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“He’s got plenty coming to him.”

“I never was afraid of him as a kid. Neither were you, Studs. You cleaned him, I remember.”

Studs nodded with pleasure. They stopped for a Coca-Cola near the church, and then went to the meeting in the basement auditorium of the parish. Upon entering, Red commented that there was a pretty good crowd. Studs shook his head in agreement and remarked that every drug store cowboy in the neighborhood was present. He and Red circulated from group to group, acting superior, feeling that they deserved being noticed the way the punks noticed them. Without realizing the drift of his thoughts, Studs found himself remembering how they all used to come down to the same place when he was a kid, for singing practice for church, and for elocution lessons. A jane named Miss Cobb had been their elocution teacher. They’d all have to recite, and reciting, they’d have to stand up straight, heels together, feet out, the right foot straight, the left foot, half sidewise, a goofy position, and then recite things like:

Where are you going, young fellow, my lad,

On this glorious morn of May?

I’m going to join the colors, Dad,

They’re needing men, they say.

It was goofy, and he’d always hated the singing too, but maybe because his own voice wasn’t so hot. Preparing to sing at five o’clock mass on Christmas, they’d practice a half hour right after the afternoon bell rang at one o’clock. Christ, he used to hate it. He sang to himself:

Holy God, we praise Thy name!

Lord of all, we bow before Thee!

All on earth Thy sceptre claim,

All in Heaven above adore Thee!

For a moment, he felt as if he were a kid again, and then the song blew out of his mind, and he felt just lonesome and sad in a vague way without anything clear in his mind, and he hoped some of the guys from his class would be there. He realized that Phil Rolfe was talking to him.

“Say, Jew, this ain’t a fish peddlers’ convention,” Studs said.

“I can come here, can’t I? I just met Father Doneggan. He said he was glad to have me,” Phil said.

“Well, don’t sell him any fish,” Studs said.

“Jesus, we better get the doors locked all right,” said Red.

“Maybe they got rat traps in back of the stage,” Studs said, pointing to the stage up in front, the same stage on which he had received his graduation diploma. Young Rocky called Phil to tell him something.

Big Nodalsky, who had turned into a tall, dark, sheiky guy, with greased hair parted in the middle and sideburns, greeted Studs.

“You’re looking good. You haven’t hardly changed a bit, Studs.”

“What are you doing?”

“Managing a dancing school and taxi dance hall down town, and giving lessons. But I expect to get lined up for a dancing act with Orpheum. But say, ever see any of the old boys?” Big Nodalsky asked.

“Once in a while. Monk McCarthy’s brother, Red, is studying for the priesthood, and Monk has a political job and doesn’t come around mooching any more.”

“Muggsy was always funny. He was smart but he’d never do anything, and he was always getting in trouble. But say, remember Cudahy? He’s got a job with Sloan’s Deerfield, the mail-order house.”

“Yeah, and I see Bill Donoghue once in a while,” Studs said.

“How is Bill? What’s he doing?”

“He’s got a job repairing adding machines.”

“Good old Bill, and what about his brother, Dan?”

“Dan runs a movie in his uncle’s chain up in Madison, Wisconsin. He gets into town now and then, Bill says, but I hardly ever see him.”

“And Tubby?” asked Nodalsky.

“Haven’t seen Tubby in a couple of years. The last I heard of him, he was a glazier’s apprentice.”

“Jesus, those were the days, weren’t they, Studs?”

“Yeah, they were. You were in the same room with our class, weren’t you?”

“I was in seventh grade when you were in eighth, but, say, I wonder what happened to Battling Bertha?” asked Nodalsky. “I think she died.”

“She was hard-boiled all right; the year I was in eighth grade, I remember one day she got tough with Johnny O’Brien. He was a grade behind me. Well, he hauled off on her. Yeah, he socked her.”

“I think I remember hearing something about