Young Lonigan - James T. Farrell [100]
“On to Berlin!”
They shook on it.
II
After he became a hero, and everybody knew of him, the story of the stunt they were pulling would be remembered and they would all be telling it. . . . Well, he would become a hero. . . . He would!
He casually leaned against a girder in the alley in back of the Fifty-eighth Street elevated station, cigarette drooping from the comer of his mouth, his cap set back on his poll, a mop of darkish blond hair showing.
“I wish Kilarney would shake a leg, wherever he is,” Studs Lonigan said, as if he were not excited, and all this that was happening was just ordinary and everyday.
“He’ll cop a bike, all right. That boy is a past master,” Red said.
“Yeah,” said Studs, secretly envying Kenny Kilarney’s talents.
Studs itched to walk around a bit and do something—anything. Waiting like this got him. But he couldn’t let Red see he was nervous or Red might think he was yellow.
They heard whooping down the alley. They looked and saw Kenny on a bike, coming towards them like a bat out of Hell. He clamped the bicycle brake, and leaped off. He was breathless and he laughed.
“How do you like it?” he asked, smiling goofily.
They examined the bike, a new one, with blue bars and mudguard, and a bushel basket tied in back of the seat.
“Jesus Christ!” Studs exclaimed admiringly.
“Where’d you get it?” asked Red, also with admiration.
“Off a back porch at Fifty-sixth and Prairie,” Kenny proudly said.
“That near? Maybe we better get away from here. Somebody might be following you,” said Studs.
“Hell, no! I stopped in the alley right near there and tied this bushel basket on,” Kenny said.
“Well, now let’s get going. We got lots to do today,” said Studs, nervous.
“You guys got any ideas on how we’ll pull the trick off?” asked Red.
“Leave that to Uncle Kilarney,” said Kenny confidently.
“Why? We ought to help,” said Red.
“If you leave it to me, it’ll be pie. I got the bike. All I got to do is to find a banana peddler, and wait till he sells something and leaves his cart. Then, I’ll just fill the basket and blow. If you guys come along, it’ll be easier to catch you because you’ll be on foot.”
“But listen, Kenny! . . .”
“Never mind, Red. You guys meet me at Sixtieth and Prairie. Take a little time getting there, and wait. I won’t be long. It’s just a matter of finding a Guinea peddling bananas.”
He shot off. They shrugged their shoulders, and walked slowly down towards the meeting-place.
“We won’t be seein’ much of this burg for a long time,” said Red.
“I guess not,” said Studs, melancholy at the thought of leaving. Did Red feel the same way? He didn’t like to ask because he’d never had a friend he could feel sure of in talking about things like that. Everybody might feel that he was soft and yellow. But, gee, he was leaving the burg, and everything. He was game. He wasn’t backing down. But he did feel a little, well, sad at the idea of blowing.
“Think your old man will put in a squawk when he finds out?” asked Red.
“Gee, I wonder. I’m afraid he might.”
“I don’t know about mine. I don’t think he will, but I ain’t positive.”
“If mine does, I’ll just raise all holy hell with him,” Studs said.
“I guess the best thing to do is not to tell them. We’ll just blow, and then, when we’re sure they can’t crab our act, we’ll let them know. Anyway, Kenny’s old lady will probably just say good riddance. He won’t have any trouble,” said Red.
Studs wished he had parents like Kenny’s old lady. He seemed to do anything he wanted to without ever having any trouble about it at home.
“Say, Studs, what’s happened about school?”
“I won’t have to worry about it any more now.”
“I know, but has your old man found out?”
“No! But if he does, Jesus! He’ll throw cat-fits all over the house. I haven’t gone in months, and last winter I got sixty bucks from him for tuition and books and blew it in,” said Studs, laughing with a pride of achievement.
“He isn’t wisened up then?” said Red.
“Not yet.”
“Got any more cigarettes?” asked Red.
Studs shook his head. Red sniped a butt from the street.