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The Studs Lonigan Trilogy - James T. Farrell [276]

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there must be a reaction, and then a counter action, because that is the law of life and of economics. The business depression is a reaction to over-production. We are now through the worst of it, and have slowed down our processes of production in consonance with the law of supply and demand. We are again on a solid footing, and we shall see, in the next six months, another commercial upswing. In my recent visit to the White House, I found this same hope prevailing in official circles, and I concluded that what we all must do is to get behind our president and push forward, to the next period of prosperity. And when our next period does return, let us all be wiser then we were in the years of 1928 and 1929.”

“I’m glad that’s over,” Studs said.

“Now we’ll get the real stuff,” Pat said.

III

GRANDIOSE

FILMS CORPORATION

Presents

DOOMED VICTORY

Studs yawned without reading the credit list or cast of characters, and slumped in his seat ready to let the picture afford him an interesting good time.

Two, shabby boys walked nonchalantly along a street in a poor district, the boy on the outside carrying a beer can with the handle resting over his right wrist. His companion, his cap back on his curly head, stuck his hands in his pockets and whistled. A beer wagon passed with a crunching of wheels and a rattling of barrels. They paused to stare at a drunk lying in the gutter, and the boy with the beer can looked up from the intoxicated man to an advertising sign, across the street.

THE WORLD IS YOURS

“Holy Moses!” the curly-haired boy exclaimed.

The boy with the beer can gestured knowingly, handed him the can, bent over, and forked two bills from the drunk’s pocket.

“This is for you, Spike, and this for Joey Gallagher,” he said, handing Spike one of the bills and taking back his beer can.

“Gee, Joey.”

Whistling, they walked slowly along, past a row of wooden tenement houses.

“Joey Gallagher and Spike Malone, what are you rascals up to now?”

“Nothing, Mr. Kennedy. Just running an errand for the old man,” Joey Gallagher replied, looking up into the face of the benign policeman.

“You little divvils keep out of mischief or I’ll be running ye in.”

“Kennedy’s an old fool,” Joey Gallagher said, and they walked around a corner building with the sign above it

O’BRIEN’S

Inside the saloon toughs and eccentrics lined the bar, some in caps and jerseys, others wearing plug hats, and sporty gray suits with narrow trouser cuffs. Full-rounded women with wide hats were scattered among the men at the tables. Waiters moved about with trays, and a thin-faced fellow tickled the piano keys.

The boys crept in by the side door, timidly walked to the edge of the bar, attracted the attention of the bartender with the florid mustaches, handed the can up to him. With the can filled, they turned to the door, and just before going out Joey Gallagher cast an admiring and wistfully boyish glance at the toughs lining the bar.

“So you’re tough! You’re tough!” a boy, huskier than Joey Gallagher, said, meeting them on the street, toying with Joey, like a cat playing with a mouse, by pushing him, pulling out his shirt, and jamming his cap half over his eyes.

Joey quickly shoved the can of beer to Spike and rushed into the bully, the two boys mauling back and forth. The bully plunked Joey’s eye, and Studs, watching Joey rush in again with flailing arms, remembered how he at Joey’s age had beaten up Weary Reilley, who was just like this bigger kid in the picture. He knew he was going to like this picture. It was going to be more like his own life than almost any picture he’d ever seen, he felt. He hoped, too, that Joey would have a sweetheart, who would be just like Lucy Scanlan.

“Yes, I’m tough, you big mutt,” Joey said, his eye swollen, standing over the bully who cowered at the edge of the dusty curb.

“And so am I,” Spike added, dousing the bully with beer, and Studs laughed with others in the audience.

Handsome, with marcelled hair, Joey Gallagher sauntered into a poolroom, strolled by the talkers and pool players, and Studs wished that the

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