The Studs Lonigan Trilogy - James T. Farrell [250]
“What’s the matter, Monk, don’t travel agree with you, or are you getting hot for your old lady?” Stan asked.
“Tickle Joe, Les,” Muggsy said, pointing at Thomas, whose head had dropped forward in sleep.
“Let the poor guy sleep. With losing his job, and that rheumatism that has been bothering him these last couple of years, he’s had one hell of a time,” Kelly said.
“Say, Red, remember the time we tried to enlist?” Studs said with a forced smile, still the prey to disturbing thoughts.
“How could I ever forget it?” Red said, and the others laughed.
“And the time we went to Burnham, and tried to make goofy Curley lose his manhood,” McCarthy said.
“And when the joint was raided, I jumped out of a second story window and escaped, even if I did sprain my ankle,” Studs said nonchalantly, hoping that they would remember and speak of some of his past exploits.
“Those were the days,” said Les.
“And just think, we’re almost all of the old gang that’s left,” Muggsy said mournfully.
“Hey, Muggsy, you’re a married man with a kid. Does your wife know about your past?” Studs grinned, and they laughed.
“That’s all right. It never pays to tell a woman too much,” Muggsy replied.
“Don’t you wish you were single, Muggsy?” Studs said, wanting to keep up the kidding, because it made him forget many things.
“And I ain’t sorry none, and I’m glad that I got my kid. She’s beginning to talk now, and she says daddy just like she meant it.”
Studs saw Stan’s lips twitch, and his face cloud while Red gave Muggsy the razzberry. He wished that the subject hadn’t been brought up. Stan was a good guy, and the poor bastard had gotten it plenty tough, no work, and a crippled baby.
“How about yourself, Kelly, when are you going to begin populating the world with little Red Kellys?” Stan asked, forcing himself back into the laughing fellowship.
“Sure, Red, don’t tell us you ain’t doing your duty,” McCarthy kidded.
“I ain’t saying nothing, boys, and I’m just letting nature take its course,” Red grinned.
“If Les, there, ever gets married and has any kids, the first thing they’ll say to him, if they are chips off the old block, will be ‘Come on, pops, how about a bottle?’ “ Muggsy said, causing Les to beam.
“Les has no idea of sliding down the middle aisle while he hardly works two days a week,” Les said.
“Studs, there, is going to be the next,” said Red.
“I ain’t saying nothing,” Studs said, blushing, enjoying the crack, and thinking that they were all swell fellows, all right, and that their gang had, after all, been the best gang of regular fellows a guy could want to pal with.
“But say, boys, I meant to tell you the story about George the Greek who used to own the poolroom. He saved up all his dough and went back to the old country to act like a big shot, and the first thing they did was shove him in the army,” Red said, everybody laughing.
“I never did like Greeks,” Studs said.
“Me neither. Like that waiter Christy in the restaurant who was a Red. They ought to take bastards like him who don’t appreciate this country and send them all back on the first boat. We got too many foreigners here anyway, and that’s why there are so many Americans like Stan and Joe here out of work,” Red said oracularly.
“Yeah, I guess you’re right, Red,” Studs said.
“You know, fellows, I was just thinking of how life is a funny thing,” Les said absently.
“Is that what you call Bug Club Philosophy?” Red remarked with a mild jeer.
“Well, I was just thinking about poor Shrimp, and the boys who passed away before him,” Les said.
Studs again turned to the window. He asked himself, and he asked the foreign darkness outside the window, would he be the next to go? Would he be stretched out in a coffin next, with the boys around saying poor Studs, as they said poor Shrimp? Christ, no! He didn’t want people feeling sorry for him like they did for Stan and Joe and for all their dead buddies. He wasn