The Wildcat indulged in a little autobiography. "Not me. I 'filiates wid de Pullman company a long time back, conveyin' a westbound carload of Potent Nobles ob de Mystic Mecca wid blue Fezants. Us got divo'ced somewhere. Dey an' mah mascot goat gits drug to San F'mcisco. I gits penned up wid a rag-head Hindoo boy an' some crazy folks in anotheh train. I jines me in a ruckus wid train robbers. Den I busts loose, an' some Indian boys starts in to barbecue me. I swims myself free an' de ol' Sheriff gives me a thousan' dollahs fo' ketchin' 'em. Wish they'd been a dozen." "Boy, I seed so many liars I got so I b'lieves lies, but yo' sho' strains me." The Wildcat fished around in his parade-leading Prince Albert and produced the evidence. "Read dis letter. See does I strain you." The infidel read the letter. He looked at the Wildcat. "Is yo' name Vitus Marsden?" The Wildcat acknowledged his verbal label. "Folks gin'ally knows me as Wilecat, 'count o' me bein' de mil'tary Wilecat ob de Fust Service Battalion in France fo' so long." The Pullman porter extended his hand. "Sho' glad to meet up wid you, Mistah Marsden. Mah name's Daniels. Dey gin'ally calls me Dwindle." "Proud to meet you, Mistah Daniels. Did you come out ob de lion's den or de Navy?" "Neither one. I'se a Bummin'ham Republican." The Wildcat reached for his letter. "Gimme back dat letter. No boy f'm Alabam' is safe wid a money letter." "How come?" "Wust cleanin' I ever got in a' cube ruckus come off a Bummin'ham boy." "Money come, money go. What you gonna' do when you gits yo' thousan' dollahs?" "Fish business. I aims to start me a fried fish wagon in Poteland. Figgah out de profits. Heah's de ol' rivah dusty wid smelt fish. Heah's de Poteland niggahs cravin' to 'sorb fish mawnin', night, an' noon. I gits me some fryin' pans an' I cooks me up some fresh fish every day. Dey don't cost me nuthin'. I collects two bits a panful. 'At runs into big money." Dwindle Daniels did some fast financial thinking. "How does you aim to cook fish an' ketch 'em bofe, wid de Columbia river six miles f'm Poteland?" The Wildcat hadn't thought of this detail. He made his associate a proposition. "Dwindle, s'pose you 'filiates with me. Us ketches de fust wagon-load; den I fries fish an' collects de money whilst you ketches mo' fish." "De fust day 'at's all right. Second day I's treasurer." "Suits me." For the next twenty miles the two fish financiers dived into the details of their commercial venture, and when the train slowed for the bridge leading across the Willamette to Union Station in Portland their plans were completed. At the street gates of Union Station a policeman directed the Wildcat to the railroad offices. He lost the trail and wandered around for half an hour, but finally, with the assistance of a hundred questions, he made port.