The Studs Lonigan Trilogy - James T. Farrell [283]
“William, don’t eat so fast,” Mrs. Lonigan said, noticing that Studs had lowered his head and was bolting down his food.
“Isn’t a stock like, well, say, Imbray stock with public utilities all over the Middle West to back it up, and directed by a man with the brain of Solomon Imbray, isn’t that stock safe?”
“Well, Bill, I was only saying what I had heard from this insurance man what Tom Gregory had told him. But I’m inclined, personally, to agree with Tom. The stock markets are manipulated by the Jew international bankers, and those are fellows I don’t trust.”
Should he sell his stock and take a small loss? Should he ask his old man’s advice? God. if he lost his dough!
“I was talking to another fellow today, who knows things on the inside down at the City Hall, and he was saying to me, only don’t let this go any further than ourselves, that the city is getting deeper and deeper into a financial pickle, and that soon the policemen, firemen, bailiffs and a lot of the politicians will be in the same boat as the school teachers, and will not be getting their pay envelopes. Now, you can’t tell me that’s natural and isn’t just the result of graft some-where. You bet, there’s something rotten some place. Here men like myself pay out good hard-earned money for taxes, and where does it go? Where does it go that the city can’t even pay the people working for it?” Lonigan said, his face flushing with anger.
“Did you say the bailiffs? Red Kelly won’t be getting his pay then, and he won’t like that at all,” Studs said.
“He was kind of wild as a boy. I remember once seeing Sister Bernadette when the children were in school, and she told me that I should not have a fine boy like William running around with the likes of that Kelly boy. But he must have settled down since he’s gotten married and turned out all right, much better than poor Mrs. Reilley’s boy did.”
“Red’s all right, and he’s got a drag with both Judge Dinny Gorman and the sheriff,” Studs said.
“I don’t care if Dinny is a judge. Judge or not, he’s a damn old mollycoddle to me and always was, a high-hat molly-coddle if ever there was one. He’s not human now, like Joe O’Reilley is. I sure hope, too, that Joe gets in for judge in the elections next month. If there ever was a fine and a smart man, it’s Joe O’Reilley, and he would have been state’s attorney years ago if the newspapers hadn’t knifed him.”
“I saw Red downtown a week or so ago, and all he talked about was his wife,” Martin said.
“He loves his wife, all right,” Studs said.
Mrs. Lonigan carted in coffee and angel-food cake, and served it.
“Well, if things only pick up some now, I’ll be having plenty of work for you boys,” Lonigan said smiling.
“I’m ready,” Studs said.
“And, Mary, we’ll make that trip to Ireland when times get better. We’ll let the boys do their old man’s work, and with two smart lads like Bill and Martin here, well, we need have no worries, and can enjoy our second honeymoon.”
“Yes, Patrick. And I know that everything is going to come out ship-shape,” she said, smiling at him in consolation.
“I guess we have to have faith and confidence, and not let ourselves believe we’re licked,” Lonigan said after a gulp of coffee.
III
Studs sank into a rocking chair opposite the radio, while his father, toying with the dials, produced grating static. The parlor suddenly filled with howling jazz, and Lonigan again tinkered with the dials, decreasing the ear-splitting volume. Out of the swift tempo the notes of a saxophone came like a clear stream of fluid sound that seemed to flow into Studs, shivering up his spine, spilling through his nerves, and pouring poignancy into every corner of his