The Wildcat departed on his mission. At the door of Compartment B he encountered a bald-headed gentleman clad in violent pink pajamas. The gentleman's face was festooned with a long, blond mustache. He thrust a coat, a vest, and a pair of trousers through the door at the Wildcat.
"Have these pressed," he ordered. "Here's a brace of shillings for you. Fee the tailor chap."
"Cap'n, yessuh."
The Wildcat returned to the smoking room. "Boy in de 'partment room whut gobbles lak a turkey says, 'Press de clo'es, boy, an' heah's a dollah.' Dollah, how is you? Sho' is easy money."
"English boy. Dey's de clo'es-pressin'est folks in de world, 'ceptin' actors."
"Whah at does I git dese fixed up?"
"No place. Hang de coat up. Sprinkle de pants wid wateh an' lay 'em undeh a pile ob sheets in de linen closet. By mornin' dey's pressed. You charges anotheh dollah."
"Sho' is easy money." The Wildcat hung the Britisher's coat and vest in the smoking room. He walked into the passageway and opened the door of the linen closet. A four-legged cyclone burst from the dark depths of the linen closet. Riding the cyclone was a bedraggled parrot. The parrot showed the wear and tear of travel.
The Wildcat called loudly at the cyclone.
"Lily, halt! 'Tenshun! Whah at's de mil'tary bearin' you got in France? Come heah!"