The Studs Lonigan Trilogy - James T. Farrell [152]
“Phil, is that so that the only thing you read in the paper is Gallicoe’s column on what the well-dressed man wears?” asked Swede Larsen.
“Phil, they tell me that with all the sheiking you do, you still don’t know what it’s for,” Ellsworth Lyman said.
“Bug House Fable Number 999; Phillip Rolfe giving a penny to a starving blind man,” said Young Rocky.
“I just see you boys shoveling out dimes like you were John D.,” Phillip sharply retorted.
“Studs, it’s nigger date night tonight. It has a date,” Tommy Doyle shouted, passing along.
“It wouldn’t do a lot of you guys any harm if you invested a dime in a second-hand joke book,” Phillip said, walking off.
Skinny Joe Thomas asked Studs how about a game of pool. Studs said he thought maybe he could take Joe.
“Always ready to give you the chance. We’ll play fifty straight pool, and I’ll spot you ten. And just to make it interesting, we’ll play for half a buck, if you say so?”
Studs nodded, hating to take the handicap and admit that Joe was better than he was. But Joe had it on him with the cue, and if he refused the spot, he’d just look like a stuck-up sap. Joe reached with his cue, and set off ten beads on Studs’ side of the marking wire stretched above the table. Lagging for break with the ivory, Studs lost, and had to break. He chalked his cue, and took careful aim, planning just to graze off the eight ball on the right of the last row of the racked triangle of balls. He hit the ivory too hard and with poor aim, cracking seven balls loose from the rack-up. Joe sank three shots, and missed an easy one, but left Studs sewn up.
“That was just luck,” Joe said, his buck teeth showing in a good-natured, chinless smile.
Automatically chalking his cue, Studs studied the table, roving slowly around it to survey the balls from varying angles. He frowned in concentration. He heard Tommy Doyle remark that it was Studs’ can. He bent over the table, and took careful aim, calling the three ball in the left-hand side pocket on a sharp cut. He was aware of a silence amongst the spectators. He shot, the three ball rolling straight into the pocket. He smiled, with a sense of relief. He made a run pf ten, and as he sank his shots he saw himself as a careless, chance-taking pool shark. He missed a set-up before one of the lower end pockets. He set the balls back on the table in a line up from the spot, and pushed ten beads more on his side of the wire. He could not check a smile when he heard Doyle tell Joe that this time Studs looked like he might give him a run for his dough.
Three Star Hennessey sauntered in and oozed out a greeting to the gentlemen present. Doyle hopped on him about his spats and bell bottoms. Hennessey replied that they kept his feet warm, and everybody haw-hawed. Joe kidded with Hennessey as he made a difficult bank shot. He knocked six in and left Studs sewn up. Studs nettled his eyebrows and called a double bank.
“So, you’re smoking Melachrinos now, Hennessey?” Joe remarked.
“The best is none too good for Mrs. Hennessey’s son, John,” Three Star said.
“Robbing the broads again,” Studs remarked, trying to pull Joe’s stunt of kidding while he made difficult shots; he fizzled the shot, and left the table open for Joe.
Joe ran off twenty and was ahead of Studs. Studs nettled his brows. He felt his confidence ebbing away. On his next inning, he slammed the eight ball into the side pocket. He had position on an easy shot, and hoped the guys would think he played for it, instead of getting it by accident.
Hennessey and Rolfe started ragging each other in their loud-mouthed punk manner. Studs, unconscious of everything but the balls before him, ran the table, feeling a sense of skill and power as he made ball after ball,