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The Studs Lonigan Trilogy - James T. Farrell [349]

By Root 10688 0
this next race he’d be leaving, six bucks to the good. And it had been fun, betting and winning.

The phone rang again. The crowd quieted and listened in that tension that was like so much dynamite being put inside them. Just like dope, all right. And he was glad he hadn’t bet on this one. He’d learned from his experience with the stock market to let well enough alone. Phil was barking out the progress of the race and they were like so many engines cranked up, snapping their fingers, shuffling, calling out and begging the horses, shaking their knees, almost praying. Jesus, it was something of a sight, all right. And the girl in blue, the way she shot her head forward with her jaw set, her lips closed as if they had been locked with a key, her eyes hard on the counter. Ought to approach her by talking about the races, and she’d be pie to make. With the announcement of the winners, he saw her sag limply, drop a card and some papers, sit back in the chair, while all around her others rose, talked, and the lucky ones began clustering at the counter.. She switched sidewise in her chair, slowly crossed her legs, lifting one high as if trying to show off what she had. Maybe after the excitement she had to have some guy now to put her in the right shape. She had her head sunk in her hands, thinking. She was sore, now, and tearing up all her papers. She seemed to have caught him staring at her, and she was, or was she, giving him the eye? Getting up, coming toward him with a set look on her face. Was this too good to be true, or was she sore and going to tell him to quit looking at her? He turned as she came closer and swung around again, surprised, when he heard her voice, high-strung and ready to crack with nerves.

“You know happened to me?”

“Why, no. What?”

“I’ve lost all my house money, and if my husband finds out, he’ll kick the devil out of me. I promised not to bet any more, but I had to. He doesn’t understand. I have to have more house money than he can give me in these times, and he doesn’t understand. And I haven’t one cent for groceries for the rest of the week.”

“Gee, I’m sorry.”

“I simply must have money to preserve my happy home,” she said, with a sudden and forced half-smile.

“I’m sorry but .. .”

“I’m not asking for a loan,” she said sharply, interrupting him. She stepped back a pace. “Look at me!”

“I don’t get you.”

“Yes, you do. You’ve been giving me the eye all afternoon. Well, am I worth two and a half?”

“Well now... Where at?” he said, flushed.

“At my home. Will you come?”

Studs shook his head.

“All right. Wait here a minute,” she said, determined.

“Sister, you got it to give. You got a bunch of personality there and... ”

“Skip it! Wait here a minute,” she said, turning, studiously surveying various men as they milled around.

He watched her single out others, and he was confused by the unusualness of the offer, excited for her, and he decided that it had certainly turned out to be the nuts of an afternoon. Only, if he could get her alone, instead of with a gang. But maybe this might lead to it, and she might just be what he wanted to have on the string. She winked at him. He nodded knowingly, stepped toward the counter, but Phil was busy and he went outside. When she came out, three others joined her as Studs stepped toward her. She looked grimly at them.

“I don’t know you fellows. You better step in the drug store on the way.”

“You’re not dumb, are you, sister?”

“Let’s save that and get along. And you better stop in the drug store.”

“O. K., little lady,” a sandy-haired brute of a fellow said in a slow, almost stuttering manner.

She stepped ahead, and a thin Semitic lad took a quarter from each of them.

“We can toss for the extras.”

“That’s all right. You can keep ‘em,” a medium-sized fellow with a tough face and bushy brows said.

“It’s just the rotten kind of luck I would have,” she said, as if to herself, while they straggled around her and the thin fellow cut across the street to a corner drug store.

“Your bad luck is our good luck,” the bushy-browed fellow said.

“What’s your name,

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