The Studs Lonigan Trilogy - James T. Farrell [272]
Speech, hearing her, seeing her, made him feel that anyway he was still alive, and that tomorrow morning he would probably still be alive.
He looked out over the waters, at the darkness closing over them. A dash of spray broke against his cheek. He thought that he might catch cold. Had to watch his health now. He peered down at the lights of the Municipal Pier. From behind, he heard faintly a screech from an automobile brake.
Fumblingly, he opened both their coats, drew her against him, feeling a sudden warmth and tenseness come into her. Held against him, she lost all shyness and kissed him with avid hunger, and he knew that he was keen on her all right and wanted her, and wanted to marry her.
“It’s getting late, and it’s too chilly for you here, dear,” she said when she had regained her poise.
Turning, they climbed down from the breakwater and re-treated rapidly toward the, lights and the skyline of Chicago. He was tired and happy and determined. He wanted the future to come. He could hardly wait to get started now to show his real self, to make a success out of his life. He was happy with Catherine walking beside him. Catherine was going to be his and his alone, his woman.
CHAPTER THREE
I
“Why, hello, Studs.”
Studs turned, surprised to find Pat Carrigan and a thin sickly-looking fellow with a familiar face on the platform of the Bryn Mawr Illinois Central Station.
“How’s tricks?” Studs asked.
“Oh, so-so, Studs. Say, do you know Ike Dugan?”
“Yes, we met in South Bend at a Notre Dame football game last fall,” Ike Dugan said.
“Sure. Are you through at N. D. now?”
“Him. He was just one of the synthetic alumni. He came next to me in breaking the record to see who could stay the longest in high school. It took me six years to graduate. It only took him five. If he’d gone to college, he’d have had gray hair before he became a senior.”
“Studs, don’t pay no attention to him. He’s just trying to kid me,” Ike said.
“Where you bound for, Studs? Date?”
“No, my girl has her bridge club tonight, so I thought that I’d go downtown and take in a show.”
“Swell. We’re going down to see Doomed Victory. I hear it’s a swell gangster picture.”
“Sounds O.K. to me,” Studs said.
“Well, boys, here she is,” Ike said as the train pulled into the station.
Studs followed them into the car, and they found seats together, Ike riding backward.
“Studs, did you hear about Stan? He’s been living somewheres around here, and he was put out of his flat because he owed the rent. Poor guy is down in the mouth these days.”
“The going is pretty rough for poor Stan,” Studs said thoughtfully.
“Yes, but times is going to get better,” Ike said.
“What, Ike, have you got a tip out of the La Salle Street feed box?”
“I know, all right. I tell you, I know times is going to get better, and I’m not just guessing.”
“Send a telegram to Hoover about it and let him in on the secret,” Studs said.
“Ike, you’re one of the original inside kids, aren’t you?” Pat said.
“Fellows, I tell you, I know. Times is going to get better.
I’m making dough right now. And I have got a little inside dope,” Ike said with a slick gesture of his hand and a knowing smirk.
“What, are you in the political game, too?” Studs asked.
“Fellows, I’m not kidding. Listen. I work for Imbray and I know. You know what’s behind these stocks? Well, I’ll tell you. All, or nearly all, the public utilities of the Middle West and the brain of a man like Solomon Imbray. What more security could you want?”
“If I had any dough, I’d spend it and see what I was getting,” Pat said.
“Are you selling stock?” Studs asked.
“I’m not a salesman, but everybody in our company is privileged to sell it and if we do, we get a commission,” Ike said.
“Got any real estate for sale out in the middle of the lake, Ike?” Pat asked.
“All right, kid me. But I’m no sucker. I’m kicking out my twelve-fifty a share and when I collect on it, I’ll be collecting fifty bucks a share. And then, Pat, come around and ask me how about some real estate out in the lake,” Ike said.