Young Lonigan - James T. Farrell [333]
“See this. The stock market went all to hell today. Where’s all the dough I was going to clean up on the Imbray stock of yours?” Studs asked, nettled, showing Ike the account of a stock-market break recorded in The Chicago Questioner.
“You know what that is, don’t you?”
“What?” Studs asked anxiously.
“That’s just fluctuation.”
“That stock is thirteen, and I’m out nine hundred and sixty bucks. Is that what fluctuation means?”
“I’m out more if you pay any attention to this. I’ve been buying Imbray stock every week. But we don’t pay any attention to this at the office. It’s just fluctuation. You can’t lose on Imbray stock with all the public utilities of the Middle West and the brain of Solomon Imbray behind it.”
“That’s what you said before, and the stock has lost twelve bucks a share.”
“I know. And I stand to lose more than you do. I’ve been buying Imbray stock out of my pay for months now. And I’m not worried, I don’t bother about whether it goes up or down a little on the market. It’s thirteen now, isn’t it? Well, when we signed the stock agreement, it was twenty-five, and we’re still buying it at that price, and still I’m not kicking, because I got faith. I got faith because I know you can’t go wrong on Imbray stock, and some day I know it’s going to set me up sweet and pretty on Easy Street.”
“Isn’t it dumb, though, to buy it for twenty-five bucks when it’s thirteen in the market?”
“Well, by our employee-stock agreement, we pay half and the company pays half for us. But I’m still buying it every week and I’m not kicking. . . . But just a minute, Studs, I’ve got to call a girl up.”
“I got to be blowing.”
“Well, call me up and we’ll go to a show some night.”
He watched Ike hustling to the phone booth toward the back of the drug store. Something sneaky about him. Still, what he said sounded like there was something to it. How could a man as big as Imbray or his companies go bust? And if he hung on, he’d be sure in the long run to get his dough back with plenty of interest.
Outside, he looked to see if Pat or any other fellows were on the corner, and he was disappointed because they weren’t, so he started home. Down five points more. Big break in all stocks. He tried to force the belief that Ike was right and it was just fluctuation. Jesus, it better be! And if it wasn’t, would he sock Ike Dugan! And he’d take his medicine like a man and not bawl over spilled milk.
He knew that he was kidding himself, because he really was worried about the stocks. Still, how could a man so big as Imbray go bust? With deliberation, he lit a cigarette and calmly inhaled. People seeing him wouldn’t know that he was worrying and nine hundred and sixty bucks out on his investments. He was just calmly puffing at a fag, and that, mister, was Studs Lonigan. But was it? And was it true that everything that went up came down, and when it hit the bottom it had to go up again?
A girl approached, and when she came closer, he saw that she was a hefty wench with sex appeal sticking out all over her.
“Going any place, sister?”
He heard her heels rapping over the pavement. Stuck-up bitch. But wouldn’t it have been nice taking her to Jackson Park, forgetting every goddamn thing while he loved her up, for all he was worth. He just couldn’t feel as confident as Ike Dugan had. Well, this experience should teach him a lesson, at least, he told himself bitterly. Already, the cost of his honeymoon, of a hell of a lot of things, was lost. He tried to make up his mind what he should do, and if he should sell and take his loss. Then the nine hundred and sixty bucks would simply be floating down the creek. Just like a drowning man who’d gone under for the third time. Nothing to say but too bad.
Suppose he should walk up to this doggy-dressed old man coming toward him and say, brother, I just lost nine hundred and sixty bucks, hard-earned bucks, on the brain of Solomon Imbray, and all the public utilities of the Middle West, what do you think of that? Or suppose he should see Red Kelly and pass it off