"Dey falls by de wayside heah an' dere, an' dey starts early so as to git picked up by some worthy Brother wid steady laigs. 'At fat boy wid de red fezant is de one whut had de gin hiccoughs." "Kain't see did he." "Gin'ally dey carries it noble. Dere's de little lady whut owns de parrot bird." The owner of the parrot bird was a left-over soubrette who had bust in Havana with a road production of The Sillies of 1492. The little lady had completed her spring drinking and was now en route to a big-time meal-ticket scheduled to start from Chicago. She saw the Wildcat. "Porter, where is little Polly?" "Yessum. I secluded 'at green chicken in de linen closet. Does you crave him now?" "Yes. I want to have her with me for breakfast--the poor lonesome darling." "Accordin' to de words 'at varmint used last night, he's too tough to make much of a brekfus'." The Wildcat went to the end of the car and opened the linen closet wherein he had cached the parrot. With the opening of the door the mystery of the thumping noise which he and the Backslid Baptist had heard was explained. In a low falsetto the parrot was repeating the two military commands which she had learned. "'Tenshun! At res'! 'Tenshun! At res'!" Lily, the mascot goat, was contributing the last fragment of muscular energy to the business of obeying orders. In response to the parrot's commands the goat languidly flopped at rest on the floor of the linen closet and came to her feet at attention. "Lawd Gawd, Lily! At res' an' stay 'at way!" Gratitude rang in the answering "Blaa" of Lily the goat. The Wildcat reached for the parrot. "You green debbil! Whut you mean, exercisin' mah mascot all night?" "Quawk!" The parrot made a vicious swing at the Wildcat's reaching hand. "Leggo, you debbil!" The green parrot, fuming in a rage compared to which nitric acid was a cream puff, was restored to its Spring-drinking owner. "Lady, heah's de green demon." "Pretty Polly. What made her little feathers all mussed up?" The Wildcat returned to his exhausted mascot. "'At green chicken's lucky does he git by widout gittin' his health an' stren'th mussed up befo' dis trip ends. At res', Lily, till I brings you some nutriment. Doggone ol' bird must have near wore you out. 'At's de way wid dem mil'tary commands. Res' yo'se'f, Lily, till Ah brings yo' brekfust." "Blaa!" answered Lily, weakly. The Wildcat detected a tone of hypocrisy,--something of false gratitude--in the mascot's reply. He returned from the dining car carrying two heads of lettuce for the mascot. He placed the lettuce under the nose of the recumbent goat, but Lily refused to eat. "Fust time Ah eveh seed you slow up when de mess call blowed. How come?"