The Studs Lonigan Trilogy - James T. Farrell [302]
“Those damn Reds bellyaching and agitating in times like these when everybody ought to get right to it to help keep the ship afloat! And, Bill, I also heard the Reds were egging on the niggers in the black belt. That’s sheer dynamite.” Lonigan gritted his teeth. “Anyway, I’m glad I haven’t any money tied up in that bank. But I’ve got a couple of bills due from fellows out there in that vicinity. I suppose, if the bank crashes, these guys will claim they lost all they own, whether they did or not, and squirm out of paying me. I lost three thousand bucks already from fellows who’ve pulled that gag on me. But even so, I collected some money today at last from a guy on the west side who’s been welshing payment on a job I done for him six months ago. And he promised more next month.” Lonigan seemed to drift into brooding. Suddenly, he continued, “Collecting bills these days is sure one hell of a job.”
Mrs. Lonigan appeared with a glass of milk, and Studs drank half of it in one gulp.
“William, you shouldn’t drink so fast!”
“How were Phil and Loretta when you saw them last night?”
“Oh, pretty good.”
“Phil say how business was going with him?”
“Pretty good.”
“Well, that makes me glad. He’s a smart Jew, I mean a smart boy. It’s a relief on a man’s mind to know that his two sons-in-law are getting along.”
Studs was distressed with fear that his old man was going to get confidential. His old man would, when he got that way, lay parts of himself open, bare, and he would seem so weak that Studs didn’t like it. And suddenly he was tempted to speak about his stock.
“What did you say, Bill?”
“Nothing, I was just going to say it’s pretty damn swell Phil and Carroll are clicking so well.”
“Yes, oh yes,” Lonigan said.
“Well, I guess I’ll clean up for supper,” Studs said, leaving his father sitting immobile.
IV
“I’m still tempted to go along and watch you tomorrow,” Lonigan said, arising from the supper table.
“Patrick, why don’t you?”
“Maybe I will, Mary.”
“I wonder if it is going to be like a fraternity initiation?” Martin said, dropping a crumpled napkin beside his plate and pushing his chair back.
“Martin!” Lonigan said in an injured tone. “You know that the Order of Christopher is more serious than a bunch of high-school kids.”
“William, I’m so glad you’re joining,” the mother said, while Martin smirked superciliously.
“I’ve seen a few initiations in my time and they were beauts,” Lonigan chuckled.
“And won’t I laugh if Studs comes home with his face full of lumps.”
“Martin, get that out of your head. It’s the wrong slant,” Lonigan said ponderously. “The Order of Christopher isn’t a gang of barbarians. Nearly every leading Catholic of importance in this country is a Christy.”
“I was just kidding.”
“But, Martin, the Order of Christopher is no more the kind of a thing that you should kid about than your religion is the kind of thing you would mock.”
“Anyway, I hope that I’m not letting myself in for something,” Studs said.
“Bill, that’s not exactly the best way to express it. It’s not something you just let yourself in for.” A chuckle seemed to roll out of him, and he beamed. “But, golly, I’ve seen some initiations that were beauts, I’ve half a mind to see them put you through tomorrow.”
“Father, do go. It’ll take your mind off other worries,” Mrs. Lonigan said.
“But if I did, I’d miss Father Moylan on the radio,” Lonigan said, turning into the hallway and adding, without glancing back, “I’ll think about it.”
“Got a date with the sweetie tonight?” Martin asked, yawning.
“Yeh,” Studs gutturally replied.
“William, do come home early, because you’re going to communion in the morning and you must be up early.”
“I know it. Catherine and I are going to confession, and then after we have a little bite of something I’ll come home.”
“That’s fine, son. Do come