missed in de army. Whut is you doin', 'sides
lookin' fo' easy money?"

Honey Tone, the ex-uplifter, was silent for a minute, and then his
organizing instinct welled strong.

"Me? I's organizin' a Returned Heroes' Parade. Us Konk'rin' Heroes what
wore de army unifawm jines in de gran' ruckus."

"Sho! Honey Tone, whut yo' mean army unifawm? You was 'fested with
letheh straps an' uppity talk when I knowed you fust. Now you talks
plain niggah."

"Sounds more homelike." Honey Tone did not feel constrained to explain
the finesse which prompted him to abandon the vocabulary which he had
derived from a year's schooling and considerable subsequent
speech-making.

"Aftah de parade mebbe us organizes de Colored Militarriers of America.
I's been ponderin' considerable how come some ob you ain't started dat
lodge yet? Dues a dollah a month. Parades fo' baptisn's, marryin's, and
funerals. Special buryin' department wheh you gits crematized or
secluded in de ground as you prefers, dependin' whether you pays fo'
bits a week extra or not."

"Sounds half gran'--mebbe folks takes up wid it. Ol' parade sho' sounds
noble." In common with other overseas veterans, the Wildcat listened
strong to the appeal made by the jingling hardware of heroism. He had
visions of himself prancin' along where white folks could look at
him--visions which included an O.D. uniform plentifully festooned with
wound stripes, coloured ribbons, service chevrons, and a few decorative
military crosses.

The group about the crap table thinned out. The Wildcat picked up the
dice. "Does you crave high life, Honey Tone, read a chapteh f'm de
clickers."

"I might ride a couple of r'ars," the uplifter conceded.

The Wildcat produced a bulky roll. Several pairs of gleaming eyeballs
about him testified to the exceptional dimensions of his capital.

To the Wildcat's surprise Honey Tone hauled out a wallet in which lay a
thick package of twenty-dollar bills. Hope burned strong in the
Wildcat's chest, and with the flame of hope the Wildcat warmed the dice
within his hand.

"Shoots ten dollahs. Fade me, Honey Tone, does you crave action."

"You's faded."

"Wham! Ah lets it lay. Shoots twenty dollahs."

"Roll 'em." Honey Tone dropped a twenty-dollar bill, which landed as
gently as a snowflake on the green surface of the table. "Bam! Five an'
a deuce."

Under the heat of the Wildcat's luck the uplifter's green snowflake
melted into his opponent's roll.

"Ah l