rtenders. Now days mos'
all we rabbis is union bootleggers. Git back dah wid dat hoof oil befo'
it blows up. Whereat's de five dollahs?"

The Wildcat handed the chef a five-dollar bill and returned to his car,
where the Mud Turtle was doing the best he could to shake his arms off.

"Hot dam! Heah you is, ol' Mud Turtle. You sho' got a noble rattle in
yo' right han'. 'Pears like wid a pair o' gallopin' cubes you might
throw some killin' sevens. 'Sorb one drink o' dis heah rabbi juice an'
resurrect yo'self."

"One drink! Boy, gimme dat bottle. I handles mah licker!" The Wildcat
uncorked the bottle and held it to the Mud Turtle's chattering lips.
The Mud Turtle took a whiff of the liquid. Its perfume seemed to
inspire a new set of internal calisthenics in the Mud Turtle. After he
had quit writhing the Wildcat again pressed the remedy upon him. "Drink
it, fo' I drips it on you. Go ahead an' drink. I'll hol' yo' nose." He
succeeded in pouring the contents of the bottle into the Mud Turtle.

The Mud Turtle absorbed the hoof oil as far as his equator. Then he
reacted with a series of undulations in which was all of the reserve
energy of the surging deep. Then he suddenly became quiet, except for
his rolling eyeballs, from which gleamed an exalted light.

"Dat sho' tamed you. Is yo' insides hot?"

The Mud Turtle's only reply was a sudden stiffening of his right leg,
followed a second later by a similar movement with his left. His right
arm extended violently; then the ham-sized fist on the end of his left
arm went through the plate glass window beside him. He leaped to the
centre of the smoking compartment. For a moment he danced on both feet,
and then he began to stage a movement compared to which a cyclone was
only a boy's-size disturbance. He combined the activity of a whirling
dervish with the technique of an earthquake.

The Wildcat retreated to the safety of the tapestry curtain which hung
in the doorway. There for a little while he conducted an innocent
bystander business, which presently ended in disaster. Up to the
moment, the Mud Turtle had been silent, but now from his throat came a
yelp which drowned the rattle of the train.

The Wildcat sought to calm him down. "How come? Boy, git tame. You'll
wake de white folks in dis car an' dey'll massacre you. Shut up befo'
dey gits you."

The Mud Turtle's only answer was a renewed succession of yells.
Suddenly he stopped short where he stood, and for a space of minu