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LADY LUCK
_BOOKS BY HUGH WILEY_
JADE, and Other Stories
LADY LUCK
THE WILDCAT
LADY LUCK
By HUGH WILEY
NEW YORK
ALFRED . A . KNOPF
1921
COPYRIGHT, 1921, BY
ALFRED A. KNOPF, INC.
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
TO
MY FATHER
"When you 's travellin' heavy on de misery road
An' yo' back is breakin' wid de misery load,
Jes' figger dat yo' trouble 's boun' to end,
Cause Lady Luck is waitin' fo' you, 'roun de bend."
THE WILDCAT
LADY LUCK
CHAPTER I
Ah wuz a fiel' han' fo' Ah sailed de sea,
Wisht Ah wuz a fiel' han' now.
Dis konk'rin' hero business don' make no hit wid me--
Wisht Ah wuz a fiel' han' now.
"Gimme back a nickel! How come coffee ten cents? Gimme back 'at nickel
befo' bofe ob us is on de same side ob de lunch counter."
"You an' a policeman, you means. Ca'm yo'se'f. If dis wah keeps up,
coffee g'wine cost fifteen cents nex' week."
"How come wah? Wah finished a yeah back. Me an' Cap'n Jack wuz de fust
men in de wah. Wah's done. Ah knows. Gimme back 'at nickel."
"Mebbe de wah is done, but de Democrats ain't. Git out ob heah wid dat
goat, fo' you ruins mah trade."
The Wildcat picked up Captain Jack's bed-roll from the floor beside the
lunch counter in the Memphis station. He accumulated Lily from where
the travelworn mascot goat was tethered to an adjoining stool. Together
they walked from the lunch room in which he had sought refreshment
after an arduous ride from San Francisco to Memphis.
"Come on heah, Lily. Ol' Cap'n Jack an' de lady done went home in a
takes-a-grab. Boy takes a grab at yo' money, an' if deys any lef', you
gives it to a policeman fo' arrestin' him. Us rides a 'spress wagon."
On the street fronting the station the Wildcat chartered a rickety
express wagon hauled by a languid black mule. "Whuf!" the driver
grunted. "Sho' is de ponderestest bed-roll Ah eveh lifted."
"'At bed-roll's full of iron helmets f'm dead Germans, fo' Cap'n Jack
to 'membeh de wah by. De officehs craves to 'membeh de wah. Us 'listed
boys craves to fo'git it."
The driver of the express wagon looked sideways at the Wildcat. "When
did de goat die?"
"How come?"
"Sit him on de side ob me whah de win' ain't blowin'. Wuz he de Dove ob
Peace de wah'd go on fo'eveh. Whut's dem culled ribbons doin' on dat
goat?"
"De blue ribbon is mah mascot's quality. De red an' white ones is
patriotism."
"Thought mebbe dey wuz fus' an' secon' prizes fo' smellin'."
The Wildcat handed the driver of the express wagon a cigar.
"Smoke dis offsetteh," he said. Drifting along on a haze of conflicting
aromas, the outfit arrived finally at the residence of Captain Jack.
"Heah's de fifty cents," the Wildcat said to the express driver.
"Cost me dat to git de goat smell renovated off me. Wuth six bits."
"On yo' way. I'll six bits you! Quit whiffin' wid dat nose, befo' I
busts yo' loose f'm it. On yo' way! C'm on, Lily."
The Wildcat spent the rest of the afternoon shuffling furniture around
inside of Captain Jack's house. At four o'clock Captain Jack's wife
arrived, convoying a perspiring three-hundred-pound trophy which she
had been fortunate enough to capture.
"Yo' is de cook, is yo'?" the Wildcat said to the newly enthroned ruler
of the kitchen.
The ebony Amazon looked at him. "Who is you?"
"I's champion ration battler ob de world. Wait till I gits back." The
Wildcat returned presently with an armful of wood. "You claims you's a
cook--well, woman, I lights de fiah. Den you sees kin yo'."
"Kin I what?"
"Fust yo' barbecues 'at ham hangin' theh. When Ah gits th'oo, half of
it will be lef'. Whilst de ham's sizzlin' you th'ows enough cawn bread
togetheh to fill de big pan. When Ah gits th'oo dey'll be half of it
lef'. When de ham juice begins to git sunburned you makes some ham
gravy. Ah spec' ham gravy's de fondest thing Ah is of. I says 'Howdy,
ham gravy!' an' afteh me an' de vittles gits acquainted, mah appetite
won't need grub no mo'n a fish needs shoes."
"Cut de ham." The Wildcat carved off five or six thick slices.
The cook looked at him. "Is you fo'gittin' me?"
"You hungry? De way you looks, yo's et all de grub whut is."
"Nach'ral to be fat. Look at de elephant. How come you so skinny?"
"Wah mis'ry. All I et fo' two yeahs in France wuz Guv'ment rashuns. Dey
wuzn't fillin'. I et myse'f down to boy-size pants de fust yeah. Secon'
yeah dey lets me run wild 'cause dey couldn't find no unifawm small
enough."
"Wuz yo' in de big drive?"
"I'll say I wuz. Us boys drove more railroad spikes at St. Sulpice dan
a colonel has cooties. Woman, how come you knows all about de names ob
de wah?"
"I had a husban' uplifteh in de wah whut wrote me letters. Mebbe yo'
met up wid him, name bein' Huntington Boone."
The Wildcat's jaw sagged open as far as the roots of his lolling
tongue. "Honey Tone! De uplifteh? He's yo' man?"
"You knows him?'
"Ah knows him some--goin' on a thousan' francs he lifted off me wid de
gallopin' ivory."
"Ain't de same one. Huntington saw de light an' swerve f'm de sin road
to de straight an' narrow in de Fall Revival five yeahs back--de time
Sis Ellers got drowned at de baptisin' an' stayed undeh till she blowed
up at Vicksbu'g. Mah man went oveh as a uplifteh."
"'At's de boy. He swerved back at de sinful life. De on'y upliftin' he
done wuz wid us boys' money an' coonyak."
The Wildcat was thoughtful for a moment.
"Whah at is he now?" he suddenly asked.
"I ain't seed him since he went away. Wore out mah black alpaca
mournin' dress an' spilt icecream all oveh de otheh at a social. 'At's
how come Ah's in calico."
"I ain't seed him neveh since--"
"Since when?"
"Since he sailed fo' N' O'leans on de iron boat."
"He done come back! Praise de Lawd!"
"Call de police, you means. Did he git back he's in de jail whah at he
belongs--all I seed wuz him leavin'."
In the face of the Wildcat's argument the Amazon's mood changed. "When
I gets th'oo wid' dat man de jail folks sho' have to pen him up in a
barrel to hol' de leavin's. He's 'bout as pop'lar wid me as smallpox.
All he eveh done wuz bear down hahd on de money when I come home wid
mah wages."
At the moment the Wildcat did not feel constrained to explain that
Honey Tone's departure from Bordeaux had been one of the Wildcat's
contrivings--one in which Honey Tone had been battened down in the hold
of the cargo ship, together with a hundred French Colonial negro
troops. "I rec'lects he lef' Bo'deaux on a boat dey calls de _Princess
Clam_, headed fo' N' O'leans. Chances is he's in de N' O'leans jail
right now."
The Wildcat decided that it might be well to encourage Honey Tone's
mate to souse the black mood of her mourning in the whitewash of
jealousy. "'Spect he might be married up again--mebbe. 'At boy gits
'gaged wheheveh 'at he goes."
"Is he rampagin' roun' I makes two widows stid of one does I ketch him.
Cleah outen heah!"
Honey Tone's vindictive mate craved solitude in which to enjoy the
misery of her ambition for revenge.
The Wildcat cleared out, taking with him a substantial segment of corn
bread and two hot slices of ham. "Does Honey Tone live th'oo whut de
female 'ception committee g'wine to git ready fo' him I gives him mah
Craw de Gare an' all de woun' stripes whut is."
In the woodshed back of Captain Jack's house the mascot Lily patiently
awaited her proprietor.
"Blaa!" she said in greeting when the Wildcat appeared.
"Whut yo' mean? How come you always craves nutriment?" the Wildcat
demanded. "Heah." He gave the goat a fragment of corn bread. "Whuf! de
ol' cawn pone sho' is fillin'. I sleeps me now fo' a little while. Den
I goes downtown an' says Howdy to de boys. Lily, lay off dat hat! Eat
de ham grease offen it does yo' crave to, but ca'm yo' se'f when yo'
gits to de hat part."
The Wildcat reclined on a pile of hickory stove-wood and went to sleep.
Sleeping was his long suit. At ten o'clock that night he woke up.
"Sho' is late. Front do' de barber shop be locked, but de back do'
ain't." The Wildcat threaded the dark streets which led to Willie
Webster's barber shop. The shave-and-haircut part of the Webster
establishment served but to camouflage the darker industries which had
their being in a room contiguous to the one where shaves were a nickel
and haircuts fifteen cents, including musk.
At the back door of the barber shop the Wildcat hesitated for a moment
in an effort to recall the secret knock which gained admittance in the
days before the war. This element of the ritual finally came to him,
and on the rough panels of the door sounded three quick raps followed
by two at more deliberate intervals.
"I gits it 'fused up wid de time I wuz outeh guard to de Lodge ob
Colored Damons. 'At knock wuz fo' an' th'ee. Fish club knock wuz two
an' two. 'Membehs dat. Dat's how de animals come off de Ark, time ob de
flood."
The door opened an inch, and the slot of light from within was
interrupted by a rolling eyeball which surmounted a pair of questioning
liver-coloured lips. "Who dat?"
"Wildcat--Vitus Marsden." The door opened quickly, and the Wildcat
edged into the company of his former associates.
"Men, howdy!"
"Dogged if it ain't ol' Marsden! Boy, how is yo'? Is yo' back f'm de
wah?"
"Heah us is, ain't I?"
Willie Webster, the proprietor of the establishment, came forward.
"Don' see no arms an' no laigs missin'. Yo' neveh used yo' haid nohow,
'ceptin' to eat wid. Boy, how is yo'? Hail de Konk'rin' Hero!"
"Tol'able, Willie." The Konk'rin' Hero looked about him. At a table
against the wall, under the rays of a smoking coal oil lamp, a crap
game was in progress.
The Wildcat's fingers began to itch. He walked over toward the table.
In the outline of one of the figures standing beside the table the
Wildcat identified an acquaintance of his former days. "Seems like I
knows de shape 'at boy's got." The Wildcat edged up to the table.
The owner of the familiar silhouette faced the Wildcat. "Wilecat, how
is you? Hot dam, boy--is you back?"
Honey Tone Boone, the exile uplifter, was quick to conceal the
inconvenient recognition in the extended palm of cordial insincerity.
The Wildcat's mouth opened and closed in cadence with the wild leaping
of his Adam's apple. With difficulty he pacified his organs of speech,
and presently the honey of hypocrisy filtered from the tip of his
tongue. "Honey Tone! Honey Tone de uplifteh! Las' time I seed yo', yo'
wuz in Bo'deaux."
"Las' time you seed me I wuz in trouble."
"How come?" A mask of surprise covered the Wildcat's face.
Honey Tone explained the method of his departure from Bordeaux.
"You kidnapped in de gizzard ob de ol' iron boat! Ain't it s'prisin'!
Us boys sho' missed you."
Honey Tone relapsed into the vernacular. "I'll say 'at's all you
missed. After you made de las' pass wid de gallopin' ivory you sho' lef
me clean. All I had on me wuz cooties. How come you heah, Wilecat?"
"Cap'n Jack brung me. I's still workin' fo' Cap'n Jack. Afteh us landed
offen de boat f'm France us rode de train clear across de country. Jes'
broke loose f'm de army in time to keep f'm gittin' sent to
Russia--place whah dey bury you. What you doin' heah?"
Honey Tone evaded a direct answer. "How's all de rest ob de boys?"
"Ain't seed 'em. Me an' Cap'n Jack came back casual."
"Whah at's he now?"
"Livin' heah. Memphis is de Cap'n's home town. Us jus' got in heah
yes'day. F'm now on I works fo' Cap'n Jack. Ain't much to do, an'
Cap'n's lady sho' foun' a good cook. I aims to eat heavy f'm now on to
ketch up wid whut I missed in de army. Whut is you doin', 'sides
lookin' fo' easy money?"
Honey Tone, the ex-uplifter, was silent for a minute, and then his
organizing instinct welled strong.
"Me? I's organizin' a Returned Heroes' Parade. Us Konk'rin' Heroes what
wore de army unifawm jines in de gran' ruckus."
"Sho! Honey Tone, whut yo' mean army unifawm? You was 'fested with
letheh straps an' uppity talk when I knowed you fust. Now you talks
plain niggah."
"Sounds more homelike." Honey Tone did not feel constrained to explain
the finesse which prompted him to abandon the vocabulary which he had
derived from a year's schooling and considerable subsequent
speech-making.
"Aftah de parade mebbe us organizes de Colored Militarriers of America.
I's been ponderin' considerable how come some ob you ain't started dat
lodge yet? Dues a dollah a month. Parades fo' baptisn's, marryin's, and
funerals. Special buryin' department wheh you gits crematized or
secluded in de ground as you prefers, dependin' whether you pays fo'
bits a week extra or not."
"Sounds half gran'--mebbe folks takes up wid it. Ol' parade sho' sounds
noble." In common with other overseas veterans, the Wildcat listened
strong to the appeal made by the jingling hardware of heroism. He had
visions of himself prancin' along where white folks could look at
him--visions which included an O.D. uniform plentifully festooned with
wound stripes, coloured ribbons, service chevrons, and a few decorative
military crosses.
The group about the crap table thinned out. The Wildcat picked up the
dice. "Does you crave high life, Honey Tone, read a chapteh f'm de
clickers."
"I might ride a couple of r'ars," the uplifter conceded.
The Wildcat produced a bulky roll. Several pairs of gleaming eyeballs
about him testified to the exceptional dimensions of his capital.
To the Wildcat's surprise Honey Tone hauled out a wallet in which lay a
thick package of twenty-dollar bills. Hope burned strong in the
Wildcat's chest, and with the flame of hope the Wildcat warmed the dice
within his hand.
"Shoots ten dollahs. Fade me, Honey Tone, does you crave action."
"You's faded."
"Wham! Ah lets it lay. Shoots twenty dollahs."
"Roll 'em." Honey Tone dropped a twenty-dollar bill, which landed as
gently as a snowflake on the green surface of the table. "Bam! Five an'
a deuce."
Under the heat of the Wildcat's luck the uplifter's green snowflake
melted into his opponent's roll.
"Ah lets it lay. Shoots fo'ty. Fo'ty ways. Shower down, Honey Tone. Mah
luck builds homes fo' de ignorant poor. I's got de musk smell. Bam!
Land, little Dove ob Peace. Land wid yo' bill full ob greens. An' I
reads fo' tray!"
The Wildcat gathered in his winnings. He laid a twenty-dollar bill on
the green table. "Fade me is you frantic."
Honey Tone covered the bet.
"Gallopers, pay de rent. Wham! Morning, rainbow. Wah just begun. Dove
ob Peace got one hot end, like a hornet. Gallopers, see kin yo' uplift
de Honey Tone Jack."
The dice raced on their victorious way.
Twenty minutes later Honey Tone Boone picked up the cubes. The capital
in his leather pocket book had dwindled to a pair of weak-looking
dollar bills. He reached into his pocket, and his hand came forth
clutching a rubber-banded cylinder of currency whose external unit was
a yellow obligation wherein the United States Government promised to
pay the bearer fifty dollars in gold coin, providing the Democrats
overlooked that much.
Honey Tone voiced his challenge.
"Shoots a hund'ed dollahs. De big coin keeps de pikers out."
The Wildcat batted his eyes, but rallied nobly and covered Honey Tone's
bet with five twenties. "Roll 'em," he said huskily.
Honey Tone, rolling 'em, neglected to advertise the fact that when he
reached for his new stake he had switched the dice.
"Seven. Shoots two hund'ed."
"Talk to 'em, Honey Tone." One of the uplifter's admirers offered
verbal encouragement.
"Dey does de talkin'. Shower down, Wildcat. Shoots two hund'ed."
The Wildcat hesitated.
"Shower down," Honey Tone repeated. "You craves action. Git in de
collar. Don't stan' theh poisoned on one foot, like de iron lady in de
park."
The Wildcat glanced about him. He saw several pairs of heavy lips
curling in the bow of derision. He counted out a handful of greenbacks.
"'At's two hund'ed," he said heavily. "Roll 'em." His neck itched. He
sensed the impact of the axe. "How come I crazy?"
The rolling dice halted. The class in addition announced that four and
three made seven.
"I mows de lettuce." Honey Tone picked up his winnings. "Shoots a
hund'ed."
The Wildcat audited his capital. "Sixty's all I got."
"Shoots sixty."
The Wildcat took a deep breath and held on to it until he read on the
clicking cubes the final message of disaster.
"Whuf! 'At's me." Honey Tone looked at his victim, and in the glance of
triumph glowed the dull fire of accomplished revenge.
"Dem bones says who is de Konk'rin' Hero. Dey knows."
The Wildcat picked up the dice and looked them over carefully. "Dice,
wuz clothes a nickel I'se nekked--an' you done it."
Honey Tone reached for the dice. "How come?" he objected.
"Dese dice knows so much Ah thought mebbe dey's educated."
The uplifter was glad enough to ignore the remark in his effort to get
the dice under cover. He switched the subject quickly to one which
would not include an examination of his paraphernalia of chance. "I
counts on you, Wilecat, to be colonel ob de parade."
"Me?" The Wildcat sobered under the responsibility.
"You be de walkin' colonel leadin' de Konk'rin' Heroes."
"Whah at does you come in?"
"I's de ridin' gin'ral whut leads."
"Honey Tone, does you ride, I does. You an' me is 'quivalent, only I's
mo' in dis Konk'rin' Hero business. All de konk'rin' you eveh done wuz
leadin' de sleep squad o' else joyin' roun' in Bo'deaux. No suh! Does
you ride, I does."
"De ridin' part's de hardest. I rides so you boys kin see me give signs
whah at to march. Does you ride, de nex' boy done crave to. He say,
'Whah at's mah mule?' Fust thing yo' knows, all de Konk'rin' Heroes
would be on mules. Dey wouldn't be no more mules lef' in de world.
Figgeh out what 'ud happen to de Horn Band when de mules heard de toots
an' started tromplin' 'em down. Figgeh out could a band ride mules and
play, bofe. Figgeh out some mo' wid yo' haid, 'stid of usin' it to eat
wid so much, an' yo' might figgeh out I's right."
The logic in Honey Tone's objections appealed to the Wildcat. His
imagination painted a contest between the Horn Department of the brunet
brass band and three or four hundred stampeding mules. "I guess yo'
says sense," he admitted. "Us boys walks."
For a little while he and Honey Tone discussed the details of the
impending parade. "When us passes de' gran'stan'," the uplifter
specified, "I gives de salute. You be leadin' de platoon. When you gits
opposite de gran'stan' yo' says 'Eyes right.' 'At's all you does,
'ceptin' to keep marchin'."
"Who's gwine to be in de gran'stan'?"
"In de gran'stan'? Fust dere'll be de 'ception committee, den all
religious organizations, den all de lodges an' grave clubs, den all de
women an' chillen whut ain't 'filiated wid nothin' but husban's an'
kitchen stoves."
Throughout the discussion the Wildcat's unmounted disappointment ached
until it was suddenly quieted by a detail of the 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 saggitate, when a new
thought was born to him. He lay silent, staring above him into the
darkness.
"I's de Supreem Gran' Arrangeh!" he suddenly exclaimed. "I's de double
Grandes' Arrangeh whut is!" A faint bleat sounded from the darkness.
"Shut up, Lily! Fo' I gits th'oo arrangin', yo' an' me bofe rides de
mule does us crave to."