forthcoming ceremonies
which he did not impart to his associate. In the Wildcat's brain was
born a scheme which promised to balance the books between him and Honey
Tone.

"Yo' wife be sittin' in de gran'stan', I s'pose?"

Honey Tone laid himself open to the serious fall which is the common
sequel of deceit. "I ain't got no wife."

"Thought yo' tol' me you wuz a married man when Ah knowed you fust."
The Wildcat was indulging in a little exploration.

"Did I say I wuz married I must've been crazy o' lyin'."

"You is both," the Wildcat inwardly reflected. "'At's at," he said to
Honey Tone. "On'y, wid so much 'flooence, it 'pears like you'd furnish
yo' own mule."

"Ain't I made yo' Supreem Gran' Arrangeh? You p'vides de mule. I takes
care o' rentin' de' gran'stan' at de ball park an' spreadin' de
publicity. Afterwards us has a gran' rally. Mebbe I makes a speech."

With the details of the program accomplished, the defeated Wildcat left
the Konk'rin' Hero in the barber shop and made his way toward Captain
Jack's home and the woodshed wherein was tethered the mascot goat.

Halfway up the alley which led to the woodshed the Wildcat spoke aloud
in the darkness. "Konk'rin' Hero! Him ridin' de mule an' us boys ridin'
ouah feet. Huh! I's de Supreem Gran' Walkin' Arrangeh, is I? Well,
tomorrow I starts arrangin'." His monologue was suddenly interrupted by
an explosive braying which burst from the woodshed adjoining the one in
which rested Lily. The Wildcat surrendered to his racing legs and
galloped a panic jazz to the exit of the alley before his common-sense
reacted. "Sho! Me a Konk'rin' Hero!" He chuckled softly to himself.
"Ol' mule whut b'longs to Cap'n Jack's neighbour sho' unkonkered me."

He retraced his steps until he came to the door of Captain Jack's
woodshed. He opened the door and entered. From the darkness his mascot
goat greeted him.

"Blaa!" said Lily.

"Ain't yo' asleep yit? Mebbe dat damn ol' mule woke you up. Git to
sleep!" The Wildcat removed his shoes and lay down on a rickety bed in
a corner of the woodshed. "I'll do the arrangin', Honey Tone," he
mumbled. His lower jaw sagged, and into his open mouth whined a lone
mosquito. At the portals of sleep his night was again interrupted by
the mule in the adjoining shed.

"Dat's de night-brayin'est jug-head Ah eveh seed. Wuss'n a midnight
roosteh drunk wid moonlight." He was about to launch a few burning
curses from a vocabulary which the mule could sa