The Studs Lonigan Trilogy - James T. Farrell [60]
The boy scout struggled after her with the bundle that was too heavy for him. Studs watched them, and thought unprintable things about old lady Gorman.
He stacked some more tobacco in his mug. He sat there. He put on a show to please himself, and imagined that every-body noticed him. He tired of his tobacco juice spitting contest, and quit. He watched snot-nosed Phil Rolfe, the twelve-year-old little pest, tear after a motor truck heading north. The runt got his hitch, even though Studs yelled after him to confuse him, and wished that he’d break his kike neck. Old Man Cohen, dirty, bearded, paused and accusingly asked Studs if he had seen Davey. Studs said no. Studs felt sorry for Davey, with an old man like that. He sat there.
Nate shuffled by, and, seeing Studs, came over. Nate was a toothless, graying little man, with an insane stare in his smallish black eyes. He wore a faded and unpressed green suit that had cobwebs on it and a thick, winter cap of the kind that teamsters wore.
“What’s on your mind, Nate?” Studs asked, using the same tone and manner that the older guys around Bathcellar’s pool room used with him.
Nate said he was getting some new French post cards, and told Studs that he’d sell them for a dime apiece. They were some pictures. Oh, boy! They showed everything. Studs said that he’d take a dozen or two when Nate brought them around. Nate tried to collect in advance, but Studs was no soap for that. Nate started to shuffle away and Studs asked him where the fire was.
“Work, my boy! I was jus’ tellin’ myself about the chicken I made lay eggs today. I was deliverin’ some groceries over on South Park Avenoo, and this chicken was the maid. See! Well! Well, I delivers my groceries, and she says the missus ain’t in, and she looks at me, you know the way a chicken looks at a guy!”
Nate winked, leered and poked Studs in the ribs expressively. He continued:
“She says I should leave the groceries, and you know that ain’t good business, so I calls Ole Man Hirschfield, but he says it’s O.K. So I leaves the groceries. She tanks me, and she says she has jus’ made a cup of tea, an’ I should siddown and have one wid her. She was a looker, so I takes the tea wid her, and we gets to barbering about one ting an’ anoder, about one ting and anoder…”
Nate paused to wipe the slobber off his whiskery chin.
“We gasses about one ting an’ anoder, and soon she ups and walks by me to go to the sink, so I pinches her, and it was de nicest I ever pinched, an’, my boy, I pinched many in my day, because I’m old enough to be yer grandaddy. Well, first ting you know .. .”
Nate leered.
“The first ting you know... why... I schlipt her a little luck.”
“Yeh?”
Nate poked Studs confidentially, leered, and said:
“Yeh, I schlipt her a little luck.”
“Yeh?”
“Yeh!”
Nate turned to gape at a passing chicken, and Studs goosed him. Nate jumped.
He shuffled away, furious, telling himself about the damn brats who got too wise before their diapers were changed. Studs laughed.
He took out another chew, and resumed his competition. The right-hand side of his mouth won easily. He thought of Lucy, who was probably still sore at him. The old feeling for Lucy flowed through him, warm. She seemed to him like a... like a saint or a beautiful queen, or a goddess. But the tough outside part of Studs told the tender inside part of him that nobody really knew, that he had better forget all that bull. He tried to, and it wasn’t very easy. He let fly a juicy gob that landed square on a line, three cracks from him. Perfect! He saw Lucy, and acted very busy with his tobacco juice squirting. He let fly another gob that was a perfect hit. She laughed aloud at him, and said:
“Think you’re funny, Mr. Smarty!”
Studs let fly another gob. She laughed again, and walked on. Studs sat, not looking nor feeling so much like a tough guy. He didn’t turn and see Lucy twist around to glance at him. He threw his wad away. He sat, heedless of the noisy street. A dago peddler parked