The Studs Lonigan Trilogy - James T. Farrell [65]
“She was without a stitch on, and she wants me to go an get her a pack of cigarettes, an I looks at her, and I said, I said... but Jesus, it was funny, because I coulda killed her with the look I gave her; but I’ said, I said, Lady I’m work-in’ since seven this mornin’, and I still gotta store full of orders to deliver. Now Lady how do you expect me ever to get finished, and Lady if I go runnin’ for Turkish Trophies for everyone that wants ‘em . Well, sir! Ha! Ha! She shuts up like a clam. And then I always gotta deal with these nigger maids dat keep yellin’ for you tuh wipe your feet. I say, give uh nigger an inch, and dey wants a hull mile. And my rheumatism is botherin’ me again. But say you oughta see the chicken I got today .. .”
Saliva and browned tobacco juice trickled down Nate’s chin.
“Well, Nate, the first hundred years is the hardest,” said Percentage.
“Yeh, Nate, it’s a tough life if you don’t weaken,” said Swan.
“Say, Nate, did you ever buy a tin lizzie?” said Studs, trying to be funny like the older guys.
“Think yuh’ll ever amount to much, Nate?” asked Pat Coady.
“Say, listen, when you guys is as old as me you’ll be in the ground,” said Nate.
“Say, I’ll bet Nate’s got the first dollar he ever earned,” said Slew.
“And a lot more,” said Pat.
Nate told them never to mind; then he started to talk of the Swedish maid he had on the string. He poked Slew confidentially, and said that every Thursday afternoon, you know. Then he said he was getting in a new stock of French picture cards, and tried to collect in advance, but they told him to bring them around first.
A girl passed, and they told Nate there was something for him. Nate turned and gaped at her with a moron’s excited eyes.
Percentage told Nate he had a swell new tobacco which he was going to let him try. Nate asked the name and price. Percentage said it was a secret he couldn’t reveal, because it was not on the market yet, but he was going to give him a pipeful. He asked Nate for his pipe, and Nate handed him the corncob. Percentage held the pipe and started to thumb through his pockets. He winked to Swan, who poked the other guys. They crowded around Nate so he couldn’t see, and got him interested in telling about all the chickens he made while he delivered groceries. Percentage slipped the pipe to Studs, and pointed to the street. Studs caught on, and quickly filled the pipe with dry manure. Percentage made a long funny spiel, and gave the pipe to Nate. The guys had a hell of a time not laughing, and nearly all of them pulled out handkerchiefs. Studs felt good, because he’d been let in on a practical joke they played on someone else; it sort of stamped him as an equal. Nate fumbled about, wasting six matches trying to light the pipe. He cursed. Percentage said it was swell tobacco, but a little difficult to light, and again their faces went a-chewing into their handkerchiefs. Nate said they must all have colds. Nate said that whenever he had a cold he took lemon and honey. Percentage said that once you got this tobacco going, it was a swell smoke, and all the colds got suddenly worse.
Nate shuffled on, trying to light his pipe and talking to himself.
Percentage took Studs through the barber shop and back into the pool room to wash his hands. Studs said hello, casually, to Frank, who always cut his hair; Frank was cutting the hair of some new guy in the neighborhood, who was reading the Police Gazette while Frank worked. The pool room was long and narrow; it was like a furnace, and its air was weighted with smoke. Three of the six tables were in use, and in the rear a group of lads sat around a card table, playing poker. The scene thrilled Studs, and he thought of the time he could come in and play pool and call Charley Bathcellar by his first name. He was elated as he washed his hands in the filthy lavatory.
He came out and saw that Barney was around. Barney was a bubble-bellied, dark-haired, middle-aged guy. He looked like a politician, or something similarly important.
“Say, Barney, you think you’ll ever