The Studs Lonigan Trilogy - James T. Farrell [281]
“William, come and have a glass of milk,” his mother called, and he turned from the window, grateful for the distraction.
He passed through the dark, narrow hallway and planked himself down at the enamel-topped kitchen table. He munched a graham cracker and slowly sipped milk.
“Your father will be coming home early,” she said, a gray-haired woman with fatigue indelibly printed into her gaunt face.
“Dad seems to be in the dumps a lot these days,” Studs said, grinding on a new cracker, glancing at her as she sat by the sink peeling potatoes.
“It’s a downright shame that he should come to all this trouble and worry in his old age, after being such a good man and a good provider for his family all these years,” she muttered.
Tough, all right. But Studs Lonigan was not going to let himself get it in the neck the same way, he thought confidently.
“The Trents downstairs only paid half of their rent this month, and Mr. Trent’s salary has been cut. They’re complaining that the rent’s too high. And how can your father reduce it, with his expenses, the upkeep on the building, his taxes, and the mortgage payments he has to make. The O’Connells, too, on the third floor, haven’t paid a cent of rent in three months. Your father hates to ask Mr. O’Connell to leave, because Mr. O’Connell is a good steady man who always paid his rent right on the dot. But with his store failing, poor man, he’s lost everything he had. And I was talking with Mrs. Schwartz down on the first floor this morning, and she was telling me how with their new car half paid for, they couldn’t keep it up, and the car was taken away from them.”
“Yes, it’s tough all around,” Studs mumbled, but if his stock only went right, it wouldn’t be hitting him in the solar plexus. But had he, had he, after all, been a first-class chump?
“Times are harder than I can ever remember them. If they get any worse, I don’t know what’s going to happen to us. And I’d rather die than have to ask anything of my girls or their husbands. I don’t know what I’d do but for my faith in God and in the power of The Little Rose of Christ. I pray to her every day for comfort, and for your father, and our family.” Looking up, she arose, walked to the table, poured him a second glass of milk and said, “Here, William, drink another glass. It’s good for you.”
“I’ve had plenty,” he said, rocking back on his chair.
“Drink it, William. It will build you up.”
“I’m all right. I feel fine.”
“No, William, you’re so thin and pale I always worry about you. You must drink more milk and build yourself up. If anything ever happened to your father, you know, you’d be the head of the family.”
“Dad’s been hoping to get a contract to decorate an apartment hotel by the lake. If he does, I’ll be able to go to work on it, and things will be much rosier for us all around,” Studs said, taking a gulp of milk.
“I hope to the Lord he does. But William, I just dread to think of you going out to do all that hard work in your health.”
“I’ll be all right.”
“But the Lord knows you’ll have to work when you’re married. This isn’t the best time in the world for young folks to be getting engaged and married,” she said, her voice growing faintly querulous.
Studs was tempted to tell her there would be no worry on that score if his investment came out right.
“Well, it’s a comfort to know that you have money saved up in the bank and that you won’t be going to her empty-handed.”
He drank his milk more slowly.
“And I’m grateful to God that my girls married good providers, and have the comforts your father and I always wanted them to have when they got married.” She sighed.