The Wildcat soothed himself with three strenuous gulps. "Whuf! Liquor, how de do!"
The Backslid Baptist departed with the third cargo of ice-water for the gentleman in Lower 7. He returned after a little while. Dangling from his fingers and carried in his arms were a dozen pairs of shoes.
He threw the shoes down on the end seat in the smoking room. "Start to work on de shoes, Wilecat. Don' do nothin' to de new shoes—much—an' hit de ol' ones light. De middle-grade shoes gits a good shinin'. Folks whut weahs middle-grade shoes is ol'-time travellers an' gin'ally comes up strong wid de income tax fo' us boys."
The bell in the passageway sounded its summons.
"Doggone! See who dat is."
The apprenticed Wildcat read the indicator. "Ain't no numbeh. De little hand turned on de letters."
"Whut de letters say?"
"Backslid, you knows I kain't read."
The Backslid Baptist set the nearly empty bottle of gin on the washstand and walked into the passageway.
"'Partment B," he announced upon his return. "Dey's two 'partments, A and B, and a drawin' room. You knows 'B' when you sees it. Knock at de do' an' ask whut is it."