leman questioned him, and to the questions he replied with an
assortment of impromptu lies whose range and ingenuity busted every
previous record for careless language.

Ten minutes later he was a hired man.

"C'm on heah. 'At's all." The Backslid Baptist at his elbow sensed the
successful conclusion of the interview.

"You mean Ah's a porter?" the bewildered Wildcat asked when the pair
had gained the street level.

"Ah'll say you is."

"An' all de tips I gits is mine to keep?"

"Dey is previdin' you gits outen yo' trance an' takes yo' cah on de
4:10."

"Hot dam, Lily! C'm on heah. Us weahs a blue coat all de time an' don't
do nuthin' but spend de money whut de white folks showers down."

"You betteh make arrangements at some livery stable to p'vide board an'
room fo' Lily whilst you is A.W.O.L."

"How come? Whah at I goes de goat goes."

"Not on de Pullman run. Ah dead-heads you once, an' de goat lak to
ruined eve'ybody in de cah. No suh! Kain't run no trains an' no mascot
at de same time. De rule book leaves out goats, but does you lug Lily
wid you, yo' fust run sho' is yo' last."

The Wildcat faced the moment of a great decision. "Den dey won't be no
fust trip. Cm on heah, Lily. Much 'bliged, Baptis'. Me an' Lily looks
fo' a job whah at dey ain't no rules again' mascots."

The Wildcat headed south along Michigan Avenue, and in a little while
he and Lily were adrift in a sea of humanity.

The Backslid Baptist grunted his disgust and went about his own
affairs.

CHAPTER VIII

At midnight the Wildcat and Lily pitched their lonely camp behind a
billboard in South Chicago.

"Sho' craves mah rations. You done noble wid de grass, Lily, but Ah
kain't eat grass. Seems lak you kin nutrify yo'se'f wid whuteveh
vittles is laying 'round."

In the dawn the Wildcat realized that his appetite had sprung up like a
mushroom over night.

"Wisht us wuz back wid ol' Cap'n Jack in Memphis, whah at de ham-tree
blooms th'ee times a day."

At noon his stomach was the residence of a hunger panic. With his
mascot trailing behind him, he headed toward the heart of the city.

"Doggone 'at crap-shootin' hound. How come he clean me to mah last
nickel, Ah don' know. Lady Luck, whah at is you?"

An instant later, wearing a policeman's uniform and speaking a wild
Irish language, Lady Luck descended upon the Wildcat. The Michigan
Avenue traffic cop abandoned his post long enough to pounce upon his
prey.

"What th