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Slug muttered an “oh,” as if he understood. Tommy remarked that there wasn’t as many as last night, and that no priest drew them like Father Shannon. Les said Father Shannon was an artist.

“Whenever he gives a mission in this town, there’s a lot of people, particularly girls, who are Father Shannon fans, and travel all over the city to hear him.” Studs said.

“He’s worth hearing,” Tommy said.

“Notice how the girls and women go for him,” said Red.

“My old lady thinks he’s a saint,” Tommy said..

“Mine too,” Studs said.

“Speaking of women, I know a new girlie that sure can guarantee to keep the sailor warm when it’s zero outside,” Slug said.

“Save it, Slug,” Red said.

“Jesus, you guys must have got religion,’ Slug said, shaking a puzzled head.

“Studs went to confession,” Red said.

“Yeah, Foul-Mouth Lonigan has got to keep his mind pure until Sunday morning. But then, I’ll bet the bastard makes up for it,” Barney said.

“Nix, Keefe,” said Red.

“Sure, go ahead. I’ll tell all of you, you have such filthy minds that I’m risking my immortal soul associating with you,” Barney said, getting laughs.

Slug said he hadn’t gotten the dope about Studs straight. Red explained that Studs had confessed his sins, and that he had to keep his soul in the state of grace by not committing any new sins between now and Sunday morning when he received Holy Communion.

“You mean he told the priest about all the parties we have been having?”

“Yeah.”

“Wasn’t the priest jealous?”

They tried to explain it to Slug, but he finally went back to the saloon for a drink. Red said that Phil Rolfe had meant things and was really baptized. Studs said sure, he went the whole hog. Stan said he was sweet on Studs’ sister. Studs nodded, frowning. Tommy said he hadn’t realized Phil was so intelligent as to really accept the faith. Red said to wait and see how much he accepted it before tossing bouquets at him. You should never trust a Jew.

“For Christ sake, Fat, where you been?” asked Studs.

“Hell, I moved out of this nigger neighborhood,” Fat Malloy answered.

“Where you living?”

“Out near Sixty-seventh and Stony.”

“My old man’s thinking of selling the building, and buying one out somewhere south,” Studs said.

“You belong in a white man’s neighborhood,” Fat said.

“What you doing, Malloy?” asked Doyle.

“Down at the water works with my old man.”

“I been thinking of going into the political game myself,” said Tommy.

Fat pulled out a poem about gonorrhea. Studs said he went to confession. Fat said he was sorry. The other boys looked at it privately. It turned Studs’ mind to girls. He started home to avoid the occasion of sin. He stepped on sidewalk cracks to keep his mind off women. Christ, he wanted one. He remembered how, as a kid, he used to count the cracks on a sidewalk as he walked. Those days. A girl walked ahead of him. Young. He liked young girls, something about them when they were just budding, when they were the age Lucy had been that day the punks had had the tin-can fight, the age that that bitch, Nellie Cullen, had been. But it had been nice with her, even if he had been dosed. Jesus, he wanted a girl that age again. Like the one in front of him. He would take her over to the park, kiss her, gradually work her up, pat her head, kiss her hair, her eyes, nose, mouth, ears, neck, feel her back and her boobs on the outside, stick his hand inside her dress, french-kiss her, grab under her dress... He came to realizing what kind of thoughts these were. But he hadn’t done it will-fully. They had been temptations, not sins. They had come on him without his being aware of them. A sin had to be a grievous matter and have sufficient reflection and full consent of the will before it was mortal. He hadn’t thought of having these thoughts or willed them. They had just snuck up on him. He couldn’t keep his eyes off the girl. He wanted to swear, do something. And he had to keep himself in the state of grace all day tomorrow, until Sunday morning. He counted