Young Lonigan - James T. Farrell [113]
III
MRS. LONIGAN and Mrs. Reilley, each carrying a black prayer-book, walked home from Sunday mass. Mrs. Lonigan observed that there were two cavities in the front of Mrs. Reilley’s mouth. Mrs. Reilley perceived that Mrs. Lonigan was thinner and bonier than she had been when they had last met, and that a few of the strands of hair falling from under her hat were gray.
“And how is your Frank? I never see him about the neighborhood,” Mrs. Lonigan asked.
“My Frank has not been feeling up to snuff these days, and he doesn’t be runnin’ in the prairie with the lads. He does be a quiet boy, and he often comes to me and says ‘Mother, sure I don’t care to be keeping company with the likes of them that’s always at that poolroom on Fifty-eighth Street.’ Sure, he’s a sensible boy, and he knows full well that the curse of God has been put on the likes of them, the tinkers, that’s always to be seen in that poolroom,” Mrs. Reilley said, with a pronounced brogue.
“Is he working?” asked Mrs. Lonigan, as the two mothers glanced pointedly at each other.
“Sure, the lad and his father have had a great talk about that only this last week, and the lad’s father thinks that as soon as the boy is up to it, we’ll be sending him off to learn something technical, because there’s money to be got there.”
“Of course, you can’t place a boy of that age under too great a strain.”
“And aren’t them the very words I was telling me old man this last week.”
“My William went to Loyola for one year, and he made a fine record for himself. But we decided to keep him out this year and let him help his father with the business, because Patrick has so much to attend to. We’re leaving him rest a while first, because he is only young and growing. But after Christmas, Mr. Lonigan will be starting him in, and he’ll finish up his credits at night school. He’s going to start at the bottom to learn the business, but it shan’t be just as a common laborer,” said Mrs. Lonigan.
“Well, me and the boy’s father expect to see the day when the lad is an engineer,” Mrs. Reilley said.
“Only recently my husband and I were talking about all the boys our William knew in school, and Patrick was saying that your Frank must be a great comfort to you, he was always such a good boy.”
“And sure, only last night, I was saying the same words to me old man, telling him how you and Mr. Lonigan must be proud of your boy, him such a fine upstanding lad, and not at all the likes of them that’s to be found at that poolroom, morning, noon, and night.”
The women parted, looking at each other in a way that women have. And in each mother’s heart was the gnawing of fear and disappointment because of a boy threatening to go wayward.
Chapter Three
I
“You guys complaining that there’s nothing to do ought to just stop and think about all the poor chumps who got to work on a day like this. Think of some goddamn Hunky swinging a pickaxe, chopping up the street with his fanny dragging to the ground, swinging away with that goddamn pickaxe, thirsty, his underwear dripping, wishing it was all over and he was sitting in the shade of the old apple tree,” Benny Taite said, tilting himself backwards on a chair in the corner of the poolroom, and looking at the boys seated about in a circle.
“Benny, can that crap. You make us hot and tired, just hearing about it,” said Red Kelly.
“I got a job swinging a pick for the city, and I worked one day. Was my can draggin’?” exclaimed Tommy.
“That was your record for work, wasn’t it?” said Kenny Kilarney.
“It wouldn’t hurt Taite there to try that for a couple of days. It might make a man of him,” kidded Studs.
“Sure, Taite,