Young Lonigan - James T. Farrell [414]
“What sort of work have you been doing, Mr. Lonigan?”
“Painting,” Studs answered, and the man seemed to raise his eyebrows.
“Artist, you mean?”
“No, house painting,” Studs smiled, receiving a return smile which put him more at his ease.
“How does it happen that you want to come to work in a gasoline-filling station? Is it just a lull in your line, and a desire to tide over? Because, you should be informed, when we employ a man, we employ one whom we expect to stay with us and work his way up. Most of our salesmen and many of our executives here, you know, have worked their way up from the service stations. We consider our service stations as a training ground, and hence we cannot employ men just to tide over in dull seasons in their own occupation.”
“Well, I’m giving up painting on account of my health, and I got to get a steady job right away. I have to get some other kind of work,” Studs said, and, perceiving the frown his remark occasioned, he immediately realized that he had pulled a boner.
“What’s the matter with your health, Mr. Lonigan?”
“Well, you know, painting, that is, house-painting, isn’t the most healthy occupation in the world. You can get lead poisoning, and then, too, my lungs, I’ve got to watch them and get different work. I’m not in any serious danger, you see, but I just have to change and get some different work. And in changing, I’ve got to get a good job at outside work, and still something with a future in it.”
“Of course, Mr. Lonigan, I trust that you don’t consider the Nation Oil Company a health resort,” Mr. Parker said after a moment of deep reflection.
“Naturally not,” Studs said, not liking the crack, but holding his temper. “I’ve got to find a job and I’m willing to work hard, as long as there is a chance to get ahead.”
He wondered would he have done better by putting all his cards on the table and shooting square. He didn’t trust this fellow, but still, if he told more of his story, well, the fellow would have to sympathize with him and give him a break, if there was any break to be given.
“Married?”
“I’m getting married in two weeks.”
“How long have you been a painter?”
“Since 1919. I’ve been working with my father.”
“Business bad now?”
“Well, it isn’t good. But that’s not the reason. I’m leaving because I want to get into something new, and because I got to change my work. You see, on my getting married now, well, I lost two thousand bucks, dollars, that is, on Imbray stock, and then I’m broke, and then, as I said, I got to change my job on account of my health.” Studs noticed the immobile, cold face before him, and it seemed useless to go on. “Of course, things are not so hot, good, I mean, with my father, and well, under the circumstances, I think I ought to go out and work at something for myself. I’ve been a painter long enough, and now, I’m looking about for a change.”
“I see now. At first I wasn’t able to understand why you should want to go to a new work that pays less,” Mr. Parker said, but still there was that lifelessness in his features.
“And, of course, I’m only asking for a start in a station,” Studs said, spurred on to win interest and sympathy. “And I’m sure I can work my way up. I’m not lazy. I’ve always worked, and I can work.”
“What education have you had?”
“Grammar school and some high school.”
“Some high school—how much?” Mr. Parker asked querulously.
“Two years.”
“In Chicago here?”
“Yes, Loyola on the north side,” Studs said, and he waited in uncertainty while the man made some jottings on a scratch pad. Maybe he would get it.
“Well, Mr. Lonigan, there isn’t really an opening at present. Times are, you know, not the best, and we have only a limited capacity for hiring people. We would like to hire as many as we could, but that, of course, is out of the question. If you and your father have a contract to paint a house, and you hire more men than you need, there isn’t any profit. And you say you are how old?”
“I’ll be thirty this fall.”
“That, also, isn’t so good. At thirty a man is still young. But we, you see,