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“No, but I heard about him.”

“Well, the lads probably know you by name too.”

Studs felt more at home now. He was not talking with punks. “I got this hop. See you later.”

Studs watched Weary go over to a sexy-looking dark broad in a black velvet dress. They moved among the dancers. He envied Weary because the guy danced so well. He wanted to meet the lads. They probably heard that he was the guy who’d once licked Weary Reilley. He wished some of the broads who knew Reilley knew who he was.

A tall girl, with long blond hair and a purple dress that made her figure sylph-like, stood a few feet away. Studs was wordless looking at her. She turned. It was Helen Shires’ kid sister, Marion. And only a few years ago she hadn’t known enough to wipe her nose, and one summer, too, they’d thought she was going to die from infantile paralysis.

Like Fritzie. Hell, she was practically a woman, she had everything. She was young, girl-like and woman-like, full of spirits and fun, and gay, with small straight breasts you almost ached to touch, nice figure, pretty as a picture, nice to see, like sunlight, like spring, like a flower blooming, like Lucy had been just before she’d moved from the neighborhood. He saw the same thing in Marion Shires that he’d seen in Lucy that day when the punks had been having their fight with tin cans in the prairie. He perceived that she was gazing at him.

“Say, aren’t you Helen Shires’ sister?”

“Why, yes. You’re Studs Lonigan.”

“You’ve grown into a fine-looking lady. I hardly knew you.”

“Thank you.”

“How’s Helen?”

“She’s fine. She’s working downtown.”

“I haven’t seen her in a long time.”

“Times change,” laughed Marion Shires with disconcerting self-possession.

Studs figured the punks must break their necks over a girl like her. He felt suddenly proud, though, of his sister Fritzie. She didn’t come to a hole like this. She was too decent.

“I never expected to see you here,” said Marion.

“Oh, I don’t come here regularly. I was just looking the place over.”

“So am I. Like it?”

“I suppose the kids have a good time.”

“Mr. Experience. But aren’t you going to ask me to dance, or am I one of the... kids?” she asked as the music started.

“Why, it’ll be a pleasure,” Studs said, trying to be gentlemanly.

They walked to the floor, and danced. She lay against him with her head tilted back. He tried to hold himself in, because, after all, she was Helen’s sister, and she was only a kid. Hell, he’d expect a guy to be white to his sisters, and if they weren’t, he’d sock them. After the second piece, he couldn’t do that. He gave her what he guessed she wanted. Suddenly she drew back, and her face seemed to go cold.

“You still live on Indiana Avenue?” he asked, figuring that she was a damn little teaser trying to make a monkey out of him.

“Yes.”

“I suppose you’re going to high school?”

“Englewood. I’ll graduate this year.”

“So is Loretta.”

“Yes, I see her a lot at dances.”

He was glad when the dance ended. He told her it was very nice to have danced with her, and asked to be remembered to Helen.

The little teasing bitch, somebody ought to cold-cock her, he thought. He looked at her surrounded by four cake-eaters. He saw O’Neill go up to her and could tell by the sudden disappointment on the punk’s face that she had refused to dance with him. He smiled. The Swede pig he’d danced with edged towards him. He moved off as if he hadn’t seen her. He watched a guy with a bald head and pince-nez glasses shine up to a wrinkled faced Polack. Made him realize that the joint looked like a freak show. Next to him, a kid, she couldn’t be more than fourteen, was oogle-eyeing a high school punk.

Young Rocky rushed up, glad to see Studs. He remarked about all the keen janes there were for the dance. Phil Rolfe joined them, saying it was a surprise to see Studs Lonigan present. Studs was condescending. They toddled off after a jane. The punks sure felt their oats, and strutted their stuff. He felt that he’d come to the wrong place. He should have gone to the Midway