ll be cravin' bear grease fo' yo' hair an' a
sprinkle o' bay rum."

"I craves to smell human," the porter returned. "All right fo' fish to
smell like fish, but I prefers to let 'em win any smell race dey
starts."

In replying to the Wildcat, Dwindle Daniels on his slippery perch half
turned his head, and this carelessness precipitated a disaster which
engulfed him. One of the ponderous boots slipped from the branch of
driftwood and dragged the wearer's leg into the river. Thereafter for
ten seconds the porter staged a windmill scene compared to which a
cyclone in Holland looked like a quiet night on the Dead Sea. Finally
the drag of old man Gravity won all bets. The Wildcat's bulging eyes
witnessed a high dive entirely surrounded by frightened fish and the
soft mud which lay two feet below the water surface. From the crater of
the mud volcano the writhing form of the neat Dwindle Daniels finally
emerged. His form-fitting environment of mud churned and splashed in a
blast of agitated language. Somewhere in the vortex of the intimate
ooze he had lost all traces of his religious training. He combed great
handfuls of mud from his plastered features and snorted deep draughts
of fresh air.

He excavated his eyes and then, disdaining the unstable footing offered
by the driftwood, he ploughed his way ashore, up to his arm pits in
water and mud.

On the bank the Wildcat had launched into his third conniption fit. He
calmed down sufficiently to choke some language out of his vocal
organs.

"Yo' sho' looks neat now. Ain't seed such a ruckus since de flood hit
Memphis. I knowed dem was hoodoo boots. Bam! Down yo' goes like a ol'
hell diver. Mawnin'! Up yo' comes like a ol' mud turtle. Git in de
wagon, Mud Turtle. On de way home you dries out. Leave dat mud git dry
befo' you tries to brush it off."

Dwindle Daniels spent an hour on the way home in hatching himself out
of a shell of mud.

"Neveh min', ol' Mud Turtle," the Wildcat comforted. "Us cleans up big
money when us sells dese fish tonight."

At eight o'clock, under a sputtering arc light on Front Street, the
Wildcat and Dwindle Daniels were established in the business of selling
fried fish and waiting for the rush of trade that would come when the
parade passed them.

"Stan' close to de oil stove, ol' Mud Turtle. I cracks de shell off o'
you befo' de train leaves. Dis sho' is de slow dryenest mud I ever
seed. Leave them pants on you. Does you take 'em off you neve