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By Root 10448 0

He imagined that his head was a compartment with many shutters in it, like a locker room. He just watched the shutters close on the queer, fruity thoughts, and they were gone, and he’d have a hell of a time bringing them back, even if he wanted to. He saw the shutter close in his mind now, and he puffed away and felt better. He coughed, because he tried to inhale and got too much smoke in his throat and nose. He thought about Gilly’s speech, and told himself that, whew, Gilly had talked a leg off of everybody; he talked as much as High-Collars Gorman, the lawyer. He thought of some of the things Gilly had said, and told himself that he didn’t care so much about making any long, hard journey, like Gilly had described. He had always wanted to grow up and become a big guy, because a big guy could be more independent than a punk; a big guy could be his own boss. But he felt a little leery about leaving it all behind and going out into the battle of life.

He had long pants, and he wasn’t just a grammar school punk any more, and he could walk down the street feeling he wasn’t, but well... sometimes he wasn’t so glad of it. And now he’d have to go to high school, when he didn’t want to, and meet new kids and get in fights all over again to become somebody in a new gang.

He told himself that he’d have to go out now in the battle of life and start socking away. It was fun thinking about it, but that was different from the real thing. And when you had to fight, you got socked in the mush, and a good sock was never any fun. Anyway, he had the summer ahead of him, and he could have fun with the guys around Indiana.

Weary Reilley came in. Weary was carrying his diploma, but he didn’t have any Irish history or Palmer method certificates. They were boushwah anyway, and just a lot of extra work.

Studs gave Weary a cigarette, and they stood facing each other. They were a contrast, Weary taller, and with a better build, and looking like a much badder guy. Weary had a mean, hard face, square and dirty-looking.

“I’m glad it’s over,” Studs said.

“Me, too. This for the works,” Weary said, making noises by compressing his lips outward and blowing.

“I’m glad I’m through with Battling Bertha,” Studs said. They laughed in mutual agreement and understanding.

“Wouldn’t she get one if she saw us in here smokin’!” said Weary.

“Yeah,” said Studs.

They laughed and lit new fags.

“She’s too old to teach anyway,” said Studs.

“She’s a crab,” Weary said.

“I never liked the old battleaxe,” Studs said.

“Remember when she kept me after school and started to sock me, and I wouldn’t let her?” Weary said.

“Yeah. You had to fight with her, didn’cha?” said Studs.

“Well, the old-cow went to swing on me, and I told her hands off. No, sir! I’m not lettin’ no one take a poke at me and get away with it. Not even Archbishop Mundelein himself,” Weary boasted out of the side of his mouth.

“Neither am I!” said Studs.

“Neither am I!” said Weary.

They looked each other in the eye, and kept staring for several long seconds to prove that they were unafraid of each other.

“No one can get away with takin’ a poke at me,” Studs said.

“Well, I never let anyone get away with takin’ a poke at me neither, and I didn’t intend to start by lettin’ blind Bertha smack me,” Weary said.

“After that she never bawled you out, did she?” Studs said.

“She was afraid of me,” bragged Weary.

“She used to treat me all right. You see, my old man always gave the nuns a turkey on Thanksgivin’ and Christmas,” Studs said.

“Say, by the way, did you see Doneggan take a wham at TB?”

“No. Why?”

“Well, Muggsy McCarthy made some crack when Gilly was speakin’, said Doneggan didn’t like it, so he cracked his puss,” Weary said.

“Yeh! Say! You know TB gets it in the neck every shot. I kinda feel sorry for the guy,” Studs said.

“He’s nuts anyway. I know I wouldn’t take what that loogin takes. I don’t give a good goddamn who it is, nobody is gettin’ away with anything on this gee,” said Weary.

“You know, they got a hell of a lotta nerve haulin’ off on a guy just because they’re priests or