wid yo' insides crammed wid a ton ob linen an' half a pair ob pants fo'
dessert. Me sympathizin' wid you, an' you an' de green chicken
banquetin' all night on 'spensive raiment! 'Ceptin' foh havin' to scrub
de flo', I'd barbecue de blood outen yo' veins heah an' now."

The sudden necessity of hiding the evidence confronted the Wildcat.

"By rights I ought to ram de rest ob de pants down yo' neck." The
Wildcat picked up the ragged and frazzled trousers. A moment later he
opened the door of the car platform and cast the remnants of Lily's
banquet into the fleeting right-of-way.

"'Spect some boy find dese an' say, 'Whah at's de man whut de train cut
de laigs off of?' 'At's his trouble. Me--Ah's Chicago bound wid a
cahload ob trouble ob mah own. Main thing to do is to git off de train
widout lettin' 'at boy in 'partment B know we's landed."

He discussed the disaster of the trousers with the Backslid Baptist.

"'At's de on'y way," the porter conceded. "When us gits in we fo'gits
'bout de boy widout de pants. Dey wuz his pants, Wilecat. Havin' no
pants is his grief. He kin borrow some overalls f'm de cah cleaners, o'
else he kin play he's a Injun an' roam nekked till de police gits him.
Does us meet up wid de ol' Pullman 'spector Ah says 'No suh, Ah dunno
how come.' 'At's 'at."

"Sho' don't crave words wid no 'spector," the Wildcat returned. "Dis
porter business de best job in de world. Ridin' all de time, seem' de
country--eatin' heavy, free ice wateh, gran' raiment, talkin' to
folks--No suh! Main thing Ah craves is to git hired by de Pullman boss.
'Spect Ah makes it all right, Baptis'?"

"You makes it easy. You's done learned de business dis mawnin', ain't
you? Well, I gits you five recommendin' letters f'm a boy whut writes
'em on Prairie Avenue, an' you gits hired.

"Fust letter says, 'Ah knowed Wilecat goin' on ten yeahs, an' he don't
drink.' Nex' letter say, 'Wilecat jined de church when he wuz four
yeahs old an' bin a soldier ob de Lawd eveh since.' Nex' letter say,
'Boy got to take keer ob his wife, mother an' father, an' six small
chillen.' Nex' letter say, 'Wilecat sho' beats de worl' fo' readin',
writin', an' 'rithmetic.'"

"Backslid, you knows Ah kain't read."

"'At don't make no difference. Letter says so, don't it? Last letter
says you's honest, industrious, an reli'ble."

"How come you so friendly wid dat Democrat letter-writin' boy?"

"How come 'Democrat'?"

"F'm whut you says he's champion l