ily an' den git some regulah run where I sleeps mos' all de
time. 'Less I fin's mah mascot I aims to quit de whole Pullman business
an' let 'em git on de bes' dey can widout me."

"Boy, how come you so tame? When we lef' Poteland all you talked about
was startin' a sinful life an' bustin' all de speed records on de road
to hell. Now all you craves is to settle down. Has de itch got you?
'Pears like you needs quinine."

"I don' need nuthin' 'ceptin' Lily an' Lady Luck--an' mebbe a slug o'
gin."

"Cain't git no gin now days."

"Mud Turtle, when us gits to Oaklan' you follow me. I'll bet dat rabbi
boy what chefs on dis train knows whah at is some gin. Any man what kin
throw a dose ob hoof oil together on short notice what makes a nigger
look like a cyclone sho' can dig up a drink o' gin. Quick as us gits to
Oakland I trails 'at boy down. Chances is he starts de rabbi business
soon as he gits his apron off. I depends on him fo' gin. I's jined up
wid de chu'ch when I was sixteen, but now I aims to git backslid back
enough to take de road what leads into dis rabbi place. You goes in an'
takes off yo' hat, an' as quick as you gits baptized, the ol' preacheh
says, 'Boys, what'll it be?' I says, 'Make mine gin.' Ol' Mud Turtle
say, 'Make mine gin.' We says 'at 'bout six times, an' away us goes
lookin' fo' Lily. At's better'n any business talk you'se talkin'."

"I'll say so, Wilecat--fo'get de business. Us has money, anyhow.
There's that fo' hund'ed dollahs you give me an' whatever you'se got
left off de Spindlin' Spider boy you cleaned in Poteland. I agrees wid
you--fo'get de business."

With the arrival of the train in Oakland, about four minutes sufficed
to clear up the Mud Turtle's official obligations to the company.
Immediately thereafter he and the Wildcat set out to overtake the
dining car chef, whom they had seen leaving the terminal. The Wildcat
edged up beside the rabbi. "Boy," he said, "how 'bout some licker? Me
an' the Mud Turtle here craves to git baptized wid a couple o' slugs o'
gin. Is de gin included in de rabbi business?"

The chef looked at the Wildcat. "Us rabbis handles some gin, but it
sho' comes high."

"Boy, us aims to pay high. You ain't talkin' to no busted steamboat
niggahs. Us ain't fiel' han's. Me an' my podneh got money; all we
craves is gin."

The chef's gaze left the Wildcat's face for a moment and seemed to
travel to some more distant point. The Wildcat's statement of his
finances had