The Studs Lonigan Trilogy - James T. Farrell [222]
“Say, remember the fun we used to have as kids?” he said to Davey.
“Yeah. It was the nuts. Jesus, wouldn’t it be swell to be like that again, no responsibilities. Remember the time you licked Red Kelly?” said Davey.
“Yeah, and Paulie had that trouble in the piggy game with that punk, what was his name?”
“Young Dennis,” said Davey.
“That was it.”
“And I remember the day you licked Weary Reilley. That was a battle,” said Davey.
“Were you there? I didn’t think you were,” said Studs.
“Yeah. In front of Helen Shires’ house. Sure I was,” said Davey.
“I didn’t remember you there. But that was a fight, the hardest fight I ever had,” said Studs.
“Say, Studs, could you stand me to another cup of coffee?” Davey asked.
Davey got the coffee. He asked Studs if a piece of pie would be all right, too. Studs said yes. He was thinking of the old days.
When Davey finished, they went outside. Hink Weber was on the corner, and he had a wandering look about him. Davey rushed up to Hink, put out his hand, and said hello. Hink didn’t notice him.
“Hello, Hink!” said Studs, more ordinarily, feeling a sense of triumph that Hink had not batted an eye when the Jew had tried to put the rush act on him. Hink scarcely raised an eye-brow, but did not speak. He walked on, like a somnambulist.
“Jesus Christ!”
“Say, what the hell, Hink never used to be high hat like this, did he?” asked Davey.
“No. Jesus, he looked queer tonight.”
“Yeah, he looked awfully strange. Did you catch that look in his eyes?” asked Davey.
“Yeah.”
“He didn’t look drunk to me. He looked crazy,” said Studs. “I wonder was he drunk.”
“Jesus!” exclaimed Davey.
“He’s been acting queer of late,” said Studs.
“Yeah,” said Davey knowingly.
“He hasn’t been around much of late, but when he has, he’s been acting sort of far away,” said Studs.
“That’s too bad, all right,” said Davey.
“I’m sorry, all right,” said Studs.
“Me too,” said Davey.
Studs had gas on his stomach from the coffee an’. He knew now he wouldn’t sleep. It worried him.
“Well, I guess I’ll be moving along,” he said.
“So long.”
“Poor Hink!”
“Poor Hink!”
“Say, I just thought: we oughtn’t to say anything about it, huh?” said Studs.
“I guess so.”
“So long.”
Davey hung around, a bit chilled, waiting to see if anybody else would come. He hated to go home. He thought how swell it would be if a broad came along, and he met her, and they went to her room, and she warmed him, and ummmmm, Jesus Christ! He wanted a lot of things. Poor sick Jew! He wished the guys would come. They didn’t. He tramped disappointedly home.
XXI
At the supper table early in 1927, Mrs. Lonigan sighed that she was glad because soon it would be time for Father Shannon, the missionary, to be coming back to the parish to conduct the first mission in the new church. And she was anxious to hear what he would say about it, and how surprised he would be, and pleased to be conducting a mission in such a magnificent house of worship. Lonigan reflected aloud that Father Shannon was as brilliant and as educated as any Jesuit.
Mrs. Lonigan, her hair graying, looked over her brood, her two stunning daughters and her two sons; Loretta, a fine girl with an excellent high school education at St. Paul’s swell school for girls; Frances engaged to be married to that well-to-do Dowson boy; Martin, a growing boy, innocent and fine, attending the Carmelites high school, and, she hoped and prayed nightly to God, preparing himself to answer the call to the priesthood. She saw the day, in a mother’s day dream, when he would celebrate his first mass at St. Patrick’s parish. There was only William, her baby. She prayed to God, too, that he would settle down. She was worried. Oh, God, would He only put grace into William’s heart at this next mission. William was a good boy, with no harm in him. It was only bad companions.
“You children will