Young Lonigan - James T. Farrell [323]
“Thanks, fellows, I’ll do my best to fulfill my job as sergeant-at-arms which you and the master-of-ceremonies have been so . . . so . . . so decent to entrust me with, and I’ll do my best, and if that ain’t enough, boot me out of it!”
Judge Gorman shook his hand in congratulations. McCarthy walked off the stand and was quickly mounted onto sturdy shoulders and carried along past the rows of camp chairs. Studs marched in the cheering group, which swept around the hall. If he hadn’t been such a damn tongue-tied flop with shaking knees, he’d have gotten the honor McCarthy had. He’d be an officer in his Council of the Order of Christopher on his first day, known to the whole Council, an important figure. His noisy shouts were mixed with silent regrets. All his life he had waited for an opportunity like this one. And he’d flopped. His throat became irritated, and he cheered half-heartedly in a hoarse voice, marching behind those who carried McCarthy in triumph. He passed the rows of black hooded figures and arrived in the noisy group back by the stand. But still, hadn’t he been the first to speak in defense of things that were right, even if McCarthy was the hero? He had joined in defending a priest, a blind man, a sick man. If, if he’d only been the first out of that room, so that he could have torn along on the heels of that louse Joyce and nailed him to the floor with a neat flying tackle. . . .
“Three cheers for Eddie McCarthy.”
And these might have been for Studs Lonigan.
IV
“Mr. McCarthy,” Judge Gorman began with an air of helplessness, while McCarthy tried to act natural in his red robe, “we depend on you to uphold and enforce the dignity of our Order with courage. We expect that you will be of great assistance to us by acting as a sort of liaison man between us who are older members, and perhaps more set in our ways, and all these new members whom we are welcoming today, and whose initiation we will shortly begin, now that this unfortunate trouble has been cleared up.”
McCarthy gestured assuredly with a sliding motion of his hands, and a nod, causing a twinkle to come into the Judge’s eyes.
“Now, gentlemen!” Judge Gorman began after the subsiding of another roar, his squeaking voice rising like a slightly rusty echo.
A revolver shot echoed like a loud explosion. The Judge wheeled around and looked to the rear. Momentarily, he stood like a statue. McCarthy followed the Judge with bewildered eyes. A current of tenseness seemed to run through the candidates. Studs closed his fists, leaned forward, hungry for more excitement, hoping that something had happened that would give him a chance to come forward more prominently than McCarthy. A fear of unknown danger cancelled his hopes.
“What was that? My God!” Judge Gorman exclaimed in a throbbing voice.
A man in rolled shirt-sleeves burst through the black-hooded ranks, rushed to the stand, spoke low and hurriedly to the Judge, and McCarthy, listening, revealed by his concerned brow that something serious had happened. The Judge’s hand rose automatically to his forehead. He stumbled several feet backward as if he were on the verge of fainting. The candidates impulsively drew more tightly together.
“How frightful! Lock all the doors! Lock all the doors!” Judge Gorman cried out in a fretful voice, wiping his face with a handkerchief as he spoke.
Studs tried to get closer to the stand, but could make no progress through the closely pressed backs. Jesus, what had happened?
“Gentlemen, I am distressed. The sergeant-at-arms, Mr. Kevin Joyce, who was the provocateur of the regrettable occurrences here this afternoon, contrite and disgraced by his actions and expulsion from the Order of Christopher . . .hats just . . . shot himself.”
The words were like jolts of electricity, and there was scarcely a sound or a movement from the candidates. They waited, creatures of the words and commands