The Studs Lonigan Trilogy - James T. Farrell [125]
“Curley hasn’t got a marble in his bean,” Young Rocky said.
“Horse.”
Charley Josephson, a silly-looking runt of seventeen, rushed in and asked what was biting Curley. They told him the joke they had pulled on Vinc. He said he’d been in the drug store at the corner, and Vine had come in, red in the face, and all excited, demanding G.O. 45 right away to rub on his lips.
“Curley hasn’t got a marble in his bean,” Young Rocky said as they all roared.
XXI
“Well, Conrad’s a classic,” Mose Levinsky, poolroom intellectual, said.
“What is a classic? Define it,” said Big Syd.
“A classic is a book that lives.”
“Now take a book like Robert Herrick’s The Common Lot,” said Big Syd.
“It’s a good book, but it isn’t a classic,” said Mose.
“Say, you guys act like you thought you were too good for the human race,” said Red Kelly, passing them on his way from the can.
XXII
“I’m getting along,” Hoppy Shanks said, lighting a cigarette.
“The job you got sounds O.K.,” said Loeb.
“I make forty bucks a week. My room costs me six and my meals about four or five a week, because I’m cutting down on ‘em. I’m salting fifteen and twenty every pay day,” said Hoppy.
“That’s pretty good. I wish I had a decent job.”
“I worked hard for this one. I don’t believe in loafing around like some of these guys do. When you’re not working, you got time on your hands, and keep hanging around wondering what time it is, and what you’ll do. Hell with that for this boy. I’m playin’ the game smart.”
“Say, Shanks, can you spare two bits? I’m flat, but I’ll be able to pay you back this afternoon,” Mush Joss asked.
“Haven’t got it, Mush.”
Mush passed to another group.
“That bastard hasn’t worked since Noah got piped on the Ark,” said Loeb.
“I wouldn’t give him my dough. Him and McCarthy try and scrounge on me every time I see them.”
XXIII
“Andy, are the Irish hundred-per-cent Americans?” asked Connell.
“No, because they believe in the Pope,” Le Gare answered.
“All right, punk, keep religion out of it,” ordered Red Kelly, who had come over to see why they were having such a good time razzing Andy.
“Say, if the Klan is so tough, why doesn’t it come around looking for the Irish some night when it’s out riding in nightshirts like kids on Halloween?” asked Darby Dan.
“They know when they’re healthy,” said Red.
“I’ll bet Andy’s old man has a horse looking like Sparkplug in Barney Google,” commented Eddie Eastwood.
“Why don’t you come around with the Klan if they’re so damn tough?” Drennan said.
“If they did, you would all run home and hide behind your mother’s apron string.”
“Blah!”
Andy issued a blanket challenge to fight anyone his size and age who was present.
“Gawan home, and come back on a kiddy-car, wearing your sister’s nightgown and we’ll fight you,” sneered Drennan.
“Don’t insult my sister!” Andy said, knocking Drennan down with a punch.
Drennan sat on the floor holding his jaw; Andy stood over him, defying him to get up and fight like a man. George the Greek told Andy to get out and not come back.
“Keep your old poolroom!” Andy yelled from the doorway in a sulk.
“No, Andy, take it along with you,” Hennessey answered.
XXIV
“Paulie’s dead!” Benny Taite yelled, rushing in excitedly, disrupting everything.
“Poor Paulie!” Studs said, next to Taite in the center of a stunned group.
“You know, years ago, I warned him to take care of himself, and not be a damn fool with the molls. But poor Paulie, every time he saw a skirt he lost his head and didn’t know what he was doing,” Red Kelly oracularly said.
“You know, I can’t really believe that he’s gone,” said Studs.
“He was my old buddy,” Hennessey said.
“A better lad never walked Fifty-eighth Street,” Kelly said.
“Death is a funny thing, all right,” Tommy Doyle said.
“We all get called at some time,” Les said.
“Yeah, it’s a funny thing. You never know who it’s going to slap down next, and you never think much about it until one day, it puts your best friend out for the count,” Red philosophized.
“It’s awful, a tragedy,” said Phil Rolfe.
“He had the priest, didn’t he?” said