Hind laigs at res'." The Wildcat subsided to the floor. "Fingehs, lemme see kin you play de pickpocket jazz. Shoots five dollahs. Wham! Ah reads a feeble five. Five stay alive. Five Ah craves. Lady Luck, boon me. P'odigal five, come home whah de fat calf waits. Bam! Th'ee an' a deuce. Ah lets it lay. Shoots ten dollahs. Shower down ten dollahs an' see de train robbeh perform. Shower down, brothers. Bam! Seven! 'At's twins, but mah luck comes triple. Shoots de twenty. Shoots twenty dollahs. Heah de bloodhoun' bay. An' Ah reads ten miles. Chicago bound! Pay day, whah at is you? Lady Luck, don' git feeble. Angil leanin' on a cloud. De cloud busts! Angil, heah you is--readin' de five an' five. Five twins, how is you? Shoots fo'ty dollahs."

One of the group spoke to the Backslid. "Mebbe 'at boy's learnin' de porter business, but he sho' got old in de bone school a long time back."

The Backslid Baptist grunted his reply.

The Wildcat raked down all of his winnings except a five-dollar bill. "Shoots five dollahs. Shower down. Windy talk don't shake no possums loose. Come an' git me on de top limb. Shoots five dollahs. Dynamite dice, bust de ol' safe do'. Ah craves action. Shoots ten dollahs. Fifty dollahs."

"How much you got?" A cinnamon-coloured Croesus in the group spoke softly into the clamour.

The Wildcat turned to him. "Shoots a hund'ed does you crave speed. Shoots five hund'ed dollahs."

The cinnamon-faced porter produced a roll of bills and stripped a handful of greenbacks therefrom.

"'At's five hund'ed dollahs. Roll 'em."

"Gallopers, git right."

The Wildcat gave the dice a Turkish bath, a manicure, and a careful massaging between the perspiring palms of his hands.

He cast a handful of prepared ivory from him. The dice were festooned with equal parts of luck and technical skill, but their precise trajectory was interrupted by a string of high joints and low centres in the track over which rambled the Panama Limited.

"An' I reads--ace and deuce."

The cinnamon-coloured boy picked up the money on the floor.

"'At'll learn you."

The Wildcat was silent. The Backslid Baptist, sharing the shadow of his associate's sudden cloud of black luck, spoke slowly to him.

"C'm on heah, Wilecat. Us is nex' do' to bein' busted."

In the wake of the Backslid Baptist the Wildcat ambled back through the swaying cars to the Mazeppa. He carried on his bowed shoulders a load of misery big enough to bust a bottle of dynamite gin.

The Backslid Baptist stretched himself full length on the long leather seat of the smoking room.

"Baptist, how come it I don' know. De baby gallopehs wuz spinnin' fo' seven."

"Rough track an' de rocky road swerved 'em. Git to sleep. Us is due at Champaign at 8:10. Money come, money go. Whuteveh sleep you gits is that much to de good."

The Wildcat flopped down on the floor of the smoking room, but sleep would not come to him.

At half past seven the Backslid Baptist on the leather seat began mumbling to himself. A little later he awakened.

"Wilecat, whut dat noise?"

"Ain't heard no noise." All the Wildcat had heard was the accents of his bank-roll bidding him a last farewell.

"'At thumpin' noise." The Backslid Baptist's ears, keenly attuned to the turmoil of travel, distinguished in the sounds about him some unfamiliar puncture of the normal din.

"Sounded lak beatin' a board wid a stick."

"Kain't heah nothin'."

The Backslid Baptist yawned. "Some ob dem early risers f'm de tall sticks sure to be up by now. When Ah starts makin' up de berths you kin sweep out de cah an' 'cumulate de sheets an' pillow cases. Stick 'em in de canvas bag in de linen closet an' take back de boy's clo'es he gin you to press."

The Wildcat traversed the length of the aisle back of a swinging broom. On the return trip he encountered the Backslid Baptist busily engaged in making up Lower 1.

"Backslid, who dem two boys half way down de cah wid de red hats?"

"You means de boys wid de red fezants? Dem's a couple ob Potent Nobles ob de Mysterious Mecca. All de Mysterious Mecca boys in de world is havin' a gran' ruckus next month on de Pacific Coast."

"How come dey start so early?"

"Dey falls by de wayside heah an' dere, an' dey starts early so as to git picked up by some worthy Brother wid steady laigs. 'At fat boy wid de red fezant is de one whut had de gin hiccoughs."

"Kain't see did he."

"Gin'ally dey carries it noble. Dere's de little lady whut owns de parrot bird."

The owner of the parrot bird was a left-over soubrette who had bust in Havana with a road production of The Sillies of 1492. The little lady had completed her spring drinking and was now en route to a big-time meal-ticket scheduled to start from Chicago.

She saw the Wildcat.

"Porter, where is little Polly?"

"Yessum. I secluded 'at green chicken in de linen closet. Does you crave him now?"

"Yes. I want to have her with me for breakfast--the poor lonesome darling."

"Accordin' to de words 'at varmint used last night, he's too tough to make much of a brekfus'."

The Wildcat went to the end of the car and opened the linen closet wherein he had cached the parrot.

With the opening of the door the mystery of the thumping noise which he and the Backslid Baptist had heard was explained. In a low falsetto the parrot was repeating the two military commands which she had learned.

"'Tenshun! At res'! 'Tenshun! At res'!"

Lily, the mascot goat, was contributing the last fragment of muscular energy to the business of obeying orders. In response to the parrot's commands the goat languidly flopped at rest on the floor of the linen closet and came to her feet at attention.

"Lawd Gawd, Lily! At res' an' stay 'at way!"

Gratitude rang in the answering "Blaa" of Lily the goat.

The Wildcat reached for the parrot. "You green debbil! Whut you mean, exercisin' mah mascot all night?"

"Quawk!" The parrot made a vicious swing at the Wildcat's reaching hand.

"Leggo, you debbil!"

The green parrot, fuming in a rage compared to which nitric acid was a cream puff, was restored to its Spring-drinking owner.

"Lady, heah's de green demon."

"Pretty Polly. What made her little feathers all mussed up?"

The Wildcat returned to his exhausted mascot.

"'At green chicken's lucky does he git by widout gittin' his health an' stren'th mussed up befo' dis trip ends. At res', Lily, till I brings you some nutriment. Doggone ol' bird must have near wore you out. 'At's de way wid dem mil'tary commands. Res' yo'se'f, Lily, till Ah brings yo' brekfust."

"Blaa!" answered Lily, weakly.

The Wildcat detected a tone of hypocrisy,--something of false gratitude--in the mascot's reply. He returned from the dining car carrying two heads of lettuce for the mascot. He placed the lettuce under the nose of the recumbent goat, but Lily refused to eat.

"Fust time Ah eveh seed you slow up when de mess call blowed. How come?"

An instant later his roving eye discovered the "how come" of Lily's loss of appetite. In a dark corner of the linen closet he saw a dozen fragments of white cloth. He hauled them out, and the light revealed the hems of a covey of sheets and a half dozen pillow cases. Then the web of a home-spun disaster met his eye. From the lower shelf of the linen closet dangled the shredded legs of the trousers which the occupant of Compartment B had given him to be pressed.

"Goat, doggone you, come to 'tenshun! No wondeh you kain't eat lettuce, wid yo' insides crammed wid a ton ob linen an' half a pair ob pants fo' dessert. Me sympathizin' wid you, an' you an' de green chicken banquetin' all night on 'spensive raiment! 'Ceptin' foh havin' to scrub de flo', I'd barbecue de blood outen yo' veins heah an' now."

The sudden necessity of hiding the evidence confronted the Wildcat.

"By rights I ought to ram de rest ob de pants down yo' neck." The Wildcat picked up the ragged and frazzled trousers. A moment later he opened the door of the car platform and cast the remnants of Lily's banquet into the fleeting right-of-way.

"'Spect some boy find dese an' say, 'Whah at's de man whut de train cut de laigs off of?' 'At's his trouble. Me--Ah's Chicago bound wid a cahload ob trouble ob mah own. Main thing to do is to git off de train widout lettin' 'at boy in 'partment B know we's landed."

He discussed the disaster of the trousers with the Backslid Baptist.

"'At's de on'y way," the porter conceded. "When us gits in we fo'gits 'bout de boy widout de pants. Dey wuz his pants, Wilecat. Havin' no pants is his grief. He kin borrow some overalls f'm de cah cleaners, o' else he kin play he's a Injun an' roam nekked till de police gits him. Does us meet up wid de ol' Pullman 'spector Ah says 'No suh, Ah dunno how come.' 'At's 'at."

"Sho' don't crave words wid no 'spector," the Wildcat returned. "Dis porter business de best job in de world. Ridin' all de time, seem' de country--eatin' heavy, free ice wateh, gran' raiment, talkin' to folks--No suh! Main thing Ah craves is to git hired by de Pullman boss. 'Spect Ah makes it all right, Baptis'?"

"You makes it easy. You's done learned de business dis mawnin', ain't you? Well, I gits you five recommendin' letters f'm a boy whut writes 'em on Prairie Avenue, an' you gits hired.

"Fust letter says, 'Ah knowed Wilecat goin' on ten yeahs, an' he don't drink.' Nex' letter say, 'Wilecat jined de church when he wuz four yeahs old an' bin a soldier ob de Lawd eveh since.' Nex' letter say, 'Boy got to take keer ob his wife, mother an' father, an' six small chillen.' Nex' letter say, 'Wilecat sho' beats de worl' fo' readin', writin', an' 'rithmetic.'"

"Backslid, you knows Ah kain't read."

"'At don't make no difference. Letter says so, don't it? Last letter says you's honest, industrious, an reli'ble."

"How come you so friendly wid dat Democrat letter-writin' boy?"

"How come 'Democrat'?"

"F'm whut you says he's champion liar ob de world. Sounds Democrat to me. Don' make no difference, though--just so's I gits de job."