A restless kangaroo made a thirty-foot leap. "Lawd Gawd, Cap'n, does you kill dem debbils wid clubs? I craves a cannon an' forty miles' range, or else one o' them airplane flyin' things."
"All you have to do is to stand right close behind me and you'll be safe."
The Wildcat's training had taught him to trust the word of a white man. "Cap'n, yes, suh." As far as he was concerned, the conversation was ended, but in spite of the Potent Noble's reassuring words, a feeling of uneasiness seemed to undermine him.
At the hunting preserves in Lincoln Park it became evident that luck was not with the two golf-killing Nobles of the Mysterious Mecca, because about all these two gentlemen did was to continue the monotonous business of knocking a couple of innocent looking white balls across the landscape. Every now and then they would come upon a grass lawn with an iron cup in the centre of it, and then each Potent Noble would waste a lot of time urging his ball into the cup with the short and deadly putter which was normally used for slaughtering whisky golfs which sneaked up on you.
After the first mile or two the zest of the chase was dulled by the Wildcat's habitual languor. He edged over towards the Mud Turtle. "Mud Turtle, 'spec' dese gen'men gwine to give us fo' bits, mebbe, fo' he'pin 'em hunt dese golfs what we ain't seed. Ah feels dismal. Every time dey shoots 'at ball, s'posin' you an' me shoots ten cents?"
"How come, Wilecat? You knows us cain't monkey wid dis huntin' game."
"I don't mean monkey wid de huntin'," the Wildcat returned. "Is you got a lead pencil? 'Sposin' us marks de li'l white balls wid de dice freckles an' reads 'em when dey drops. Fust you take one time, den I takes anotheh. Us plays some mountain dominoes. Got to do sumpin', else us goes to sleep. Den like as not some ragin' golf sneak up an' eat yo' innards fo' you has a chance to wake up. Le's try shootin' some sevens at de scenery."
Action followed the Wildcat's words, and presently the two golf balls then in use were marked with a pattern of black dots running from the gentle ace to the belligerent six spot. Thereafter the two Potent Nobles had reason to wonder at the sudden industry exhibited by their caddies, who leaped after each ball almost before the club had touched it.
"Bam! Look at that boy go, Jim! I wish we could get caddies like that in Chicago; the lazy devils never would go after a ball. These fellows are bears."
"They're all good,—the best caddies I ever had were niggers in the south,—after you get 'em woke up, that is."