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“Yeah,” Studs mumbled, chewing.

“I like Father Shannon. He’s a swell priest,” Martin said in the changing squeaky voice of adolescence.

The father thought a better word than swell should be used to describe a great man like Father Shannon. Mrs. Lonigan said he was a holy man, and what a pride he must be to his old mother, if she were still living. Loretta said he was a darling. Fran said he was brainy: Lonigan told Fran that Father Shannon might say a word or two about those books by that man Sinclair Lewis that she was reading. She said she was not taking them seriously. She only read them because a couple of her girl friends who thought they were sophisticated were reading them, and she had gotten them to look at, only so they wouldn’t be able to think that she was old-fashioned, or not up to the times in things. Mrs. Lonigan said that some books were like bad companions.

“Please, Mother!” Fran said.

“You’re going to make the mission, William?” the mother said.

He was sure. Martin said he was also. The mother said she wanted them to because she and their father were going to make the mission for the older people, and if the whole family did the right thing, their home would be blessed by God.

“Sure, we’ll take it in a couple of nights,” Lonigan said.

She said every night they would. Lonigan said that missions were not meant for guys like himself who weren’t sinners. She said he must set a good example for his children. He nodded, not to get her going. She was getting more religious every day, and it was a good thing, but she was filling the house with holy pictures and holy water, and hell, they weren’t sinners, and did all their duties to God and the Church, and she didn’t need to harp on it. He looked at Bill, with a father’s love and pride. Only, he hoped, God, he hoped, that the mission. would affect Bill, make him sort of settle down.

The daughters arose to get the coffee and dessert from the kitchen. Mrs. Lonigan told them how holy Father Shannon was. Lonigan expanded, rubbed his spreading belly, and agreed.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

I

“Sure, Father Shannon is regular. He won’t jump three feet every time he hears a hell, and he doesn’t try to scare people into loading their pants with any hell-fire and damnation sermons. He talks man-to-man, using psychology,” Kelly said.

“I like Father Shannon,” Les said, while Red frowned at some passing niggers.

“He seems to be working wonders with you hoodlums,” Red said.

“Us hoodlums! What about yourself?” Doyle retaliated.

“I sure like him,” Les said.

“He’s certainly different from Gilly. He knows human nature. And he doesn’t always harp for money. Still he gets it,” Tommy said.

“The way Gilly harps on the dough, you’d think no one ever gave a cent. Like a couple of weeks ago, when he told people they should quit putting pennies and nickels in the collection box,” Studs said.

“Of course, he has to, with the debt on the new church, and so many well-to-do parishioners moving out of the parish before it’s up hardly more than a year,” Kelly said.

“Hear Ye! Hear Ye! Hear Ye!” burlesqued Barney Keefe; they certified that he was sober by smelling his breath.

“Coming to the mission, Chu Chu?” Studs asked.

“Yes, but not with you hoodlums. The mission is for sinners and louses like you guys, not me. I’m holy,” Barney said; Red frowned as two more niggers passed the corner.

“Listen to the bastard talk, when his war cry has always been: `Let’s get a bottle.’ ” Red laughed.

“One of these days, I’m going to sue all you heels for defamation of character and slander,” Barney said.

“Tell me, Barney! Is that the right spirit to have when you’re making the mission?” asked Red.

“Get away from me. Woe! Woe! Woe! You’re all the occasion of sin,” Barney said.

“Seems to me you guys ought to be more serious,” Stan Simonsky said.

“Of course, Stan, we’re all Catholics here. If there were outsiders around, we’d talk different,” Red said.

“Talking of people needing the mission, though,