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By Root 1431 0

pool table, where Funnyface Duffy, and Swede Elston, were shooting a game of pool. He grabbed the balls from the table, wound up like a baseball pitcher, and hurled them at Vinc’s bean. They missed Vine, and crashed into the wall. Red was grabbed. Vine stood dumbfounded. Studs ran down, and pulled the dumbsock aside. Vine, blushing, misunderstanding, asked Kelly why he would do such a thing to a good friend of his; and they roared. George the Greek nearly went into a fit of apoplexy, sobbing about his business. Vinc, still perplexed, drew Studs aside, and asked him why Kelly would do a thing like that. Studs told Vinc to soak his head. He drifted off, and saw Mush Joss stemming a buck from Les; he asked Mush if he and Muggsy were making the rounds again. Slug insisted that they go to Burnham. They all went to the can and killed the gin they had. Slug again suggested that they go to Burnham. It was a good idea.

As they crowded towards the door, Vine clutched Studs’ arm, and asked him if he wanted to go to confession.

“Got your car?”

Vinc nodded. Studs said sure they were all going to church. He told the guys and they shoved Vine out to his car. Some of the guys crowded into Vinc’s car, and the others got into Nate Klein’s taxicab.

“All right, Vinc, you bastard, drive.”

“But I got to go to confession. Are you guys going?”

“Sure, but listen, Vinc, we’re goin’ to have a nice little harmless party, and we’re going to confession out in South Chicago.”

“But that takes gasoline.”

“Vinc, you crazy idiot, drive and shut up!” Studs said.

Nate honked for them to get going.

“But listen,” Vinc said hesitantly.

“Get going, Curley, or we’ll throw you out of the car,” Tommy threatened.

Vinc was cowed, and he started up, following Nate’s cab over to South Park Avenue, and then south.

“Hey, Vinc, look out or you’ll get run in for blocking traffic,” Mush Joss said as the car crept along.

“I’m driving all right. They can’t arrest me,” Vinc replied about a minute later.

“They don’t allow parking on this street, Curley,” Studs said.

“Say, Curley, for Christ sake, move!” Benny Taite yelled.

“Benny, I wish you wouldn’t talk like that in this car on Christmas Eve. It might make bad luck and cause an accident,” Vinc said.

“His old lady certainly must have dropped him hard when he was a baby,” Red said.

“Come on, Vinc, for Christ sake, we don’t want to get run in for mopery,” Tommy Doyle said.

Two minutes later, he said: “Tommy, what did you mean by that last thing you said?”

“Whoops, we passed another block,” Studs shouted.

“For Christ sake, chloroform that idiot,” Doyle said.

“Step on it, Vinc,” Studs said.

“Why, Studs, I never drive over fifteen miles an hour.”

“Hey, Vinc, let me drive!”

“Why, Red, I couldn’t. Didn’t you know I wouldn’t even let my grandmother drive this car?”

“Cheer, boys, we passed another block!” said Mush Joss.

“Hey, Vine, I’ll give you a stick of candy if you’ll go twenty miles an hour,” Studs said.

“I don’t like sticks of candy, Studs,” Vinc laconically replied.

“Let’s take the car away from him, and throw him out on his ear,” Red said.

“We hadn’t better. The goddamn fool will yell so much we’d all get pinched,” said Taite.

Studs whispered that it would be too good just watching Vinc with the whores out at the Cannonball Inn.

Vinc shot the car up to twenty, and after two blocks of silence, asked if he was now going fast enough to satisfy them, because it was the fastest the car had ever been driven.

“Vinc, you’re Dario Resta,” said Studs.

“Say, Curley, does your mother love you?” asked Mush.

“Why, Mush, I thought you was my friend, and I never thought you’d talk about my mother.”

“Christ, I never saw an idiot like it,” Doyle said.

“What was that you said, Tommy?” asked Vinc.

“I was talking about the bald-headed sailor.”

“I don’t think I know him. Does he come around Fifty-eighth Street?”

“Hey, Vinc, please don’t drive so fast. You’ll make me seasick,” Studs said after they had guffawed.

“Is that so? I was afraid, Studs, that I was going a little too fast,” Vinc replied, slowing the