The Studs Lonigan Trilogy - James T. Farrell [208]
“Hey, Dapper Dan,” Studs called.
“Studs, it doesn’t shave yet,” Red Kelly said, as O’Doul stood before them.
“Listen, O’Doul, does she say you’re handsomer than that movie actor whose picture she’s got there?” Studs asked; the older guys laughed in O’Doul’s face.
Sally heard, and laughed; Dapper Dan blushed. Red cursed the weather. Slug said O’Doul ought to wipe the milk from be-hind his ears with toilet paper. Studs sidled over to Curley and whispered to him. Curley looked at Studs, blankly.
“Go on!” Studs prodded.
Vinc pouted at Studs. He sulked over by Sally’s desk.
“Say, Dan, Studs asked me to ask you if you got that top-coat all paid for?”
“Vincent, you’re not even as funny as a hearse,” Dapper Dan said; the older guys laughed, and Sally gave them the wink.
“Studs, why did you ask me to ask that when you knew he would get sore, and he’s my friend?” Vinc gravely said, causing another barrage of laughter.
“Vincent!” Sally coquetted.
“Hey, Cowboy, Curley’s competition for you. Watch your step!” Tommy Doyle said.
“Studs, is Curley becoming a lady-killer?” Fat Malloy asked.
“Vincent, won’t you even talk to poor little harmless Sally?” she cooed.
Vincent said he had to ask Malloy an important question. Fat roughly asked what. Vinc said that with everybody all talking all at once he had forgotten it, but if he had a minute to think, he’d remember again. Studs yelled for him to beware of brain-fever.
“All right, Vincent, you’ll be sorry some day, if you put Sally on the shelf,” she tantalized.
Studs looked at the time: eight-twenty.
Malloy told Vinc to wake up, the girl was stuck on him. They shoved Vinc towards the desk.
“Vincent, you’re perfectly horrid, you always act so high hat, and never speak to me. Why, you treat me like I was a bug or something.”
“When did I do that? I never said you was a bug.”
“Hey, Fat, tell him to cut it out before we all laugh ourselves into a nut house,” Studs said.
“I don’t remember when I said anything like that,” Curley said, twisting himself around the counter.
“Tell him to let it alone,” Studs told Tommy.
“I’ll bet if he had let it alone, he wouldn’t have so many marbles absent from his brain,” Slug said.
Studs suggested doing something. Slug said they might if the rain would stop. Tommy said they could go down to the poolroom at Fifty-fifth Street. Red said it would be nuts going down there in the rain. They said it was too bad that the Greek had closed up the poolroom.
“Here comes Society Brand, the Clothes Peddler,” Fat Malloy said. Phil Rolfe entered, pulling down an umbrella. His greeting was ingratiating. He remarked that it was raining. Fat told him not to crap them, the sun was shining bright.
“Say, Society Kid, you look like the rage,” sixteen-year-old, skinny Pete Webb said, as Phil unbuttoned his yellow slicker.
“Like the suit, boys?”
“It’s the nuts, Phil,” Pat Carrigan said.
“Listen, any time you need one, come down and see me. I’m at Sankey, Hatfield, and Cohen’s, on Adams Street. We handle straight Society Brand stuff, give perfect fit, and have a reasonable budget plan. Here’s one of my cards.”
“Say, Phil, I was waiting to see you,” Curley said, leaving Sally.
“Hello, Vincent,” Phillip said.
“Want to go to the Michigan tonight?”
“Gee, Vincent, I’m sorry, but I got a date. We’ll make it some other night.”
He walked over to Studs, smiling. He ignored the grunted greeting he got, and mentioned that he was selling suits, had some swell buys, and suggested that Studs drop in on him the next time he was needing clothes. Couldn’t get a better suit for the price anywhere in town.
“Leave it to the kikes,” Tommy Doyle said, after Rolfe had gone over to the group around Pat Carrigan and Pete Webb.
“They’re all the same. I’m your friend, fellow... but business first,” Red said.
Studs looked at the clock: eight-twenty-seven.
“Jesus Christ!” he exclaimed, bored.
Slug mentioned seeing the girlies. Tommy said that after the last four nights, he’d had enough for a while. Slug kidded that he must be getting old. Studs said no more for him for a while. Slug kidded that you never could get enough of it.