The Studs Lonigan Trilogy - James T. Farrell [69]
They were shocked, but they admired Weary tremendously. They acted casual and gave him some advice. He showed them his rusty twenty-two, and said he needed bullets. Paulie said it might be a little dangerous carrying a loaded gat around, but Weary didn’t care. Studs wished that he could walk dramatically out of the house like Weary did; he told himself that he might some day. Paulie asked Weary what he’d been doing, and Weary said he had been hangin’ out at White City; he’d picked up a couple of nice janes there. One of them was eighteen and didn’t live at home, and wanted him to live with her. They looked at Weary. Weary was a real adventurous kid, after all was said and done, even if he was something of a bastard. Suddenly Weary left, walking toward Fifty-seventh. They watched him. He met a girl... it was Iris... and the two of them disappeared in her entrance way.
“Well, I say she’s no good,” Studs said.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” said Paulie, scratching his head.
They looked at each other, knowingly, expressing with their faces what even the lousiest words they could think of to call Iris couldn’t express.
“Some day I’m gonna up and bust that jane right in her snoot,” said Paulie.
“And a guy I licked... I ought to hang a couple more on him,” Studs said.
“Yeh,” said Paulie.
Studs wished to bell there were more swear words in the list so he could use them to curse the world.
IV
Studs had stayed in the bathroom too long, as he was staying most of these days. The old man bellowed that dinner was ready. Studs came out, feeling relieved. He muttered a hasty act of contrition, promising God and the Blessed Virgin that he would try his hardest not to break the sixth commandment by thought, word or deed.
Sunday dinner of roast beef and mashed potatoes was already on the table; the family was seated.
As Studs sat down, the old lady said that they ought to say grace once in a while, thanking God that they were well off and happy and so much better off than most families. The old man agreed, and he said patriarchally:
“Well, Martin, you say grace!”
“Grace!” said Martin.
They laughed. Then Loretta said grace. The two parents insisted that hereafter grace would be said before and after each meal.
“I say this: if you keep God in the home, active and real, you’ll have a happier home and can get along better in all you do,” the old man said oracularly.
“You say the truth,” echoed Mrs. Lonigan.
The old man carved the meat. He spoke to Studs as he sliced. He asked Studs why he was late for dinner. He said Studs was always late for dinner. Everybody else got to the bathroom early enough, so that they could be at the table when dinner was announced. He said that he spent good money for food, and that Studs’ mother slaved over a hot stove so that they could have a decent meal. He and the mother both had some right to demand gratitude and respect for this. Studs said that he didn’t see nothing wrong in having stopped to wash his hands; and his father, starting into rag-chewing, put Studs in a mood of opposition, made him feel that he was in the right, made him believe that he had delayed only to wash his hands, and that his father was being inconsiderate and un-understanding. The old man said that there