Young Lonigan - James T. Farrell [32]
Reilley yawned. Lonigan detailed how hard he had worked.
They could hear the young people laughing, having a harmless good time in the parlor. Lonigan said it was great to be a kid, and then spoke of the Orpet murder trial. Everybody felt that hanging was too good and too easy a punishment for such a cur. Mrs. Reilley, in a blaze of passion, said that if a boy of hers ever did such a vile thing to an innocent girl, she would fasten the rope around his neck; but her Frank would never be that kind of a cur; her flesh and blood, he couldn’t be. Lonigan made a long speech averring that it was a beastly violation of the natural law. June Reilley and Loretta appeared, and Mrs. Lonigan signaled her husband to pause until she shooed the innocent ones off to Loretta’s room. They scampered out of the room, and enjoyed their own discussion of forbidden topics. Then the parents joined in a general denunciation of Orpet, adding that no Catholic would ever commit such a foul deed.
“Sure, that’s so,” Lonigan orated profoundly as if he were shedding the fruit of long and consistent thought.
“And isn’t the Catholic Church the grand thing?” Mrs. Reilley said lyrically.
“And just think how awful the world would be without the Church,” said Mrs. Lonigan.
“There’s nothin’ like the Church to keep one straight,” said Lonigan.
“It keeps you toeing the mark. That’s one thing to say for it,” Mrs. Reilley said.
Reilley agreed with a feeble nod of his sleepy head.
“That is the reason we gave our children a Catholic education,” Mrs. Lonigan said.
“And isn’t it the truth that a mother never need worry when she sends her byes and girls to the good sisters, the holy virgins!” Mrs. Reilley said.
There was a nodding of heads.
“Isn’t the Church the grand thing,” insisted Mrs. Reilley.
The conversation drifted and dribbled on amidst increasing barrages of yawns.
X
It was the first evening of the official maturity of the young people in the parlor, and after getting seated they wondered what to do; the boys sat stiffly on one side of the room, and gazed furtively at their long trousers; the girls faced them, acting prim and reserved. Growing up had always meant more freedom, and here they were after their graduation, afraid to do anything lest it seem kiddish; afraid, particularly, to play the kids’ kissing games they used to play at parties.
“Well, what’ll we do?” grumbled Weary, who sat between Studs and sallow-faced TB on the unscratched piano stool.
“Yeah, let’s do something,” Studs suggested.
Soft-skinned and fattish Bill Donoghue was seated under the floor lamp near them. He said:
“Now that’s a bright idea!”
Studs made a face at Bill, as if to say: Go soak yer head!
“Bill’s a loogin who always tries to wisecrack,” Studs said.
“Studs is a little fruity!” Bill said, and they laughed.
“Such awful slang you boys use!” Helen Borax said.
Studs scowled at Helen and said:
“Bill, I’m going to slap your pretty wrist!”
Helen colored slightly, and elevated her nose.
Bill got limp like a sissy, and tapped his own wrist daintily, and everybody laughed at his comics, because Bill was really very funny.
“Well, anyway, I’m glad I’m through school,” said Tubby Connell, a kinky-haired, darkish boy who was plunked, uncomfortably, in the corner easy chair that Mrs. Lonigan always said must be beautiful, because it had cost over a hundred dollars.
“Ope! Look what the wind blew in!” Bill said, looking at Tubby.
“Another lost country heard from,” muttered Studs.
Tubby blushed bashfully.
“Anyway, I’m darn glad to get out of that joint,