"How much you got?" A cinnamon-coloured Croesus 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. "'At's five hund'ed dollahs. Roll 'em." "Gallopers, git right." The Wildcat gave the dice a Turkish bath, a manicure, and a careful massaging between the perspiring palms of his hands. He cast a handful of prepared ivory from him. The dice were festooned with equal parts of luck and technical skill, but their precise trajectory was interrupted by a string of high joints and low centres in the track over which rambled the Panama Limited. "An' I reads--ace and deuce." The cinnamon-coloured boy picked up the money on the floor. "'At'll learn you." The Wildcat was silent. The Backslid Baptist, sharing the shadow of his associate's sudden cloud of black luck, spoke slowly to him. "C'm on heah, Wilecat. Us is nex' do' to bein' busted." In the wake of the Backslid Baptist the Wildcat ambled back through the swaying cars to the Mazeppa. He carried on his bowed shoulders a load of misery big enough to bust a bottle of dynamite gin. The Backslid Baptist stretched himself full length on the long leather seat of the smoking room. "Baptist, how come it I don' know. De baby gallopehs wuz spinnin' fo' seven." "Rough track an' de rocky road swerved 'em. Git to sleep. Us is due at Champaign at 8:10. Money come, money go. Whuteveh sleep you gits is that much to de good." The Wildcat flopped down on the floor of the smoking room, but sleep would not come to him. At half past seven the Backslid Baptist on the leather seat began mumbling to himself. A little later he awakened. "Wilecat, whut dat noise?" "Ain't heard no noise." All the Wildcat had heard was the accents of his bank-roll bidding him a last farewell. "'At thumpin' noise." The Backslid Baptist's ears, keenly attuned to the turmoil of travel, distinguished in the sounds about him some unfamiliar puncture of the normal din. "Sounded lak beatin' a board wid a stick." "Kain't heah nothin'." The Backslid Baptist yawned. "Some ob dem early risers f'm de tall sticks sure to be up by now. When Ah starts makin' up de berths you kin sweep out de cah an' 'cumulate de sheets an' pillow cases. Stick 'em in de canvas bag in de linen closet an' take back de boy's clo'es he gin you to press." The Wildcat traversed the length of the aisle back of a swinging broom. On the return trip he encountered the Backslid Baptist busily engaged in making up Lower 1. "Backslid, who dem two boys half way down de cah wid de red hats?" "You means de boys wid de red fezants? Dem's a couple ob Potent Nobles ob de Mysterious Mecca. All de Mysterious Mecca boys in de world is havin' a gran' ruckus next month on de Pacific Coast." "How come dey start so early?"