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By Root 10562 0

to see her would give him a feeling of those other days, when he had never dreamed that he would be in the kind of a hole he was now in. Or to see good old Helen Shires, a girl he could talk to, tell her of his feelings and troubles, and she would understand. Another cute dame, her dainty steps, the shocked look on her face as she avoided a puddle. He laughed. An old Jew with black whiskers getting wet, maybe a rabbi smelling of gefillte fish. Boy, what wind tormentors that old Abie had! They fell halfway down his chest. He watched the automobiles curving onto and off Randolph Street. Two students entering the Cresar Library Building across the street caught his eye. Lucky boys getting an education. And the cartoon coming up the library steps with books under his arm. A nose that hooked and stuck out all over his face, blue corduroy pants, leather jacket, no hat. Must be one of those Bohemians or a pansy. Lots of goofs in the world.

“Got a cigarette, Mister?”

Studs turned to face a jerking little gray-haired man with ill-fitting old clothes that hung over his body like a wet sack.

“Thanks,” the man muttered, taking a cigarette from Studs’ extended pack.

Studs nodded as if he had done the man a great favor. “Got a match?”

Studs handed him a book of matches, looking on as the fellow unconfidently and excitedly wasted four matches before getting a light.

“Terrible weather,” the man said.

Studs grunted agreement. The bum stood beside Studs as if expecting something. Studs watched a green-beamed surface car swerve onto Randolph Street and clang to Wabash Avenue surrounded by automobiles.

“Say, Mister, you couldn’t spare a dime for a bite to eat? I’ve been carrying the banner all night, and I’m goddamn hungry.” Studs did not hear, and his thoughts dragged up Lucy again. The bum walked off, muttering curses. Studs stood watching people pass in the rain, thinking of Lucy, and wondering, now what would he do?

VII

Studs stepped out of another building. Four straight turn-downs, one right after the other. It was about a quarter to three, and disappointment was deep and like a worm inside of him. Walking again in the rain, he was afraid, afraid that he was no good, useless, that he would never be able to get anywhere. If the old man lost everything, he would just be a pauper without a pot to take a leak in. He walked rapidly, half running until he was forced to slow down. He knew he shouldn’t exert himself in this manner, tiring his heart, getting more and more soaked, his clothes hanging wet on him, his trouser legs and cuffs heavy and soggy, his shoes sopping out wetness with every step, his hat dripping. Again he hurled himself forth, with head lowered, street sounds beating in his ears while he kept telling himself, goddamn it, he had to have a stretch of luck. There was nothing he could do but paint, and that was out, and at anything else he’d be lucky to make a measly fifteen bucks a week.

He entered a building on North Wabash Avenue, read the bulletin board. Emmett Jewelry Company. He took the elevator, hoping again. A girl by a telephone board in an outer office looked at him impersonally.

“I want to see the man in charge.”

“For what purpose?”

“I’d like to interview him about a position.”

“I’m sorry, but we have no openings.”

“Well, couldn’t I just see him?”

“He isn’t in.”

“Is his assistant or secretary in?”

“She’s busy.”

He turned away, slammed the door behind him. Another defeat. He told himself that he didn’t give a good goddamn. Let himself get sick. Let anything happen. He’d already had so much tough luck that what the hell difference did it make. He stepped carelessly into the rain, faintly aware of streets and people.

He had a picture in his mind of Studs Lonigan courageously telling life and the world to shove itself up its old tomato and let it stick there. He saw himself walking in the rain, wet and tired, with things crashing down on his head, being screwed at every turn, forced to do something. He saw himself walking south along State Street in the sloshing rain, past department stores, past