The Studs Lonigan Trilogy - James T. Farrell [122]
“Oh, a fight last night,” Arnold replied.
Stan, plump and medium-sized, stretched on his toes to examine Arnold Sheehan’s black eye. Arnold was taller, and well built; his face was crude in features, with heavy dark brows, and a long nose. He wore a loosely-cut black suit with flashy pin-stripes, a checkered gray topcoat, an almost pearly gray fedora, and black tie.
“Drunk again?” asked Stan.
Arnold nodded.
“Every time you get snozzled, you get a break, don’t you! Two weeks ago you were maggoty and got your dose, and you’re still limping from getting shoved down those elevated steps last week. You better stick to malted milks, Arnold.”
“Just hard luck! I was dancing at the Bourbon Palace, and got in a scrap over a broad I was trying to make. I wasn’t so drunk, though. You should have seen Weary Reilley. He was tossing sugar bowls all around Kling’s Restaurant.”
“Some day that guy’s gonna get worse than you’ll ever get.”
“Say, Arnold, what’ll you take for your shiner?” Kelly hollered over to him.
VIII
“You were pretty gone last night,” beefy Tommy Doyle said to his cousin Les.
“Yes, I was,” Les modestly said.
“Your old man should have seen you.”
“Don’t worry. He’s tipped many a bottle himself,” Les said, smiling like a cherub.
Tommy shook his head in expression of indefinite amusement.
“Hell, I might just as well get drunk. I don’t see why I got to rot away in that rut, working on an electric for the Continental Express Company. Gee, I’m never going to amount to anything, and I might as well have a little fun.”
“Say, Tommy, I sure do wish I’d gone to school and gotten an education,” Les whined.
“You don’t know when you’re well off. I’d like to have a job paying the dough you get.”
“Well, I wish I had an education. Look at where Joe O’Reilley and Dinny Gorman are. Now if I was a lawyer, I might be getting somewheres.”
IX
“You know Dot Gorman. She’s older than us guys, see, but lemme tell you... she’s keen. KEEN!” funnyface Young Duffy orated for his own benefit.
“She ain’t so much. She’s horsefaced and stuckup,” Denny Dennis said.
“Say, your taste is all in your mouth,” Funnyface Duffy said.
Goofy Nate Klein called Duffy aside.
“Listen, punk. Dorothy Gorman is a friend of mine. She’s too nice a girl to be talked about in a joint like this. If you know when you’re healthy, don’t mention her name in this place again. And don’t call her Dot. Get me?”
“I didn’t say nothin’ against her. I was just complimenting her...”
“I told you that if you don’t want your friends taking up a collection for flowers for you, don’t mention her name in this joint again!” Nate said, hard-boiled.
X
“You know, I just went into the bedroom with that broad last night, and everything went out like the lights,” Studs said.
Tommy Doyle cracked a joke about what should have happened.
“Lookat the punks. They ain’t washed under the ears yet,” sneered Slug, gazing surprisedly around the poolroom.
“They look goofy in their ding-dong pants,” said Studs.
“Monkey suits,” said Slug; he pointed at the twenty-two-inch-bell-bottoms on Phil Rolfe’s carefully, precisely, exactly careless black suit. Phil turned his light-complexioned, insipid face towards them and smiled. He was wearing a blue shirt, collar attached, a soft, wine-red knit tie, and a light brown hat.
“Pull up your skirts,” said Stan Simonsky.
“Hi, kid,” patronized Phil.
“Hey, Rolfe?” yelled Red.
“What you say, Red,” replied Phil with aplomb.
“Hey, punk, where’s your rubber knee pads?” Studs sneered.
“Did you get that out of a joke book?” he asked, but he blushed slightly.
Phil walked away from them, towards a table in the back.
“Hey, Studs, I haven’t eaten today. Can you loan me two bits. After a while, I’ll shark some guy in a pool game, but Christ, I’m starved!” said TB McCarthy; TB was thin, consumptive-looking, with jaundiced cheeks that seemed to be shrivelling and hollowing away. He wore a spotted, unpressed, shabby, brown suit.
“Get out of here, heel.”
“Muggsy mooching again?” said Red.
“Jesus, Red, I haven’t eaten