1.
At breakfast on the following morning he repeated his invitation to
Captain Jack's cook. "Ol' Cap'n an' de Lady bofe gone away. No need you
stayin' roun' here all de time. Git to de gran'stan' early an' git a
front seat. Mebbe you'll meet up wid one ob mah pussonal lady
fren's--Cuspidora Lee, whut I boa'ded wid befo' de wah claimed me.
Cuspido' said she g'wine to weah a big pink hat wid yaller feathers.
'At's how you knows her. You sees me an' mah mascot when us swings pas'
de gran' stan'. Ah'll be follerin' de Supreem Leader. He be ridin' a
mule."
The Wildcat spent the next half hour festooning his mascot goat with
raiment appropriate for the grand march. Lily's O.D. service coat was
brightened with a red tissue paper sash. The Wildcat sewed a turkey
wing fan to the mascot's overseas cap and wired the gaudy combination
securely in place between Lily's horns.
"Hot dam! I says you parades." For himself he borrowed a few things
which lay here and there in the trunk room of Captain Jack's house. He
stowed his own paraphernalia in a gunnysack. Leading Lily, he made his
way to the neighbour's woodshed wherein was stabled the overgrown
night-braying mule.
"Gimme dis heah mule, boy--an' a saddle," he said to the brunet
guardian of the neighbour's mule. "I needs him temporary."
"How come?"
"I craves him fo' de Culled Heroes' Parade. Some day I gives you two
bits does you lend him half a day. All he does in heah is eat you po'
an' wake folks up."
"Whah at's de two bits?" The exchange was effected, and presently,
leading the mule and the festooned mascot, the Wildcat arrived at the
rendezvous in front of Willie Webster's establishment. He tethered the
mule to a hitching post and led Lily into the barber shop.
"How come de goat?" one of the assemblage questioned.
"See dem stripes? Lily went th'oo more battles dan you has sense. F'm
now on, whah at I is, Lily is. Bible says, 'Whah at de goat, dere is Ah
also goat.' Stan' up heah, Lily."
The mascot was vainly endeavouring to eat the feathers from the top of
her own head.
"Ca'm yo'se'f. Whah at's de Supreem Parade Leadeh?"
Honey Tone Boone stepped out of the adjoining room. "'At you, Wildcat?
Whah at's mah steed?"
"Hitched outdoors. Sho' is rarin' to go. Parade-leadinest mule Ah eveh
see."
Honey Tone took a look through the window at his conspicuous mount.
"Sure looms up. How come de goat?"
"'At goat's mah pussonal luck."
Honey Tone looked sideways at the Wildcat. "Does yo' feel like backin'
yo' luck wid a jingle, mebbe I 'bliges yo' sudden. Dey's a racetrack in
de back room does you crave to gallop yo' luck a couple of heats."
The Wildcat accepted the challenge. The pair walked quickly into the
back room.
"Shoots a dollah!" He explored himself for silver and revised his
challenge. "Shoots fifty cents. Ain't got but sixty, an' I needs a dime
fo' goobers does I lose."
"Boy, roll 'em." Honey Tone proffered a pair of anxious dice, but the
Wildcat paid no attention to the offer.
"I got mah pussonal weapons," he said. He fished a pair of dice from
his left shoe. "Dey speaks de language. Gallopehs, git right. Wham! Ah
tol' you! Ah lets it lay. Shoots a dollah."
Honey Tone faded the bet. "Roll 'em." The Wildcat touched the tips of
his fingers to Lily's head. "Goat, stan' by me." His swinging hand
released a pair of dice whose innocent upturned faces presently
revealed a four and a trey. "Seven! Ah lets it lay. Whole hog o' de
squeal."
"Roll 'em!"
"Bam. Six an' five. Ah done climbed de luck tree. Honey Tone, shake me
out. Shoots fo' dollahs. Lily, stan' by me!"
"Blaa!" remarked Lily.
"Boy, roll 'em." Honey Tone began to itch for possession of the dice.
"Asleep in de snowdrift. When Lily says 'blaa' Ah lets 'em ride."
"An' seven! Ah lets it lay."
"Shoot, you fool, nobody neveh made five passes."
"Nobody but me." The Wildcat opened his dusky palm and a natural seven
leaped to the gaze of a waiting world. Honey Tone's eyes bulged with
surprise.
The Wildcat accumulated his winnings. From the crumpled handful of
bills he selected a dollar bill, which he twisted into a tempting
little salad bouquet. "Lily, eat this fo' luck. Ah reaps de greens to
nutrify mah mascot! Shoots ten dollahs!"
Lily munched delicately on the dollar bill while the Wildcat continued
with the harvest. The deeper Honey Tone sank into the bogs of chance,
the more he resented the introduction of the Wildcat's trained dice.
Once, in the run of hard luck, he showed signs of weakening, but the
Wildcat was quick to rally him with the adroit tongue of flattery.
"One thing I'll say fo' Honey Tone--win or lose, dat boy rides along.
Sho' is a vet'ran sport."
In the Wildcat's compliment Honey Tone's effort to unload from the
wreckbound train of chance found defeat. He rode along, hope springing
eternal, until his financial condition approximated zero.
"Shoots twenty dollars." The Wildcat's announcement leaped from a pair
of belligerent lungs.
"Ain't got but 'leven fifty." Honey Tone's voice was husky.
"Shoots 'leven fifty." The game was delayed a moment while the Wildcat
hunted for appropriate minor currency. "Heah's de fifty cents I stahted
wid. Lily, at ease!" The Southern Hemisphere of the mascot subsided.
"Honey Tone, you sin-'fested uplifteh, feel de axe. Bam! Dey reads four
trey. Lily, at res'."
The victorious Wildcat added the last of his winnings to the bulky roll
inside his pocket. "'At winds yo' up, big boy. De Supreem leadin' mule
rides easier now. Yo' weighs six hund'ed dollahs less."
A unit on the outer fringe of the pop-eyed audience pressed forward to
where the Wildcat stood. "Same ol' cyclone," he said in greeting.
"Wilecat, you 'membehs me? I ain't seed sich a fust-class cleanin'
since us fit de battle of Bo'deaux an' yo' win all de payday us boys
got."
The Wildcat suddenly recognized the speaker. "Backslid! How come yo'
heah? Hot dog! I sho' is glad to see yo'."
"Ah come home casual, count of stummik mis'ry th'ee weeks afteh yo' lef
Bo'deaux," the Backslid Baptist explained. "Sho' is glad to see yo'."
"You 'membehs Honey Tone?" The Wildcat introduced the uplifter. "Honey
Tone leads de parade. Us starts in five minutes. Jine in, Backslid, an'
yo' marches 'longside ob me an' Lily."
"Sho' 'steem to, Wilecat, but I takes mah run dis aftehnoon."
"How come run?"
"I's back on de ol' job runnin' Pullman out of Chicago. I's due out on
de Fliah fo' Chicago at two-fo'ty. Any time yo' craves a ramble on de
cushions, roun' me up. Ah stakes yo' to a white coat an' yo' is aced in
as mah helpeh. Pullman service is crammed wid dead-head helpehs now de
Guv'ment's runnin' de lines. An' Boy--once us 'rives at Chicago de
gran' ruckus begins!"
"Backslid, 'at sho' sounds noble. Some day me an' Lily sho' make a trip
wid you."
The Wildcat and his former associate were interrupted by Honey Tone
Boone. "Wilecat, you's de Supreem Arrangeh, ain't you? Roun' up de
humans. Fawm de parade. Us starts."
The Wildcat threw back his head and addressed the gathering in the
barber shop. "Company, 'tenshun! All de niggahs in de room whut's gwine
to jine de gran' parade, fall out de do' an' fall in!" He led the rush
for the exit. Outdoors he repeated the announcement. "Gran' parade led
by Honey Tone Boone. Followin' me an' Lily comes de brass ban'. Den
comes de Sons ob Damon. Sons ob Damon wearin' de yellah belly ban's
walks ahead. Followin' de Sons ob Damon, de Knights wid de Red Pants
falls in. Parade marches fo' an' fo', ladies outside. Keep off de car
tracks. Followin' de Knights wid de Red Pants comes de 'Filiated
Toilers.
"Cornet Club comes nex', 'ceptin' de big bass drum. Fetch dat bass drum
oveh heah. Yo' marches by me."
He turned to a group of human beings whose sole common characteristic
was their colour and the colour of the sashes which were tied about
them. "Whut outfit is you boys?"
"Us is de Committee ob Culled Democrats."
"How come they let you out ob jail? Fall in behin' de lunch wagon.
'At's whah you gin'lly is."
The drum-bamming giant took his place opposite the Wildcat. The Wildcat
turned to the Supreme Organizer of the Culled Militarriers of America.
"Git abo'ad 'at steed, Honey Tone," he said.
Honey Tone clambered on to the mule with the assistance of a pair of
agile bystanders. The Wildcat closed his eyes and lifted his head high
in the air. "Company, 'tenshun!" He turned to the drum-bammer opposite
him. "Le-e-t's go!"
"Bam!" The crash inside the bass drum found a deafening echo in a blare
of exploding horns and cornets. Lily shied close beside her master.
Honey Tone's mule drooped a languid ear over a bulging eyeball as if to
shut out a vision of impending disaster, and then, at the second note
from the bass drum, the mule leaped into a wild gallop. Before the
marchers had covered a hundred feet Honey Tone and his jug-head mount
had passed the fire hall three blocks down the street.
The parade marched steadily toward the ball park. Ten minutes later
Honey Tone and the mule clattered past the parade. "Ol' mule sho'
steers noble, but he kain't stop," the Wildcat announced to the
drum-bammer opposite him.
On Honey Tone's third visit the Wildcat called loudly to him. "Head 'at
mule roun' nex' time an' back him in de ball park." The Supreme
Organizer's reply was lost in a clatter of hoofs.
2.
At the ball park the parade waited for the intermittent uplifter. As
Honey Tone galloped past the head of the column he did a Brodie and
landed breathless against the big bass drum. "Boom!"
"Whuf!" he said. "Ketch dat mule!" The hero blood pulsed strong in the
veins of the Knights with the Red Pants. They rallied to the rescue.
The organization deployed, and presently the big night-braying mule was
again delivered into Honey Tone's reluctant hands.
"Wait till Ah 'ranges 'at steed." The Wildcat loosened the saddle
girth. Unseen by Honey Tone, he removed a small horseshoe from between
the saddle blanket and the mule's epidermis. "Sho' brings de luck. Some
boy got de luck hunch figgered wrong. Git aboa'd, Honey Tone.--Blanket
got wrinkled. He done ca'm down now. Ah knows him. Git aboa'd an' lead
de parade into de ball park an' pas' de gran'stan'."
In the face of the assemblage Honey Tone could not back down. He
mounted the mule. To his surprise the animal walked slowly and with all
the peculiar dignity that a mule can summon. The uplifter looked down
at the Wildcat. "Line 'em up fo' de gran' entry," he said.
The Wildcat turned and called loudly to the marching column. "Company,
'tenshun! Heads up fo' de gran' entry." He turned to his companion.
"Keep de drum goin'. Ah waits to see de parade git by an' is eve'ything
arranged right." The Wildcat faded out. When the end of the marching
column passed him he walked quickly to a policeman who was standing
near the portals of the entrance to the ball park.
"Cap'n, suh," he said to the policeman, "'at mule leadin' de parade
b'longs to Misteh Joe Carroll, whut's de neighbour ob Cap'n Jack
Stuart, whah at I wucks. Ah ain't sayin' 'at ridin' niggah stole 'at
mule, but Ah knows Misteh Carroll neveh lent him. 'At niggah's no good.
Ah knows him."
"What outfit is this parade?" the officer asked.
"Ain't no outfit. 'At triflin' niggah on de mule claims he's organizin'
a new lodge--gits folks wild to jine, and den lif's de 'nitiation
money. Nex' day mebbe turns up in Vicksburg o' some place else whah
some mo' fool niggahs craves to jine on wid him. He sho' don' b'long
here. Ah knows him!"
A record is a record. An arrestis an arrest, and the capture of a mule
thief is a star of magnitude in any one's official crown. The policeman
walked into the ball park and headed across to where a companion
officer was standing in front of the grandstand. At the moment, in the
grandstand Cuspidora Lee and Captain Jack's cook, seated together, were
just beginning to get acquainted. "Seems like I knows dat boy," the
cook remarked. "'At boy on de big mule."
"I knows him too." The tenor of pride rang in Cuspidora's
pronouncement. "Ah knows him well. He's de Supreem Parade Organizeh.
'At man's rich--on'y las' night at de weegee 'semblage in mah house he
showed me nearly six hunn'ed dollahs. When de social visitin' part
starts afteh de parade I gives yo' a howdy-do, does yo' crave to meet
up wid him; but don' git triflin' wid him, woman. 'At's all. He's mah
man."
"How come?"
Cuspidora brindled engagingly.
"Us aims to git married soon as de local organizin' is finished."
"Ain't it gran'? Whut yo' say his name is?"
Honey Tone and his trailing parade were plodding along toward Cuspidora
Lee and Captain Jack's cook. When Honey Tone came closer Cuspidora
waved archly at the Supreme Organizer.
"Whut yo' say his name is?" The ponderous cook at Cuspidora's side
repeated her question.
The Lee lips answered absently. "Boone--Huntington Boone."
The cook swept the back of her hand across her eyes. "Boone! 'At's
him!" She turned to Cuspidora. "You aims to marry him, does you? Well,
marry him sudden. Ah aims to kill him. 'At niggah an' me married each
other two yeahs befo' he went to wah!"
The cook bellowed hoarsely once in the Supreme Organizer's direction.
"Honey Tone!" A shrill echo came from Cuspidora's lips. The Supreme
Organizer wilted from the deck of his mule. Without looking around, he
started for the entrance of the ball park, but before he had covered
half the distance he was overtaken by a furious tigress. Cuspidora Lee
had outdistanced Honey Tone's wife in her pursuit of the Organizer, and
to her went first blood. At Cuspidora Lee's hands Honey Tone took the
count just in time to get his chattering teeth full of his enraged
wife's crunching heels. "Stan' back, Cuspido'! Ah aims to tromple 'at
snake in de dust!"
Thereafter, for a space of minutes the massacre proceeded with
systematic fury. It ended only when the policeman unlimbered a wicked
sap and forcibly dragged the battling brunettes from their crumpled
victim.
"Git to hell away from that nigger," the officer yelled at the two
women. With the assistance of a hearty boost from the policeman, the
Supreme Organizer struggled to his feet.
"Lemme go--lemme go!" he gasped.
Wham! The two-foot swagger stick in the hand of the police officer
found its target. "Shut up, you mule-stealin' baboon. Come on here! You
git fifty years in jail if we don't lynch you!"
Honey Tone Boone, the uplifter, trailed along with the policeman.
The Wildcat, with his mascot goat close beside him in the shadows of
the entrance to the ball park, witnessed the consummation of his plans.
"Ah'll say I's de Supreem Gran' Arrangeh!" he exulted. "Grandes'
'rangeh whut is! Eve'ything sho' is 'ranged noble."
He tied a leading-string around the mascot's neck. "Come on heah, Lily.
Us fades befo' Honey Tone busts loose f'm de jail. Us rides de Fliah to
Chicago wid ol'Backslid. He's mah fren'. Le's go!"