"Whah at you think you is? Heavin? Cuba? Ain't nuthin' to drink on dis car." A burly chef answered the Wildcat's inquiry. "Dey's a cold boy back dere. Fell in de river an' stood out in de night rain in Poteland. Can't git near him for' chips o' teeth flyin' through de air. When he gits to shiverin' good he looks like him an' two twin brothehs." "White boy?" The chef ventured a casual inquiry. "Is I said white boy? White boy packs it wid 'em. It's mah ol' Mud Turtle podneh what craves de gin." "'At's diff'unt." The chef grunted and got up from the poker game which was raging. "Come wid me." He led the Wildcat into the kitchen of the car. From one of the cupboards against the partition he lifted a pint bottle full of a light yellow fluid. He poured some of this into a smaller bottle. Out of another bottle containing a brown aromatic liquid he filled the third bottle. He shook the smaller bottle until the two liquids in it were mixed. He handed the bottle to the Wildcat. "Give dat boy dis." "Sho' will. What's de name o' dis licker?" "Ain't got no public name. Us boys calls it 'hoof oil.' It kicks--some. Better tie 'at boy's hind laigs does he take mo'n two drinks." "What's de 'mgredients?" "Dat's a church secret. Don't ask me no questions. 'At's five dollahs." "Five dollahs! What you mean church secret?" "I'se a hooch rabbi, off de run. I leads a Oakland ginagogue. I said five dollahs. How you spec' us rabbis gwine to thrive, 'ceptin' by takin' up de collection now an' den when we issues dis here rabbi juice?" "How come dat rabbi name?" The chef looked at him. "You sho' is a' ignorant niggah. Ain't you met up wid no rabbis yet?" "Cain't say I is. What is dey?" In the chef's gaze was an expression of contempt. "Boy, when you sees me you sees a rabbi. I works at de rabbi business between trips. De rabbi lodge was o'ganized wid all de culled bartenders. Now days mos' all we rabbis is union bootleggers. Git back dah wid dat hoof oil befo' it blows up. Whereat's de five dollahs?" The Wildcat handed the chef a five-dollar bill and returned to his car, where the Mud Turtle was doing the best he could to shake his arms off. "Hot dam! Heah you is, ol' Mud Turtle. You sho' got a noble rattle in yo' right han'. 'Pears like wid a pair o' gallopin' cubes you might throw some killin' sevens. 'Sorb one drink o' dis heah rabbi juice an' resurrect yo'self." "One drink! Boy, gimme dat bottle. I handles mah licker!" The Wildcat uncorked the bottle and held it to the Mud Turtle's chattering lips. The Mud Turtle took a whiff of the liquid. Its perfume seemed to inspire a new set of internal calisthenics in the Mud Turtle. After he had quit writhing the Wildcat again pressed the remedy upon him. "Drink it, fo' I drips it on you. Go ahead an' drink. I'll hol' yo' nose." He succeeded in pouring the contents of the bottle into the Mud Turtle.