into Carbondale." The porter's calm voice dispelled the
terrors of the night.

"Leggo! Leggo! Doggone you. Backslid! Come heah!"

A furore of acrobatic groaning marked a scene wherein the Wildcat was
doing the best he could to pry himself loose from something that clung
to various parts of his anatomy with a beak and eight sharp claws.

"Come heah! Light de light. Some varmint's got me."

The Backslid Baptist retraced his steps. "Ain't no varmint. One ob dem
parrot birds."

The Backslid Baptist made a grab for the parrot, and from the bird's
throat into the night again there lifted the wild laughter.

The porter opened the door of the linen closet wherein Lily the mascot
goat was quietly eating her third pillow case. He cast the parrot from
him into the darkness of the linen closet. "Wilecat, tell de lady in
Lo' 10 Ah'll take keer de parrot till mawin'."

The parrot landed on Lily's neck. From behind the slammed door came a
muffled "Blaa!" followed by the subdued noises of a large
number-nine-sized ruckus.

Zing! Zing! ZING!

"I's coming. I's coming." The Backslid Baptist filled two cups of
ice-water and started toward Lower 7 with them.

"Heah you is.... Yessuh. No suh. Yessuh, Ah'll git you some mo'."

"Here's a half bottle of that blasted stuff. Take it away where I can't
smell it. That ice-water sure is good. Were you ever zippo on gin?"

"No suh. Ah'll git you some mo' ice-water."

The Backslid Baptist, conveying half a bottle of gin, neglected to
state that he had never been able to accumulate enough gin at one time
to get himself zippo.

He encountered the Wildcat in the smoking room. He handed the Wildcat
the half bottle of gin. "Ah'll say I's a mind reader."

"See whut de good Lawd done sent!"

"Afteh de storm comes de quiet waters."

"Comes de gin, you means. Ol' fat boy drink de watehs. Us drinks de
gin. Gin, how is you?"

The Wildcat soothed himself with three strenuous gulps. "Whuf! Liquor,
how de do!"

The Backslid Baptist departed with the third cargo of ice-water for the
gentleman in Lower 7. He returned after a little while. Dangling from
his fingers and carried in his arms were a dozen pairs of shoes.

He threw the shoes down on the end seat in the smoking room. "Start to
work on de shoes, Wilecat. Don' do nothin' to de new shoes--much--an'
hit de ol' ones light. De middle-grade shoes gits a good shinin'. Folks
whut weahs middle-grade shoes is ol'-time travellers an' gin'ally