Honey Tone, the ex-uplifter, was silent for a minute, and then his organizing instinct welled strong. "Me? I's organizin' a Returned Heroes' Parade. Us Konk'rin' Heroes what wore de army unifawm jines in de gran' ruckus." "Sho! Honey Tone, whut yo' mean army unifawm? You was 'fested with letheh straps an' uppity talk when I knowed you fust. Now you talks plain niggah." "Sounds more homelike." Honey Tone did not feel constrained to explain the finesse which prompted him to abandon the vocabulary which he had derived from a year's schooling and considerable subsequent speech-making. "Aftah de parade mebbe us organizes de Colored Militarriers of America. I's been ponderin' considerable how come some ob you ain't started dat lodge yet? Dues a dollah a month. Parades fo' baptisn's, marryin's, and funerals. Special buryin' department wheh you gits crematized or secluded in de ground as you prefers, dependin' whether you pays fo' bits a week extra or not." "Sounds half gran'--mebbe folks takes up wid it. Ol' parade sho' sounds noble." In common with other overseas veterans, the Wildcat listened strong to the appeal made by the jingling hardware of heroism. He had visions of himself prancin' along where white folks could look at him--visions which included an O.D. uniform plentifully festooned with wound stripes, coloured ribbons, service chevrons, and a few decorative military crosses. The group about the crap table thinned out. The Wildcat picked up the dice. "Does you crave high life, Honey Tone, read a chapteh f'm de clickers." "I might ride a couple of r'ars," the uplifter conceded. The Wildcat produced a bulky roll. Several pairs of gleaming eyeballs about him testified to the exceptional dimensions of his capital. To the Wildcat's surprise Honey Tone hauled out a wallet in which lay a thick package of twenty-dollar bills. Hope burned strong in the Wildcat's chest, and with the flame of hope the Wildcat warmed the dice within his hand. "Shoots ten dollahs. Fade me, Honey Tone, does you crave action." "You's faded." "Wham! Ah lets it lay. Shoots twenty dollahs." "Roll 'em." Honey Tone dropped a twenty-dollar bill, which landed as gently as a snowflake on the green surface of the table. "Bam! Five an' a deuce." Under the heat of the Wildcat's luck the uplifter's green snowflake melted into his opponent's roll. "Ah lets it lay. Shoots fo'ty. Fo'ty ways. Shower down, Honey Tone. Mah luck builds homes fo' de ignorant poor. I's got de musk smell. Bam! Land, little Dove ob Peace. Land wid yo' bill full ob greens. An' I reads fo' tray!" The Wildcat gathered in his winnings. He laid a twenty-dollar bill on the green table. "Fade me is you frantic." Honey Tone covered the bet. "Gallopers, pay de rent. Wham! Morning, rainbow. Wah just begun. Dove ob Peace got one hot end, like a hornet. Gallopers, see kin yo' uplift de Honey Tone Jack." The dice raced on their victorious way.