1.
The convention of the Nobles of the Mysterious Mecca dwindled into the
final stage that attends all conventions. Golf was eliminated, and
business was the order of the day. The Mud Turtle left him; and
thereafter the Wildcat suffered indirectly, being threatened with a
resumption of his responsibility as porter on the special car that had
brought the Chicago contingent west to San Francisco. A sense of
restraint gradually killed off the wild free business of roaming the
Lincoln Park golf course at so much per roam, eating heavy on the
proceeds, and sleeping twelve hours a day.
Arrayed in his yaller raiment, he sought the offices of the Pullman
company and got confidential with the office boy. "I's de po'teh fo' de
blue fezant boys--dis heah Mysterious Mecca business. Dey tells me us
leaves fo' Chicago real soon. Ah jus' been down at de deepo lookin' fo'
de cah. Whah at is dat cah? Me 'an Lily aims to git it swep' out befo'
de gen'men comes."
The office boy took the Wildcat's message to an inner office. Two
minutes later the answer came back in the person of a gentleman who was
trying to hold his temper. "You're fired! You started with your car in
Chicago, left it in Wyoming, and here you are! Git out of here before
I--"
"Cap'n, yessuh!" The Wildcat knew a gesture when he saw it. He
retreated, dragging his mascot goat a little too fast for Lily's
comfort.
"Goat, doggone you, whut fo' did you go A.W.O.L. an' git us bofe
loose f'm dat railroad job? Heah us is wid only fo' bits, an' all yo'
fault."
Lily admitted the charge in a plaintive bleat which softened the harsh
language which her master was bellowing at his mascot in the din of
Market Street. Presently the Wildcat forgot the acute misery of not
having any hard work staring him in the face. "Us has fo' bits. 'Ats
mo' money dan mos' folks has. Lily, us eats.
"I don't bother work, work don't bother me.
I'se fo' times as happy as a bumble bee.
Us eats when us kin git it, sleeps mos' all de time--"
At a lunch counter on Sutter Street much frequented by members of his
race the Wildcat spread the fifty cents out over rations that made up
in mass what they lacked in delicacy. Half way through the meal he
slacked up enough to get talkative. The boy next to him at the lunch
counter was confronted with enough food to hold him for a few minutes;
and it was at this more fortunate individual that the Wildcat directed
his remarks. "Podneh, whah at kin a boy locate a job of work in dis
yere town?"
"Whah you f'm?"
"Me an' mah mascot hails f'm Memphis."
"How come you so fah f'm home?"
"Boy, whah at did you meet up wid so much wantin' to know?"
"Good many jail niggers loose. Thought maybe--"
"Don't think no mo'. Don't think 'nuther word 'bout me an' Lily. I come
f'm de ahmy. Two yeahs in France, an' lately I lef' de Pullman railroad
people whut hires sleepin' cah po'tehs. 'At's all. Ain't no jail
connected wid me. All I craves is a job whut pays money."
"De wages at de docks unloadin' steamboats is ten dollahs a day.
Depen's on how much money you needs. Dey wants stevedores bad. Dey's a
strike."
"Boy, dey has me! I'se a bad stevedo'. Whah at is dis boat-unloadin'
bizness?"
The boy revealed the location of the ten-dollar job. "You trails along
afteh you gits to de wateh whah de big boats is. Half a mile f'm de
ferry buildin' you sees a gang standin' round. Them's strikers. You
goes through, an' de boss shows you whah to head in. Does you know de
stevedo' business?"
"I'll say us does. Me an' de res' ob de Fust Service Battalion unloaded
all de boats whut landed in France durin' de wah. How come you ain't
workin' yo'self at de ten-dollah job?"
"I'se a 'vestor. 'Vested some cash in a new o'ganization whut was
instigated heah lately. Pays big. Two fo' one ev'y week. You gives de
ol' Soopreem Leadeh fifty dollahs, an' nex' week back he comes wid a
hund'ed. You hol's out some an' 'vests de res'. Nex' week you reaps
agin. Pays fifty, gits a hund'ed."
"Whah at is dis Soopreem man?"
"Thought you tol' me you was broke. How come you lie so?"
"Ain't said no lie."
"You's broke, ain't you? What good does dis Soopreem man do you 'less
you kin 'vest wid him? Git yo' job, an' when you has beginnin' money I
meets you an' reveals whah at is de gol' mine."
"Meet you heah nex' Sat'dy night. 'At's pay night, I s'poses."
"You s'poses right. Ah meets you Sat'day."
"Sho' will. Podneh, whut name is you favored with? I goes by name
Wilecat--by rights I was baptized Vitus Marsden." The Wildcat held out
the hand of brotherhood.
"Call me Trombone when you calls confidential," his companion replied.
"By rights I is Pike Canfield, but folks calls me Trombone eveh since
me an' de name got famous. Mebbe you is heard of me. I plays de slip
horn."
"Sho' I is--many's de time! So you is Trombone, is you? Sho' proud to
meet up wid you. Sho' 'bliged fo' de knowledge concernin' de ten-dollah
job. Soon as I 'cumulates some payday me an' Lily meets you heah nex'
Sat'day night. Den us 'vests wid de Soopreem Leadeh an' mebbe has a
gran' ruckus wid de profits."
That night the Wildcat slept free and chilly on a park bench, covered
only with the blanket of fog which rolled in at midnight.
Shortly after dawn, with Lily at his heels, he walked to the entrance
of the pier against which lay a cargo ship loading for a famine area in
Europe. "Whah at is de man whut hires de han's?" he asked.
Two hours later the foreman of the dock gang was pointed out to him,
and in ten minutes, with Lily tied to a barrel of nutritious pickles,
the Wildcat took his place in the long line of stevedores that hustled
freight out of the pier shed and into the nets under the cargo booms of
the ship. "Lily--tonight us eats on credit, an' sleeps inside some
place whah de fog weatheh don't git."
All the stevedore crew were members of the Wildcat's own race. Before
noon he had affiliated with enough friends to make the matter of
noontime lunch a simple business of accepting part of what was offered
him, while Lily did the best she could on enough assorted nutriment to
feed six mascots.
Considering the start he had made that morning, the Wildcat realized,
with his seventh sandwich, that life isn't so bad if you manage to live
through it. When he began the afternoon shift his ancient philosophy
had returned, and to the clatter of the activity about him he
contributed his rambling voice. Presently the words of his song
recruited a few converts from the gang about him; and by four o'clock,
with the freight moving faster than it had for many a day, the hollow
spaces in the long pier were filled with the echoes that lifted from an
intermittent chorus which proclaimed that
"I kin load a steamboat, load it full wid freight;
I kin load a steamboat when it's leavin' late.
Dat's de reason I'se as happy as a bee,
I don't botheh work, an' work don't botheh me."
Throughout the late hours of the afternoon the eyes of the foreman were
on the Wildcat. "Hustlin' nigger. Make him a straw boss tomorrow if
this keeps up."
2.
Honey Tone realized that rank imposes commensurate obligation before
his Temple of Luck campaign had lived a week. Too much rank imposed too
much obligation, and so the Swamic Church and the Faith Healing and the
Palm Reading Magi and several other verbal branches of his project were
discarded before the several deppity soopreem leaders got too soopreem
to handle. The backbone of his income was at once the Temple Fund; and
this important business demanded and received all of his energy except
that demanded by his elaborate pictures of the New World African Colony
in Brazil.
The Temple Fund, paying all investors a hundred per cent a week, was
popular from the start. On the first dividend day Honey Tone made the
grade without difficulty, and all subscriptions were repaid, together
with a bonus of a like amount. Immediately after the ceremony of
repayment was completed, the backwash of investment began to roll in,
and by the evening the promoter counted more than a thousand dollars in
his hip pocket treasury. On the next day a new group of subscribers to
whom the news had been retailed milled about the doors of the temporary
Temple for a chance to register and donate their investments. Honey
Tone, operating in a rented house, herded the investors into a room
where his voice could pulverize the sediment of reluctance which
remained in his hearers' minds, leaving no dregs of doubt that might
cloud the nectar of hope.
He donned a serious looking coat, long and black, and swept a broad
yellow sash across his chest. On his head rested a Manchu mandarin cap
purchased in Chinatown and revised with ornament suitable for the
insignia of the Soopreemest. About his waist was the equator part of a
Sam Brown belt, and from it dangled a Civil War cavalry sabre whose
scabbard had suffered two coats of gilt paint, not quite dry. He
retained his ordinary street shoes; life was a battle, and you never
could tell when the bugles of fate might blow recall. Street shoes came
in handy when there was any heavy running to be done.
In his uniform he addressed the herded investors. "Breth'rin, de books
is closed fo' de present week. All whut paid yistiddy gits dey money
back, 'long wid de same amout fo' intres' nex', Satidy mawnin'. Dem
whut pays de 'scriptions now gits de 'vestment an' de hund'ed per cent
intres' de Satidy afteh nex'. De books is now open, de gol' seal
c'tificates is ready. Fawm in line an' git yo' money ready.... Ten
dollahs, brotheh. Heah's yo' papeh. Now you is a Deppity Soopreem
Leadeh, 'titled to de red sash.... Nex' Satidy us 'lects de ten
Soopreem Gov'nors fo' de leadin' districts in de New Worl' African
Colony at Barzil. Boat leaves wid de 'ficials an' de p'visions nex'
month. 'Lection is by de lucky numbehs. Soopreem 'ficials gits a house
an' ten thousan' milrice--dat's Barzil dollahs--ev'y month to travel
roun' wid an' see is de distric' doin' O.K.... Fifteen dollahs--dat
'titles you to de Yaller Sash of Trust. Chances is you sho' will be a
Soopreem Gov'nor. Nex' brotheh...."
On the following Saturday Honey Tone managed to postpone the election
of the Soopreem Governors for the ten districts of the colony and to
sidestep the various vague promises that he had sown so lavishly
throughout the preceding two weeks, but in the department of finance
there was no evasion, short of flight, and in the white light that
forever beat about him escape for the moment was impossible. He sensed
the growing pyramid of final retribution and began to formulate plans
whereby the mantle of responsibility might be transferred to other
aspiring shoulders.
The cumulative financial problem was a simple matter of geometrical
progression, at the far end of which lay a solution consisting of
several quarts of blood. He faced a wire-edged razor, seeking a
gilt-edged dodge, and so far his brain had failed to formulate the safe
way out.
His attempts at transferring the long end of the load to the strutting
deppities who hung around the Temple of Luck met with less success.
"Long as you stays Soopreem enough to wrassle wid de financial
department, us leaves you run it. You is soopreem now. Stay dat way."
Later on Brother Livingstone approached Honey Tone and warned the
leader to stay Soopreem or pay the charges on one life-size mistake.
"Confidential like, Honey Tone, I tells you stay soopreem o' else tell
de grave committee de facts fo' yo' tombstone."
The person of the Soopreem Leader became the object of watchful care on
the part of three shifts of Deppity Gardeens. Day and night there were
two or three watchful waiters on the job.
The fourth pay day was approaching and with it an obligation to pay out
more than four thousand dollars. Receipts were falling off. On
Wednesday night Honey Tone's bankroll audited less than three thousand
dollars. He tried to split the pot with the Deppity Gardeens in return
for liberty. In this he failed.
On Thursday night, as near as he could see, all the gates were closed.
He was on a one-way road.