"Call de police, you means. Did he git back he's in de jail whah at he belongs--all I seed wuz him leavin'." In the face of the Wildcat's argument the Amazon's mood changed. "When I gets th'oo wid' dat man de jail folks sho' have to pen him up in a barrel to hol' de leavin's. He's 'bout as pop'lar wid me as smallpox. All he eveh done wuz bear down hahd on de money when I come home wid mah wages." At the moment the Wildcat did not feel constrained to explain that Honey Tone's departure from Bordeaux had been one of the Wildcat's contrivings--one in which Honey Tone had been battened down in the hold of the cargo ship, together with a hundred French Colonial negro troops. "I rec'lects he lef' Bo'deaux on a boat dey calls de _Princess Clam_, headed fo' N' O'leans. Chances is he's in de N' O'leans jail right now." The Wildcat decided that it might be well to encourage Honey Tone's mate to souse the black mood of her mourning in the whitewash of jealousy. "'Spect he might be married up again--mebbe. 'At boy gits 'gaged wheheveh 'at he goes." "Is he rampagin' roun' I makes two widows stid of one does I ketch him. Cleah outen heah!" Honey Tone's vindictive mate craved solitude in which to enjoy the misery of her ambition for revenge. The Wildcat cleared out, taking with him a substantial segment of corn bread and two hot slices of ham. "Does Honey Tone live th'oo whut de female 'ception committee g'wine to git ready fo' him I gives him mah Craw de Gare an' all de woun' stripes whut is." In the woodshed back of Captain Jack's house the mascot Lily patiently awaited her proprietor. "Blaa!" she said in greeting when the Wildcat appeared. "Whut yo' mean? How come you always craves nutriment?" the Wildcat demanded. "Heah." He gave the goat a fragment of corn bread. "Whuf! de ol' cawn pone sho' is fillin'. I sleeps me now fo' a little while. Den I goes downtown an' says Howdy to de boys. Lily, lay off dat hat! Eat de ham grease offen it does yo' crave to, but ca'm yo' se'f when yo' gits to de hat part." The Wildcat reclined on a pile of hickory stove-wood and went to sleep. Sleeping was his long suit. At ten o'clock that night he woke up. "Sho' is late. Front do' de barber shop be locked, but de back do' ain't." The Wildcat threaded the dark streets which led to Willie Webster's barber shop. The shave-and-haircut part of the Webster establishment served but to camouflage the darker industries which had their being in a room contiguous to the one where shaves were a nickel and haircuts fifteen cents, including musk. At the back door of the barber shop the Wildcat hesitated for a moment in an effort to recall the secret knock which gained admittance in the days before the war. This element of the ritual finally came to him, and on the rough panels of the door sounded three quick raps followed by two at more deliberate intervals.