1.
"All I does is follow mah feet,
'Ceptin' when de boss says, 'Stop an' eat!'
Follow mah feet de whole day through;
Follow mah feet 'till I burns a shoe,
Shovin' a truck load o' po'k an' beans,
Loadin' de boat fo' New O'leans."
Back of his truck on the dock the Wildcat set the pace for his fellows.
The man in front of him found the Wildcat forever at his heels. The man
following had a hard time keeping up.
Now and then the Wildcat's feet abandoned the steady trot for a gait
which included considerable prancing, embellished with a new series of
fancy steps, limited only by the inertia of the freight truck with
which the stepper's ambition was retarded.
"On de down-hill drag let yo' hind legs slide;
Mawnin', Mistah Debbil, git aboa'd an' ride.
Git behin' me, Satan, on de up-hill road,
I'se a one-horse sinner wid a two-horse load."
Late in the afternoon the Wildcat's tactics had converted a group of
admirers who had discovered in the prosaic business of rustling freight
a first-class chance to make a laughing game of it. Meanwhile, they
were moving record tonnage.
At evening the pier foreman sent for the Wildcat. "Tomorrow morning you
take a gang down to Section Seventeen and start moving flour into the
_West King_. There'll be five a day extra in it--that'll buy grub for
the goat."
"Cap'n, yessuh--you means I'se fo'man?"
"That's what I mean. Keep your niggers rustlin'."
"Yass suh! Sho' will!" The Wildcat jerked at Lily's string halter.
"Goat, say you'se 'bliged to de cap'n. Stan' roun' theh, fo' I shows
you who's de boss wid a club!"
"Blaaa!" returned Lily.
The pier foreman smiled. "You might round up some more men if you can
find 'em," he continued. "We can use a lot more. I'll give you twenty
dollars a man for all you can get. Tell 'em ten a day, with grub and
quarters furnished here on the dock."
"Cap'n, you means I gits twenty dollars fo' ev'y stevedo' nigger whut I
'cumulates?"
"That's it."
"How much is a hund'ed niggers, suh?"
"Two thousand dollars."
"Cap'n, you gits 'em tomorr'. Us kin rule dat many single handed--me
'suadin' an' Lily rammin'. Mebbe two hund'ed. Come on heah, goat! Le's
go!"
The Wildcat left the pier with visions of a military formation of a
million men, marching steadily toward a place where they were worth
twenty dollars apiece to him. In his dream of being king of all labour
agents he failed to include the difficulties with which his pathway was
beset. The stevedores' strike, gaining strength each day, now included
a floating committee whose duty it was to discourage the enlistment of
new labour.
The Wildcat borrowed a dollar and ate supper at the lunch counter where
he had met Trombone, hoping that he might again encounter that
individual. Ranged about him were ten or fifteen hearty eaters; and to
this group, at the termination of his own meal, he addressed his
invitation to participate in the business of loading steamships with
outbound freight. "Ten dollahs a day, boy, comf'table place fo'
sleepin', an' all de grub you kin eat."
His oration fell on barren ground. He left the lunch counter without
having gained a single recruit. "C'm on heah, Lily. Dese city niggers
sho' is triflin'. Whut us needs is fiel' han's, o' else some heavy
'suader like a hoe handle. Us aims to sleep some now. Mebbe tomorr'
Lady Luck boons me wid men whut craves a job wid rations an' ten
dollahs a day."
For a while the next morning the work of loading the _West King_ with
flour lagged a little under the direction of the new foreman. At eleven
o'clock, noting the epidemic of reluctance to move out of a slow drag
which had afflicted his gang, the Wildcat climbed to the top of a tier
of flour barrels. He took out his knife and whittled through the hoops
of a barrel. He resumed his place on the pier. "Break down dat top
line. Git movin'! Haul out 'at bottom bar'l! Stan' back when dey
comes!"
They came. An avalanche of rolling barrels rolled wildly across the
deck of the pier. The top one on which the hoops were cut landed with a
smash in the centre of an explosive spray of flour. The atmosphere was
suddenly white dust.... Black complexions presently became grey.
Perspiring freight jugglers began to laugh at their fellows. In three
minutes the roof of the pier was echoing back the volleys of
high-pitched laughter which lifted from below. Until noon, and then
through the long afternoon, all that the Wildcat's men did was to laugh
their heads off at the slightest provocation and move more freight than
the ship's cargo booms could handle.
"Ah likes biscuits an' Ah likes bread,
Doan' like 'em plastered on mah head,
Craves to have 'em spread around on mah inside,
'Sted of havin' dough a-drippin' off mah hide."
The pier foreman, passing the Wildcat's crew late in the afternoon,
paused to look the deal over. "Everything all right?"
"Cap'n, yessuh. Dey's good boys. 'Clined to mope some at fust, but dey
got laughin' some way. Since den dey's been movin' 'long."
Without knowing it, the Wildcat had mixed the essence of all the
theories of efficiency into one barrel of flour. The results of the
administered dose were showing on the tally boards in the freight
office at the end of the long pier. The transportation superintendent
sent for the pier foreman. "Jim, who is handling the flour into the
_West King_?"
"Young nigger called Wildcat--right name is Marsden. Got him
yesterday."
"Keep him forever. The _Empire_ docks tomorrow for a mixed cargo for
New Orleans. Sixteen thousand tons. Let this Wildcat boy handle all of
it--as long as he lasts."
2.
On Friday morning Honey Tone groaned himself awake, realizing when his
eyes were open that less than thirty-six hours lay between his fragile
form and blood-tinted trouble. It seemed to him that his self-appointed
guardians clung closer with the passage of the hours, as if they
suspected their soopreem treasury of perfecting a plot which might
include his exit. The obligations of the moment were four thousand
dollars, and in Honey Tone's bulging pocket but three-fourths of that
amount awaited the pay hour which would come with Saturday night.
Saturday dawned, and with it the sprout of an idea had shoved through
the graveyard ground of Honey Tone's dejection. In mournful tones,
hardly hoping that success would attend his latest scheme, he announced
it to his guardian deppities. "Brethren, yo' leadeh's efforts has been
rewarded like de oil in de widow's croose. F'm now on us pays back de
original 'scription wid a hund'ed per cent intres', an'--hearkin' unto
dese words--oveh an' above de 'riginal an' de intres', a bonus equal to
de 'vestment! Doan ask what de Lawd means when de blessin' showers
down. Git in de rain an' git wet wid cash. Th'ee fo' one--dat's whut
pays!"
At evening, before he took his place at the pay table, he repeated the
announcement. The rooms of the Temple were crowded and the flock was
silent, hanging with acute interest on the Soopreemest's words. Honey
Tone held up his hand. He bowed right and left, and the glittering
tinsel on the mandarin cap reflected the colour of minted gold from the
yellow lights. He held aloft the hilt of the gilded sword that swung
from his yellow belt. He sheathed his sword and parked his nervous left
hand in the folds of the yellow sash that draped across his chest.
"Brethren ob de Temple: Sow an' reap. As you sows, you likewise reaps.
De Goddess of Gold, an' de lady's husban' ol' man Midas, has smiled
agin upon ou' humble efforts. Tonight Ah makes a momentous announcement
befo' Ah returns wid intres' de 'vestments you made las' week. Up to
now de 'financial repayments has been two fo' one. F'm now on us pays
twice dat much!"
He paused to let his words sink in. "Fo' eve'y dollah you 'vests you
gits de dollah back, anotheh dollah for intres', an', as a special
bonus, anotheh dollah whut makes de th'ee fo' one. Dis Special
'Vestment Depahtment is open now an' will be run wid de lef han' whilst
de right, not knowin' whut de lef' han' does, pays out yo' las' week's
cash. Fawm in line. Ah pays an' receives at de same table. Who is de
fust brotheh? Yass indeed! Heah's yo' money--an' you says you craves to
'vest it in de th'ee fo' one fund. Praise de Lawd! De los' sheep sees
de light."
Some there were who failed to see the light, but by strenuous
persuasion Honey Tone managed to reclaim enough of his payments to
piece out the missing thousand.
Over and above the success he enjoyed in keeping his epidermis free
from the parked razors of revenge, he pouched a few hundred dollars'
surplus before the hour of payment ceased. With it, including the
borrowed and juggled thousand, he had incurred an obligation to repay
another staggering sum on the following Saturday night.
Thankful for his escape from the crisis of the moment and a little bit
shaken by the acute peril which had confronted him, he sat heavily at
the pay table, and sagged down in his soopreem robes. He ran his eye
over the pay list, and for the first time he noticed an unpaid
investor. "Pike Canfield--$100.00."
A knock sounded at the outer door. The outer guard clattered in.
"Brotheh Canfield, an' a strange brotheh who desires to be led
straight."
"Tell Brotheh Canfield to enteh unto de Soopreem presence," Honey Tone
returned, according to the ritual. Then, under his breath, "Dam 'at
Trombone nigger. How come he so promp' at de las' minute?"