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SECTION TWO

1922

VI

Holy Mary, the Mother of God, the Virgin of Virgins, Mother most Powerful and Merciful, Morning Star and Health of the Weak, Corn fortress of the Afflicted, Mother of God, Mary who had herself gone down into the valley of the shadow of death... she, Blessed Mary, she would understand the burden of distress and naked sorrow that lay on the heart of a poor mother whose precious baby son lay at death’s door; she, whose only begotten, Son had been crowned with thorns and crucified to save all mankind, she would under-stand, she would sympathize, she would intercede at the throne of God Almighty, the Creator of Heaven and Earth; she would beseech that if it be the will of God, to Whom all things were possible, that he spare the life of Mrs. Haggerty’s son, Paul.

Mrs. Haggerty, stout and shabby, her eyes raw with tears, dropped her tenth dime into the slot by the candle rack before the altar of the Blessed Virgin. She gazed adoringly and with tears of hope at the waxenly expressionless face on the blue-robed statue of the Mother of God. Her face accumulated intenseness, and the lips on the waxenly expressionless face seemed to move, miraculously, in calming words.

Mrs. Haggerty lit her tenth candle and placed it in a holder that it might burn as a prayer of entreaty.

She prayed in a church wombed in quiet. A jangling street car passed outside, and its racket was like a rough, uncouthly handled instrument lacerating the churchly hush. The beat of marching feet thundered on the ceiling. From outside came the shouts of school children, boys and girls. The swinging door in the rear was jammed back and forth; feet scraped on the aisles. A boy knelt before the center altar, and his face became wistful in prayer. Mrs. Haggerty looked at him with maternal eyes.

And only five years ago—life was short—Paul had been a boy like that, innocent; and his steps had mingled with the feet of other boys and girls as they marched out of the school-rooms upstairs. And he had romped and shouted as the children without were now doing.

HAIL MARY, FULL OF GRACE, THE LORD IS WITH THEE, BLESSED ART THOU AMONGST WOMEN, AND BLESSED IS THE FRUIT OF THY WOMB, JESUS .. .

Mary, please spare me a mother’s agony, please, oh, please, save the fruit of my womb, my Paul, my precious baby son.

HAIL MARY, FULL OF GRACE...

CHAPTER SIX

I

Mike stared out of the poolroom window. His face was a gaze of primal obtuseness. An elevated train rumbled out of the Fifty-eighth Street elevated station. An automobile whizzed by.

“Hello, Mike!” said Slug Mason entering, his smeary-lipped mouth cracking in a smile.

Mike greeted Slug with an idiot grin. Slug lit a cigarette, shoved his hands in his pockets and leaned back on his heels.

“Smoke?” asked Mike, holding out his greasy, sweaty paw.

“Say, it looks like there’s gonna be some sun out this morning,” Slug said, with faulty pronunciation, as he studied the street outside and the blue September sky that was slowly being shattered with sunlight.

Mike lit one of his own cigarettes.

“Jesus, was we all cockeyed las’ night... but say, Mike, I fixes the lads with some flaming jazz-babies!”

“Push-push,” mumbled Mike, lust, like thick, ugly sweat, oozing from his eyes.

Slug beamed patronizingly.

“Push-push!”

“Yeah, Mike, I’ll bet you know your stuff.”

II

“Wheeeee!” shouted Young Rocky Kansas as he crashed through the narrow entrance door, removing his jacket coat.

“Wheeeeeeeee!” echoed skinny, toothpick Harry Pochon, following upon Young Rocky’s heels past the shoe-shining stand, which stood where Charlie Bathcellar had had his barber chairs.

“Time on table number one, Greek!” Young Rocky shouted.

“Come on, time on, you dumb Greek bastard!” parroted Pochon.

Mike’s face clenched with hate. Slowly, he turned and went to the counter. He punched a card on the time clock.

“These eighteen-year-old punks needs their snouts punched in to teach ‘em a lesson,” Slug said.

A slow gleam of assent was born on Mike’s face. He shrugged, and placed