The Studs Lonigan Trilogy - James T. Farrell [73]
Studs said that she just didn’t understand them, because they were great guys, and they had a lot of pep, and weren’t a bunch of mopes. And they always stuck together and none of them were yellow. They were awake and lively; they weren’t deadnecks.
“If I was you, Studs, I’d can ‘em. First thing you know they’ll have you in a jam, and you’ll be ridin’ in the paddy wagon.”
“Naw,” said Studs, letting tobacco juice fly through the opened window.
He thought about riding in a paddy wagon. It was like thinking of fighting, a lot of fun; but the real stuff wasn’t always so swell.
“Well, Studs, you’ll maybe find out for yourself. I like you, Studs, and you’re a nice kid, but for your own good, I’d say that you ought to shake them bastards. Red Kelly’s nothin’ but a rat, and Tommy Doyle, he’s no good. Why, he used to get drunk when he was only in sixth grade, and last summer he used to run for beer for the workmen who were over at the Prairie Theatre, and he’d drink with them; and he always goes around with older guys like Jimmy Devlin, getting girls in basements, and not caring at all if they say yes or not, but just going ahead. No wonder he got thrown out of St. Patrick’s and Carter School. The only nice kid in the bunch is Paulie, but he won’t be long, hanging around with those rats.”
“They’re all right,” insisted Studs.
“And I hear Weary’s around again,” said she.
“Yeh, him and me made up,” said Studs.
“Well, watch him; he’s dangerous, and I wouldn’t trust him. He’s a dirty…”
“I don’t know. I don’t like him particularly, and if he ever gets noisy with me, well, I’ll hang a couple more on him, but you gotta admit that he’s one guy that don't let nobody run him. He don’t even let his old man run him... Why, he beat it from home,” Studs said.
“Yeh, I heard about it. He lives in basements and generally has peanuts for supper,” said she.
“But he’s his own boss.”
“But that’s all baloney. He’s going straight for the pen. You mark my word. Then a hell of a lot of bossing himself he’ll do,” she said.
Studs said he didn’t know.
They sat. Silence, and a feeling of artificiality for both of them.
Helen asked him if he had met that Iris that was around.
“I met her on the street with Paulie. That’s all,” he said.
Studs wanted to say he was going up there, but he didn’t know how she’d take it. He remembered the time Iris had given him and Paulie a lot of hot air because she wanted Weary alone. Reilley! He hissed to himself. But maybe Iris didn’t know he’d cleaned on Weary. Well, when she did, and she got to know him, she wouldn’t have nothing to do with Weary. When she got to know him, well, you just watch his dust. If he had to, he’d take a few more pokes at Reilley... only, well, he wasn’t afraid of another fight, but then, well, he’d licked the guy once, even if he did get the insides of his face all cut, and a shiner. Iris would... understand him. Now that was a discovery. The trouble that always bothered him was that nobody understood him. Well, maybe she would. Maybe that thing was so that fellows and girls could get to understand each other. Maybe there was more to it than just getting girls and doing it because you were curious, and because then you could brag before other guys about it. He wanted to tell Helen about his thought, but he guessed he hadn’t better.
“Say, did you find anything more out about that house on Fifty-seventh Street?” asked Studs.
“Lucy’s heard something about Iris, and asked me. Lucy still likes you,” Helen said.
“Yeh,” said Studs, getting quite misty.
A pause.
“Say, do you think there’d be anything doing at that place now? Maybe if we could climb on the porch,” said Studs. Helen shrugged her shoulders.
A pause.
“Is your mother or anybody home?” he asked.
“Why?” Helen asked.
She looked at him; she guessed what was in his mind. “No,” she said. She added, “Lucy really likes you.”
Lucy! She seemed quite far away from him now. At times he liked her, and at times he tried to pretend to himself that he didn’t. He wanted to tell it all to Helen, and the words choked