The Studs Lonigan Trilogy - James T. Farrell [67]
Swan, Percentage and Coady had a kidding match about who was the best man. It was interrupted by Barney. An ugly-looking, old-maidish female passed, and Barney said to the three kidders:
“That’s your speed!”
They trained their guns on Barney, and told him how dried up he was.
Another dame ambled by, and Percentage repeated his objection, and they kidded each other.
A third dame went by, and Percentage again objected.
“Them’s my sentiments,” said Fitz, the corner pest.
A good-looking Negress passed.
“Barney, how’d you like that?” Studs asked.
“Never mind, punk!... And listen, the niggers ain’t as bad as the Irish,” said Barney.
“Where’s there a difference?” asked Percentage.
“Well, if you ask me, Barney is a combination of eight ball, mick, and shonicker,” said McArdle, one of the corner topers.
“And the Irish part is pig-Irish,” said Studs.
“The kid’s got your number,” said Percentage as they all gave Barney some more merry ha-ha’s.
Studs felt grown up, all right.
Barney called Studs a goofy young punk. But they all laughed at him. Studs laughed weakly, and hated bloated-belly Barney. He told himself he’d been a damn fool for not having put on his long pants before he came out.
They hung around and talked about the heat and the passing gals. It grew dark, and more lights flashed on. Andy Le Gare came along. He spoke to Studs, but Studs didn’t answer him; Studs turned to Barlowe, and said the punk had wheels in his head. Barlowe said yeh; he remembered him in his diaper days down around Forty-seventh; but his brother George was a nice guy, and a scrapper. Studs again felt good, because Barlowe had talked to him like one equal to another. Andy stopped before Hirschfield’s grocery store, and started erasing the chalked announcement. He rubbed out the lower part of the B on the brick butter announcement, and stood off to laugh in that idiotic way of his. The guys encouraged the punk. They talked about baseball. Swan spilled some gab about the races. Then he told of what he had seen at the Johnson Willard and Willard-Moran fights. He said that Willard was a ham, and that Fred Fulton would mow him down if they ever got yellow Willard in the same ring with the Minnesotan. Studs said the Irishman Jim Coffey was pretty good. Swan said he was a cheese. He said the best of them all, better than Fulton even, was Gunboat Smith, who had the frog, Carpentier, licked that time in London or Paris or wherever they fought. They wondered what they would do, and talked about the heat. Barney suggested seeing the girlies, and they said O. K. Barlowe said he couldn’t go. They asked why.
“I still got my dose,” he said.
They told him it was tough, and he wanted to take care of it. Coady asked him if it was bad.
“It’s started again,” he said casually.
“Well, he careful,” Coady said.
The other lads piled into a hack, and were off. Studs watched them go, wide-eyed with admiration and envy, and yet quite disappointed. Then he watched Barlowe limp down the street, a big husky guy. He thought of the time when he’d be able to pile into a hack and go with the lads. He thought of Barlowe. He was afraid of things like that, and yet he wished he could stand on the corner and say he had it. Well, it wouldn’t be long now before he’d be the big-time stuff.
Davey Cohen, Tommy Doyle, Haggerty, Red Kelly and Kilarney happened along. Kilarney had a pepper cellar, and they went over to the park to look for Jews and throw pepper in their eyes. Over in the park, Studs saw a pretty nurse, and he started objecting that molls like that should walk around and not have guys taking care of them; it was a lot of good stuff gone to waste, he repeated, and the kids all laughed, because it was a good wisecrack.
III
Studs and Paulie walked south along Prairie Avenue, eating the last of the candy. The candy came from the famous raid on Schreiber’s ice cream parlor. Schreiber’s place was between Prairie and Indiana on Fifty-eighth. Schreiber was a good guy, but you know he liked his nooky, and he was always mixed up