The Studs Lonigan Trilogy - James T. Farrell [404]
He wondered would he have done better by putting all his cards on the table and shooting square. He didn’t trust this fellow, but still, if he told more of his story, well, the fellow would have to sympathize with him and give him a break, if there was any break to be given.
“Married?”
“I’m getting married in two weeks.”
“How long have you been a painter?”
“Since 1919. I’ve been working with my father.”
“Business bad now?”
“Well, it isn’t good: But that’s not the reason. I’m leaving because I want to get into something new, and because I got to change my work. You see, on my getting married now, well, I lost two thousand bucks, dollars, that is, on Imbray stock, and then I’m broke, and then, as I said, I got to change my job on account of my health.” Studs noticed the immobile, cold face before him, and it seemed useless to go on. “Of course, things are not so hot, good, I mean, with my father, and well, under the circumstances, I think I ought to go out and work at something for myself. I’ve been a painter long enough, and now, I’m looking about for a change.”
“I see now. At first I wasn’t able to understand why you should want to go to a new work that pays less,” Mr. Parker said, but still there was that lifelessness in his features.
“And, of course, I’m only asking for a start in a station,” Studs said, spurred on to win interest and sympathy. “And I’m sure I can work my way up. I’m not lazy. I’ve always worked, and I can work.”
“What education have you had?”
“Grammar school and some high school.”
“Some high school—how much?” Mr. Parker asked querulously.
“Two years.”
“In Chicago here?”
“Yes, Loyola on the north side,” Studs said, and he waited in uncertainty while the man made some jottings on a scratch pad. Maybe he would get it.
“Well, Mr. Lonigan, there isn’t really an opening at present. Times are, you know, not the best, and we have only a limited capacity for hiring people. We would like to hire as many as we could, but that, of course, is out of the question. If you and your father have a contract to paint a house, and you hire more men than you need, there isn’t any profit. And you say, you are how old?”
“I’ll be thirty this fall.”
“That, also, isn’t so good. At thirty a man is still young. But we, you see, like to get our service-station men younger. Just out of college, especially, and train them in our own way. I can’t hold out much hope for you, but I’ll give you an application blank to fill out and mail in to me, and if there is an opening, I shall get in touch with you.”
“Well, thank you. And, oh, yes, I wanted to say, also, that I can give you good references.”
“Of that I don’t doubt. I can see that you are an experienced man in your own line, and that you have undoubtedly made good at it.”
“Well, I can give references like Judge Dennis Gorman, and Mr. McCormack who’s high up in the Democratic party.”
“Of course, there is no connection between the Nation Oil Company and politics. But then, of course, such references are worthy ones, references of men in public offices, and they will count for you favorably when your application is considered. Now here is an application blank. It is self-explanatory. You fill it out tonight and mail it to me.”
“Thanks, I’ll do that,” Studs said, accepting the blank.
“I’m very glad to have met you, Mr. Lonigan,” Mr. Parker said, arising and offering a limp hand.
Studs hurried out past the waiting lineup on the benches. In the corridor, he looked at his watch, eleven-thirty, and pressed the button for an elevator.
IV
From the entrance-way to the Nation Oil building he watched the rain sweep Michigan Boulevard like a broom. The damp atmosphere seemed to penetrate to his bones and he felt lousy enough as it was, without having to take any disappointments.
What now? He tried to make himself believe that he hadn’t been dumb in the way he had talked upstairs, but he knew differently. Goddamn it, why did he have to go through this?