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By Root 10587 0

of tremendous size. It was segmented by impressive marble pillars, overhung by the hollowed dome of glass, and lined with oak pews. The floor was stone. The main altar, imported from Italy, was a huge slab of marble, set back in a hollow, and flanked by two altars that formed the horizontal sides of the cruciform. At the side altars, there were weakly conventional statues of St. Joseph, and the Blessed Virgin Mary. Above the altar were circular windows of stained glass with the half-distinguishable figures of Christ, Mary, St. Patrick and other saints, trumpeting and flying angels with the face of Donatello’s “David,” baby angels, sheep and retreating snakes. On, the left towards the front, there was an altar shrine to St. Anthony with a marble statue of the saint. The stations of the cross dotted the church with cheaply emotionalized statuary representations of the suffering and death of Christ. The choir box, with a ten thousand-dollar organ and gilded pipes, was overhead in the rear, and next to it, a small gallery with tiers of pews. The edifice was built in no specific architectural style. It was a loot of traditions.

At eleven o’clock on the second Sunday in February, the year of our Lord nineteen hundred and twenty-six, the first services, a high mass celebrated by his eminence, the Cardinal Archbishop, were conducted. Parishioners, former parishioners, visitors, sightseers, all attended mass, and every pew in the church was occupied, with an overflow crowd along the side, in the aisles, and in the rear. In his eulogistic sermon, the Cardinal Archbishop described the occasion as the greatest day in the history of St. Patrick’s parish. He lauded the untiring zeal, devotion, foresight, energy, and courage of the pastor, Reverend Father Gilhooley, and the unstinted loyalty, generosity, faith, and cooperative spirit of the good people of the parish. Years afterwards, this day of rejoicing and victory would be remembered by all who were so fortunate as to be present. For was it not a day celebrating the opening of a new and beautiful house of worship to God Almighty, the consecration of a church that would stand almost until eternity as a tribute of art and beauty to the lasting glory of God, and also as a memorial record of the religious fervor of the people of this parish. After the Cardinal Archbishop, Father Gilhooley mounted the marble pulpit, and expressed his own brief words of gratification, pride, joy, and appreciation.

It was a great day.

And standing in the rear of the church were four new and totally edified parishioners. Their skin was black.

CHAPTER TWENTY

I

Sally, a buxom human heifer, leaned forwards over the cashier’s counter, and handed Dapper Dan O’Doul the autographed picture of Ramon Novarro, which she had procured by sending money and stamps. Her blue energetic eyes flashed, and she continued leaning forwards with the front of. her dress sagging, permitting Dapper Dan to get an eyeful.

“Isn’t he keen?”

“He’s the nuts,” Dapper Dan said, arranging his precisely-tied silver-and-red cravat.

“That bastard hangs around all night, peeping down Sally’s dress,” Studs said.

“Still raining. Christ, this weather,” Red said, looking out the door to see the rain bouncing on the sidewalk like silver dollars.

“Say, will that broad come across?” Studs asked, resting his elbow on the radiator.

“Dapper Dan is sure trying hard enough,” Doyle said.

“These young punks around here are worse than O’Neill, and that goof, Young Rocky, who went to New York,” Studs said.

“They call O’Doul the Kodak kid. He hangs around the drug store all winter posing, and he kodaks on the beach in summer time, combing his hair as if he was having his picture taken, and never even getting his feet wet. He’s a lulu,” Tommy Doyle said.

“That goddamn rain,” Kelly said.

A customer, hastening in hunched and wet, had to shove to get by the gang because they were choking the doorway.

“Hey, Dapper Dan,” Studs called.

“Studs, it doesn’t shave yet,” Red Kelly said, as O’Doul stood before them.

“Listen, O’Doul, does she say you’re handsomer