The Studs Lonigan Trilogy - James T. Farrell [274]
“I was talking to another fellow today, who knows things on the inside down at the City Hall, and he was saying to me, only don’t let this go any further than ourselves, that the city is getting deeper and deeper into a financial pickle, and that soon the policemen, firemen, bailiffs and a lot of the politicians will be in the same boat as the school teachers, and will not be getting their pay envelopes. Now, you can’t tell me that’s natural and isn’t just the result of graft some-where. You bet, there’s something rotten some place. Here men like myself pay out good hard-earned money for taxes, and where does it go? Where does it go that the city can’t even pay the people working for it?” Lonigan said, his face flushing with anger.
“Did you say the bailiffs? Red Kelly won’t be getting his pay then, and he won’t like that at all,” Studs said.
“He was kind of wild as a boy. I remember once seeing Sister Bernadette when the children were in school, and she told me that I should not have a fine boy like William running around with the likes of that Kelly boy. But he must have settled down since he’s gotten married and turned out all right, much better than poor Mrs. Reilley’s boy did.”
“Red’s all right, and he’s got a drag with both Judge Dinny Gorman and the sheriff,” Studs said.
“I don’t care if Dinny is a judge. Judge or not, he’s a damn old mollycoddle to me and always was, a high-hat molly-coddle if ever there was one. He’s not human now, like Joe O’Reilley is. I sure hope, too, that Joe gets in for judge in the elections next month. If there ever was a fine and a smart man, it’s Joe O’Reilley, and he would have been state’s attorney years ago if the newspapers hadn’t knifed him.”
“I saw Red downtown a week or so ago, and all he talked about was his wife,” Martin said.
“He loves his wife, all right,” Studs said.
Mrs. Lonigan carted in coffee and angel-food cake, and served it.
“Well, if things only pick up some now, I’ll be having plenty of work for you boys,” Lonigan said smiling.
“I’m ready,” Studs said.
“And, Mary, we’ll make that trip to Ireland when times get better. We’ll let the boys do their old man’s work, and with two smart lads like Bill and Martin here, well, we need have no worries, and can enjoy our second honeymoon.”
“Yes, Patrick. And I know that everything is going to come out ship-shape,” she said, smiling at him in consolation.
“I guess we have to have faith and confidence, and not let ourselves believe we’re licked,” Lonigan said after a gulp of coffee.
III
Studs sank into a rocking chair opposite the radio, while his father, toying with the dials, produced grating static. The parlor suddenly filled with howling jazz, and Lonigan again tinkered with the dials, decreasing the ear-splitting volume. Out of the swift tempo the notes of a saxophone came like a clear stream of fluid sound that seemed to flow into Studs, shivering up his spine, spilling through his nerves, and pouring poignancy into every corner of his brain. He leaned back, a brooding expression settling on his face, and again the saxophone was lost in a rising cacophony that crashed into a wild conclusion. Lonigan looked at his bulky gold watch, its ornamented case flashing back a ray of electric light that had hit it.
“Amos and Andy will be on about ten o’clock. Gosh, they’re funny, and when they get going they can touch anybody’s funny bone,” Lonigan said in an interlude between songs, while an announcer’s eulogy of furniture went unheeded.
Studs nodded. Maybe in the morning he’d better dump the stock, after all. But if he did, and the stock rose, wouldn’t he want to shag his tail around the block six ways from Sunday for having pulled out with clammy feet? He looked at his father, wondering whether the old man were really listening to the radio music or not. He was getting along in years now, and it was showing, his gray hair thinning out, wrinkles coming into the blown red face, bags under the eyes, the look of all-around tiredness on it. Pretty tough, too, having worries in old age. He heard a faint wheeze with every breath his father took, and he continued to glance at the relaxed face. Tough!