The Studs Lonigan Trilogy - James T. Farrell [121]
“Vine, old pal, they’ll put you in quarantine, and we’ll miss you,” Runt said, slowly extending his hand.
Young Rocky sliced Runt’s elbow, warning him not to risk contagion by shaking hands with Vine.
Vine bolted out of the poolroom.
XVIII
“Tough about Paulie Haggerty, my old buddy,” Hennessey said.
“Say, just what is wrong with him?” asked Lou Bruner.
“Every goddamn thing. Clap, gonorrheal rheumatism, his heart is shot, his lungs are gone, and he has ulcers of the stomach. The guy has just drunk and jazzed himself to death.”
“Jesus Christ!” exclaimed Lou.
XIX
“Yes, I said the Republicans, they went and steal the election from Cox by crookedness,” Andy defiantly declared.
“Where did you get all that inside doper’ asked Darby Dan Drennan.
“My father told me. And he ought to know. Doesn’t he belong to the Ku Klux Klan?”
“Fellows, his old man wears a nightshirt and burns fiery crosses in empty prairies,” said Darby Dan, guffawing.
“He don’t neither.”
“His old man rides around in bed-sheets on a horse,” said Darby Dan.
“Where does he keep the horse?” asked Pochon.
“He ain’t got no horse.”
“Does he belong to the Ku Klux Klan?” asked Drennan.
“Yes,” Andy proudly said.
“Then, he’s got to have a horse.”
“He doesn’t need no horse,” Andy shouted above their laughter.
“If he hasn’t got a horse, how can he wear his nightshirt and go riding?” laughed Pochon.
Andy stuttered.
XX
“Whenever you think about girls, you know, wondering if they are all they’re cracked up to be, more decent and better than guys, think of this angle! Think of the keenest broad you know sitting down to take a great big healthy…”
“What sweet thoughts you have,” Swede said, interrupting Young Rocky.
“Guys talking like you do, just don’t rate.”
“Is that so, Hennessey? Well, lemme tell you that since I came here from Kansas City two years ago, I’ve dated up
“Curley hasn’t got a marble in his bean,” Young Rocky said.
“Horse.”
Charley Josephson, a silly-looking runt of seventeen, rushed in and asked what was biting Curley. They told him the joke they had pulled on Vinc. He said he’d been in the drug store at the corner, and Vine had come in, red in the face, and all excited, demanding G.O. 45 right away to rub on his lips.
“Curley hasn’t got a marble in his bean,” Young Rocky said as they all roared.
XXI
“Well, Conrad’s a classic,” Mose Levinsky, poolroom intellectual, said.
“What is a classic? Define it,” said Big Syd.
“A classic is a book that lives.”
“Now take a book like Robert Herrick’s The Common Lot,” said Big Syd.
“It’s a good book, but it isn’t a classic,” said Mose.
“Say, you guys act like you thought you were too good for the human race,” said Red Kelly, passing them on his way from the can.
XXII
“I’m getting along,” Hoppy Shanks said, lighting a cigarette.
“The job you got sounds O.K.,” said Loeb.
“I make forty bucks a week. My room costs me six and my meals about four or five a week, because I’m cutting down on ‘em. I’m salting fifteen and twenty every pay day,” said Hoppy.
“That’s pretty good. I wish I had a decent job.”
“I worked hard for this one. I don’t believe in loafing around like some of these guys do. When you’re not working, you got time on your hands, and keep hanging around wondering what time it is, and what you’ll do. Hell with that for this boy. I’m playin’ the game smart.”
“Say, Shanks, can you spare two bits? I’m flat, but I’ll be able to pay you back this afternoon,” Mush Joss asked.
“Haven’t got it, Mush.”
Mush passed to another group.
“That bastard hasn’t worked since Noah got piped on the Ark,” said Loeb.
“I wouldn’t give him my dough. Him and McCarthy try and scrounge on me every time I see them.”
XXIII
“Andy, are the Irish hundred-per-cent Americans?” asked Connell.
“No, because they believe in the Pope,” Le Gare answered.
“All right, punk, keep religion out of it,” ordered Red Kelly, who had come over to see why they were having such a good time razzing Andy.
“Say, if the Klan is so tough, why doesn’t it come around looking for the Irish some night when it’s out riding in nightshirts like kids on Halloween?