The Studs Lonigan Trilogy - James T. Farrell [181]
“But look here, Studs; I was thinking that if a couple of guys like us went there, we might be able to make something out of it besides a dancing school for the drug store cowboys, or a hall where those goddamn church ushers could try and pretend that they’re Father Gilhooley,” Red said.
“Say, Red, are you planning to go into politics?”
“Well, if I ever do, an outfit like this wouldn’t hurt me none,” said Red.
Studs nodded his head, smiling knowingly.
“Come on, Studs.”
Up there, he might see that girl, and he was still Studs Lonigan, and all the punks and everybody would treat him with respect. They always did. They knew they had to. Let them try kidding him! O’Neill had the other day, and he’d shut up when he’d been told, because if he hadn’t, he knew what was coming to him. And going back around St. Patrick’s made him think of the old days when, goddamn it, he’d had such a swell time.
“All right,” Studs said, feigning disinterest.
“I really think we ought to go. This time they’re organizing the thing to raise money for the new church. After all these years and all this talk, Gilly’s really going to build it. And there’s no reason why St. Patrick’s shouldn’t have as fine a church as any in the city. This is a good neighborhood and a good church. There’s plenty of good Catholics, Irish, in it, people like your old man and mine, and we ought to have a church. There’s enough dough in the parish, too, and Gilly’s the boy to raise it. But it’s a worthy venture, and we ought to try and do our share.”
“Red, you’re getting the gift of gab. If I’m not careful, you’ll probably be selling me real estate out in the middle of Lake Michigan,” Studs said, starting with Red towards St. Patrick’s.
He could feel it in his bones that tonight he was really going to meet her. And there were things about him that nobody knew, and that he’d once thought Lucy would notice, but hadn’t, and she would. Well, Lucy could go plumb to—and then stick her head in the bowl. Tonight was going to be his night in a big way. He’d get her, and maybe marry her. Why not? He tried to remember what she looked like. She was blond. She was slender but with enough meat on her. Her face, eyes... He couldn’t remember.
“St. Patrick’s is a coming parish, Studs. And the new church is going to make it. It’s going to stop all this wild talk about the jiggs moving around here and running the neighborhood. Gilly is a smart man, and what he said last Sunday in church is the goods. Michigan Avenue is going to be made a boulevard. Property values around here will skyrocket. The new church will clinch the matter. You watch, it’ll make people stay here, and the new ones of the right kind with money will move in and buy property. Gilly knows his stuff.”
“That’s what my old man thinks. He won’t sell the building because he thinks it’ll be worth more in a few years.”
“He’s got a head on his shoulders, too.”
“Oh, yeah.”
“And a young guy from a good family in this neighborhood, now he’s got a good chance here in politics. You know, we all laugh at Jim Doyle and kid him about being assistant precinct captain. But he’s got the dope. He’s got a good paying political job now on city construction work, and he’s going to get along. You see, Studs, we’re younger than Jim, and we still got some wild oats to sow, but sometime we’ll have to settle down. That’s why I was saying a young fellow in this neighborhood can get along in politics.”
Studs kind of wished that he’d finished school and studied law. He could see himself as alderman of the ward some day, maybe even Mayor Lonigan. They walked a stretch without talking.
“Say, Weary Reilley damn near killed a guy in a scrap around Sixty-third and University the other night. You know, that bastard is riding for a fall. He’s got into the habit of thinking he’s tough, and he has to act tough to keep up his rep, and well, you know what happens to such guys. There’s always somebody just a little bit tougher.