The Wildcat was a stranger to everybody present except the Backslid Baptist.
"Who dat boy?" one of the group of porters asked.
"Learnin' boy f'm Memphis. Ah knows him." With this endorsement the Wildcat was plunged into the game.
"Gimme dem bones. Hind laigs at res'." The Wildcat subsided to the floor. "Fingehs, lemme see kin you play de pickpocket jazz. Shoots five dollahs. Wham! Ah reads a feeble five. Five stay alive. Five Ah craves. Lady Luck, boon me. P'odigal five, come home whah de fat calf waits. Bam! Th'ee an' a deuce. Ah lets it lay. Shoots ten dollahs. Shower down ten dollahs an' see de train robbeh perform. Shower down, brothers. Bam! Seven! 'At's twins, but mah luck comes triple. Shoots de twenty. Shoots twenty dollahs. Heah de bloodhoun' bay. An' Ah reads ten miles. Chicago bound! Pay day, whah at is you? Lady Luck, don' git feeble. Angil leanin' on a cloud. De cloud busts! Angil, heah you is—readin' de five an' five. Five twins, how is you? Shoots fo'ty dollahs."
One of the group spoke to the Backslid. "Mebbe 'at boy's learnin' de porter business, but he sho' got old in de bone school a long time back."
The Backslid Baptist grunted his reply.
The Wildcat raked down all of his winnings except a five-dollar bill. "Shoots five dollahs. Shower down. Windy talk don't shake no possums loose. Come an' git me on de top limb. Shoots five dollahs. Dynamite dice, bust de ol' safe do'. Ah craves action. Shoots ten dollahs. Fifty dollahs."
"How much you got?" A cinnamon-coloured Crœsus in the group spoke softly into the clamour.
The Wildcat turned to him. "Shoots a hund'ed does you crave speed. Shoots five hund'ed dollahs."
The cinnamon-faced porter produced a roll of bills and stripped a handful of greenbacks therefrom.