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By Root 10333 0

and Dan’s mother, and Mrs. Scanlan. The house next to Scanlan’s would be a nice one to live in. Some people named Welsh owned it, but they were pretty old and they’d be kicking the bucket soon. There were more trees on Indiana, too, and no shines, and only a few kikes. The building on the right of the lot was the one where yellow-belly Red O’Connell lived, the big redhead. Studs wondered if he could fight him. He’d love to paste O’Connell’s mush, but Red was big. Maybe the old man would buy the building and kick the O’Connell’s out. Down two doors was the wooden frame house where the O’Callaghans lived. Old Man O’Callaghan had been one of the first guys to live in the neighbor-hood, and he was supposed to be lousy with dough. And then the apartment buildings where the Donoghues lived. And then the series of two-story bricks, where Lucy, Helen Shires and the O’Briens lived. And then the home where those Jews, the Glasses, lived, and then the apartment buildings on the corner, where punk Danny O’Neill, and Helen Borax, and goofy Andy lived, and they had that bastard of a janitor, George, who was always shagging kids. Some Hallowe’en they were going to get him, good. If Studs lived on Indiana, he’d see more of Lucy. He walked down Indiana, thinking he might call for some of the bunch; but then, he was an independent guy, the best scrapper of the gang; let ‘em call for him. He stopped at Johnny O’Brien’s gangway and checked himself when he was on the verge of shouting up for Johnny. He came out on the sidewalk, and looked back toward Fifty-eighth. He walked backward.

“Hello, there,” sighed Leon.

“Hello!” said Studs, turning sharply, a little surprised.

Studs looked at Leon; he almost looked a hole through him.

Leon was middle-aged and fat. He had a meaty rump that always made the guys laugh, and a pair of breastworks like a woman. His skin was smooth and oily, his eyes dark and cowy, his lips thick and sensuous, his nose Jewish. Leon was a music teacher, and Studs always felt that he was goofy enough to be... just a music teacher.

“I say! Why do boys look backward? I always wanted to know,” he said in a half-lisp.

“I was just lookin’ to see if any of the guys were down the street.”

“Well, you know, it’s the funniest thing. It really is. Because I see so many boys looking backward, and I’m always asking myself why they do it. Never for the life of me have I been able to understand,” said Leon.

Studs shrugged his shoulders.

Leon placed his hand on Studs’ shoulder, and patted his head with the other hand. It made Studs feel a little queer, he felt as if Leon’s hands were dirty, or his stomach was going to turn, or something like that. Sometimes his mother tried to hold him and kiss him, and that made him feel goofy. This was a hundred times worse. Once over in the park, an old man sat down by him and asked if he liked the girls, or ever took them over on the wooded island at night, and he tried to feel Studs. The guy had been goofy, and Studs had had an awful feeling that he couldn’t describe. He hadn’t gone to the park for over a week, and every time he thought of the old guy, and wondered what the bastard had wanted, his thoughts turned sour. He felt the same way with Leon, only Leon was funny and he could laugh at him.

“When are you going to come and see me and let me teach you how to play the piano; you know, you little rascal, that I offered to give you lessons free.”

“Oh, some time,” Studs said.

“You’re missing a wonderful opportunity, my boy. You don’t understand now, but you will some day, how fine music can make a life beautiful,” persuaded Leon.

What the hell is the damn fool talking about? Where in hell did he get that way? Studs said to himself.

Leon had taken his hands off Studs. Now he patted his head.

Studs stepped back a little.

“You’re young now, but I’ll bet you’re an artist. If you let me teach you, I’ll make a musician out of you.”

Studs thought he might as well string the guy along a little. “Then I can play in movie houses?”

“No, not that. I only do that to make a living. I mean a real musician.