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Remembering what Weary had said of his old man, Studs felt that he’d be yellow if he took this. And he felt his courage ebbing.

“I had to work a damn sight harder than you’ll ever have to... And I’ll be damned if I let you become a poolroom bum!” Lonigan said with sudden energy, banging his right fist into his left palm.

“I’m not a poolroom bum,” Studs unconvincingly replied.

“I don’t want you to become one!”

“I’m not!” Studs countered like a pouting child.

“I’m your father, and it’s my duty to see that you amount to something and turn into a decent citizen. And, by God, I will. You children are all your mother and I got. We worked hard for you, and we don’t want to feel that we done it all for nothing. You owe us something in return, and all we are asking of you is that you amount to something, be decent citizens, give us the right to be justifiably proud of you. We don’t want to have to hang our heads in shame because of any of our children when we walk down the street. And, by God, I’ll see that we don’t have to!”

Studs was sore, but words just choked up in him.

“You understand now. You come with me in the morning!” A dangerous pause.

“I can find a job, maybe tomorrow,” Studs said, immediately perceiving that his words had weakly fizzled.

“I told you what you’d do!” the old man half-shouted.

“I’ll find my own job!” Studs said swiftly and breathlessly, as he jumped to his feet.

“For once, you do what I say! In the morning, you start turning over a new leaf... And, yes, you might as well stay in tonight so’s to get a good night’s sleep. You’ll need it in the morning.”

“I’m my own boss!”

“Why, you goddamn little .. .”

A red flush from the slap he got appeared on Studs’ left cheek. Uncontrolled tears welled forth. He wanted to hit back. He was afraid of his father. He sniffled without will.

The old man dropped back to his rocker, held his head in his hands. Studs looked at him, imagined himself smashing the old bastard’s face till it bled and swelled. He stood impotently.

“You heard me! Tomorrow! Now get the hell out of my sight before I give you the trimming you deserve, you dirty little whelp!”

“Patrick! What’s happened?” the old lady said, coming to the entry way, as Studs, still bawling, turned to go.

“William!...William!”

“I’m leaving here!” Studs said, brushing past her.

“Did you hit him?” the mother demanded.

“And I’ll hit again. After all I done for him, the dirty little ingrate, defying me! All right, go on, get out, and don’t come back. I don’t ever want to see you again!”

“Patrick Lonigan! How dare you! Striking my son, my own flesh and blood! Ordering my precious first-born baby out of my home!”

“Mary, you don’t know what you’re talking about. Don’t tell me what I’m to do in my home! And don’t be wastin’ your sympathy. What he needs is to get the tar kicked out of him. And if he wants to live here, he’ll do what I tell him!”

In his room, Studs was proud of himself for having defied the old man. Glad, too, that his father and mother were having a big blowout. He cried; well, he was so goddamn sore, he couldn’t help it.

“You ought to be ashamed of yourself!” Fran said, stopping in his doorway.

“Mind your own goddamn business!”

“How dare you curse me!” she said, shocked.

“For Christ sake, shut your trap!”

She rushed into the parlor, and shrieked in a high-pitched voice. It was like a nut-house now. He slipped into his old lady’s room, and copped five bucks from her pocketbook. He got his rusty old gat from its hiding place at the bottom of his closet. He put on his cap, and went to the bathroom. He saw that his eyes were red from crying. He tried to hide the redness with Fran’s powder. He was ashamed of himself.

“My son... my son!” his mother muttered, trying to block his path at the front door.

“I’m going!”

“William, your father just lost his temper. Go in and tell him you’re sorry and...”

“I can take care of myself!” he said, viciously slamming the door.

“You don’t know what you’re doing to Dad. Come back,” Fran begged,