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 ow............