"Sho' I is--many's de time! So you is Trombone, is you? Sho' proud to meet up wid you. Sho' 'bliged fo' de knowledge concernin' de ten-dollah job. Soon as I 'cumulates some payday me an' Lily meets you heah nex' Sat'day night. Den us 'vests wid de Soopreem Leadeh an' mebbe has a gran' ruckus wid de profits." That night the Wildcat slept free and chilly on a park bench, covered only with the blanket of fog which rolled in at midnight. Shortly after dawn, with Lily at his heels, he walked to the entrance of the pier against which lay a cargo ship loading for a famine area in Europe. "Whah at is de man whut hires de han's?" he asked. Two hours later the foreman of the dock gang was pointed out to him, and in ten minutes, with Lily tied to a barrel of nutritious pickles, the Wildcat took his place in the long line of stevedores that hustled freight out of the pier shed and into the nets under the cargo booms of the ship. "Lily--tonight us eats on credit, an' sleeps inside some place whah de fog weatheh don't git." All the stevedore crew were members of the Wildcat's own race. Before noon he had affiliated with enough friends to make the matter of noontime lunch a simple business of accepting part of what was offered him, while Lily did the best she could on enough assorted nutriment to feed six mascots. Considering the start he had made that morning, the Wildcat realized, with his seventh sandwich, that life isn't so bad if you manage to live through it. When he began the afternoon shift his ancient philosophy had returned, and to the clatter of the activity about him he contributed his rambling voice. Presently the words of his song recruited a few converts from the gang about him; and by four o'clock, with the freight moving faster than it had for many a day, the hollow spaces in the long pier were filled with the echoes that lifted from an intermittent chorus which proclaimed that "I kin load a steamboat, load it full wid freight; I kin load a steamboat when it's leavin' late. Dat's de reason I'se as happy as a bee, I don't botheh work, an' work don't botheh me." Throughout the late hours of the afternoon the eyes of the foreman were on the Wildcat. "Hustlin' nigger. Make him a straw boss tomorrow if this keeps up." 2. Honey Tone realized that rank imposes commensurate obligation before his Temple of Luck campaign had lived a week. Too much rank imposed too much obligation, and so the Swamic Church and the Faith Healing and the Palm Reading Magi and several other verbal branches of his project were discarded before the several deppity soopreem leaders got too soopreem to handle. The backbone of his income was at once the Temple Fund; and this important business demanded and received all of his energy except that demanded by his elaborate pictures of the New World African Colony in Brazil.