The Studs Lonigan Trilogy - James T. Farrell [207]
“Haggerty, if you get in the Navy, you’ll end up like Mush Joss in the jug after deserting three times.”
“Mush was always a bum anyway,” Shrimp said, and he got the horse laugh.
“Mush was a funny guy. You know, he was a damn swell baseball player, and if he kept on he’d be in the big leagues now. He played a good game for one year with the Carmelites High School. Then he left school because the family didn’t have the jack to send him, and he just went to hell,” Red said.
“Studs, you know, I’m pulling Keefe’s leg. The bastard thinks he’s getting a job as sewer-pipe layer down at Grant Park. And today I spoke to a guy I know who’s assistant foreman and he told me I could count that job mine. Watch me get him,” Shrimp said in confidence.
“Yeah, I think I’ll join the Navy. No flunkey job for me. If anyone comes along, Barney can have them,” Shrimp said, looking at Barney; Barney whistled.
“Well, I been thinking I’d get into the political game,” Doyle said.
“You goddamn Irishman. Because your brother is assistant precinct captain without pay, you think you’ll be assistant to Brennan, or Barney McCormack, the state senator. Every election day they let you stand in front of the polls looking like Jesus Christ, and wearing a tag, begging everybody to vote for a bunch of Shanty Irish crook politicians, and you think you’re an influence,” Keefe said.
“Sic ‘em, Keefe!” Kelly said.
They crossed over to the park. The trees and grass were deep green, and they made Studs think of the trees on that day as a kid, when he licked Kelly. People were walking, they seemed contented, as if nothing was bothering them. The only way he would have that feeling was if he could get Lucy.
“Lonigan, that rat Haggerty can’t kid me! He’s pulling his own leg. That bastard thinks he’s going to be sewer-pipe layer, and I was speaking to a friend of mine who’s an assistant engineer down at Grant Park, and he told me I got that job sewn up. That skunk ain’t puttin’ nothing over on anybody but himself,” Barney quietly said.
Studs smiled. He wasn’t able to appreciate things like he had used to. Goddamn Lucy! He shouldn’t let her be bothering him; wasn’t he young, healthy and tough, didn’t he have some-thing to look forward to, hadn’t he even bought himself a couple of stocks that the old man said were hot stuff?
Only.. .
“Well, what are we going to do?” Studs said, feeling restless.
II
Shorty Wolfson, a young chap the size of a bantamweight who worked as a lineman for the telephone company, boxed with Eddie Eastman on the grass in the park. He tore into Eastman and cracked his jaw. Eastman lay down white. Milt Rosensplatz, the referee, counted ten.
“You’re pretty good. There’s a yellow streak all the way down your spine,” Studs said.
Eddie tried to justify himself, and they told him to get away with that BS.
Wils Gillen and Swede Elston boxed like two clowns. Wils grimaced, swung, missed, fell on his face. He jumped up, rubbed his glove across his nose, hunched himself, cocked his hands. Swede toe-danced backwards out of danger. They missed hay-makers, and clinched. They made faces at each other for a three-minute round and didn’t land a blow. Studs told them not to box another round, because they were liable to break their hands on a tree.
Rosensplatz, the husky, flat-footed Jewboy, and Big Nose Jerry Rooney, from Johnny O’Brien’s class at St. Patrick’s, put on the gloves.
“Let there be light and there was light! Let there be Louisa Nolan’s, and there was Three Star Hennessey! Let there be nose, and there was Rooney!” Young Rocky said.
“What battlers these boys are,” Studs said, as they jabbed cautious gloves at one another.
“These punks are all the same. They can all fool around with fourteen-years-old girls, and not make the grade, but they got sawdust in their guts,” Kelly sneered.
“Hey, Rooney,