The Studs Lonigan Trilogy - James T. Farrell [162]
Deo gratias...
He walked out of the church, while the choir sang:
Oh, come, let us adore Him!
Oh, come, let us adore Him.
Christ, our king...
He shoved forwards, passing people, but when he got outside, he couldn’t find her in the crowd. People wished him a Merry Christmas and he hardly heard them. But he would, he would, by Christ, he would see her again, and she would know him, the real Studs Lonigan that nobody had ever known.
He met Tommy Doyle, and they looked at the people pass until Tommy got tired. Studs dragged along with Tommy, still wanting to wait as a last hope that she might be outside, that she might even be waiting for him. Tommy told Studs how they had all been thrown in the can, and asked how he had gotten away. Studs told him. Tommy marvelled. He said Red’s old man had gotten them out. Studs felt lousy, but hurried Tommy along, despite his sprained ankle, because he was hoping they would pass her on the street. They stopped for a coke at Fifty-eighth and Indiana Avenue, and then went over to the poolroom, because Studs wanted the fellows to know how he had escaped during the raid. But he didn’t think that he had ever felt so low in his whole life.
SECTION THREE
1924
XIII
It was dreary February weather. The children were all out, and Mrs. Lonigan had the dinner dishes finished. She rear-ranged a few chairs. She emptied an ash-tray. She straightened her son’s dresser. She pottered about until there was absolutely nothing to do. Then she picked up the New World and read the news. Lonigan laughed over the funnies. Cigar ashes dropped onto his shirt, and some fell on the floor. Mrs. Lonigan cautioned him, and hustled in with the carpet sweeper. He said she should not worry because ashes kept moths away and were good for a rug. She said ashes did nothing any good. She put away the carpet .sweeper, returned, and looked through the society section of the Chicago Daily Tribune. He glanced at his watch. She asked the time, and he answered that it was a quarter to four. She remonstrated aloud with herself that it was too late to 4o to Benediction. She suggested that they take a little walk and get a nip of air. He yawned and said he was too tired and thought he would take a nap. She picked up the funnies and arranged them neatly with the other sections of the Sunday paper. When Lonigan awoke, it was dark out. Mrs. Lonigan was preparing supper, and Martin was in the parlor playing The Sheik of Araby on their two-hundred-dollar electric Victrola. Lonigan went out to the kitchen, his face wide with a yawn., and remarked that spring would soon be bursting forth, and that he would have to be taking his sweetheart out a lot like the good old days. He pinched her cheeks. She told him not to be bothering her while she was fixing the meal.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“I’m your buddy, Hink. I’ll take care of you,” Shrimp Haggerty drooled; he tottered forwards to clutch at Hink Weber’s arm as Hink reeled by the curb edge. Mush Joss feebly grabbed for Hink’s other arm, Hink strained and muttered incoherently, while he dragged them about.
Nate Klein alighted from his cab and joined Studs, who stood in front of the poolroom with his hands sunk in his overcoat pocket.
“Weber is aiming to take a nose dive in the gutter,” Nate said with a silly laugh.
“Yeah. But say, Nate, I thought Mush Joss was in the navy?